Expertly though superficially written by first-time director Tony Gilroy, and nicely underlit by cinematographer Robert Elswit, Michael Clayton taps into something dark, desperate and paranoid in the U.S. psyche circa 2007. Its soullessness accumulates into a suggestion, if not quite a vision, of American soullessness during the Dubya years. More widely, the film takes aim at American capitalism and argues to bring John Edwards back into the presidential race.
The 45-year-old protagonist, who at least imagines he loved his former job as criminal prosecutor, finds himself in a hole of dissatisfaction; compulsive gambling, divorce, debt and looming bankruptcy in a sideline restaurant business (drug-addicted brother Tim hasn’t run it very well) have dug the hole. His current longtime job provided the shovel; Clayton is a self-styled “janitor” at a New York law firm, where he “cleans up” messy cases of corporate clients by nefarious means, including buying off inconvenient witnesses. Conundrum: Clayton is the best at what he does, but what he does is draining, disgusting work. On his mind now, as a kind of self-warning and self-projection, is the mental meltdown of the firm’s most brilliant attorney, Arthur Edens, whose delayed conscience, as well as a mountain of evidence, has driven him off his medications during the last phase of the firm’s seemingly inevitable Goliath to the David of a class action suit on behalf of the firm’s biggest client, U/North, one of whose agrichemicals has been making people sick and killing them. Meanwhile, Karen Crowder (Tilda Swinton, ferocious), U/North’s own counsel, is the better Clayton since Clayton doesn’t arrange to have anyone murdered. She does. Clayton himself shows up on her hit list—and, in an awfully convenient symbolic move that exposes the film’s schematic nature, he ends up, wired and recording her self-incriminating remarks, legally doing her in.
George Clooney plays Clayton clumsily, with lots of intent, shallow gazes. An inadvertently hilarious moment occurs when Clayton’s rigged car blows up with him not in it and he throws into the blaze his wallet, wristwatch, etc. Nothing we’ve seen from Clooney up until that moment even remotely suggests such quick intelligence. Moreover, Clayton’s scenes with his young son, on Clooney’s side, that is (the kid is just fine), are equally unbelievable.
This entry was posted on February 19, 2008 at 4:40 pm and is filed under Informal Capsule Film Comments. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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MICHAEL CLAYTON (Tony Gilroy, 2007)
Expertly though superficially written by first-time director Tony Gilroy, and nicely underlit by cinematographer Robert Elswit, Michael Clayton taps into something dark, desperate and paranoid in the U.S. psyche circa 2007. Its soullessness accumulates into a suggestion, if not quite a vision, of American soullessness during the Dubya years. More widely, the film takes aim at American capitalism and argues to bring John Edwards back into the presidential race.
The 45-year-old protagonist, who at least imagines he loved his former job as criminal prosecutor, finds himself in a hole of dissatisfaction; compulsive gambling, divorce, debt and looming bankruptcy in a sideline restaurant business (drug-addicted brother Tim hasn’t run it very well) have dug the hole. His current longtime job provided the shovel; Clayton is a self-styled “janitor” at a New York law firm, where he “cleans up” messy cases of corporate clients by nefarious means, including buying off inconvenient witnesses. Conundrum: Clayton is the best at what he does, but what he does is draining, disgusting work. On his mind now, as a kind of self-warning and self-projection, is the mental meltdown of the firm’s most brilliant attorney, Arthur Edens, whose delayed conscience, as well as a mountain of evidence, has driven him off his medications during the last phase of the firm’s seemingly inevitable Goliath to the David of a class action suit on behalf of the firm’s biggest client, U/North, one of whose agrichemicals has been making people sick and killing them. Meanwhile, Karen Crowder (Tilda Swinton, ferocious), U/North’s own counsel, is the better Clayton since Clayton doesn’t arrange to have anyone murdered. She does. Clayton himself shows up on her hit list—and, in an awfully convenient symbolic move that exposes the film’s schematic nature, he ends up, wired and recording her self-incriminating remarks, legally doing her in.
George Clooney plays Clayton clumsily, with lots of intent, shallow gazes. An inadvertently hilarious moment occurs when Clayton’s rigged car blows up with him not in it and he throws into the blaze his wallet, wristwatch, etc. Nothing we’ve seen from Clooney up until that moment even remotely suggests such quick intelligence. Moreover, Clayton’s scenes with his young son, on Clooney’s side, that is (the kid is just fine), are equally unbelievable.
This entry was posted on February 19, 2008 at 4:40 pm and is filed under Informal Capsule Film Comments. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can skip to the end and leave a response. Pinging is currently not allowed.