Michael Clayton

Directed by Tony Gilroy
*½

Evil corporations, shifty lawyers and luck are the three tenants of Michael Clayton, the new film from long-time writer, first-time director Tony Gilroy (man behind the pen of the Bourne films, The Devil’s Advocate, Proof of Life) who offers a fine example unique to the fall season, a (alleged) thriller about the backhanded, under-the-table, spy vs. spy, corporate intrigue that lacks a good amount of style, and any coherent substance. Boil it down to its true merit, and what surfaces is a procedural gone wrong. After big-time lawyer Arthur Edens (Tom Wilkinson, terrific) goes loony and strips down professing his love for farm girl Anna (Merritt Wever), one of many in a class-action lawsuit against big farm corp. UNorth, the law firm sends in mysterious Mr. Clayton (George Clooney, the usual grandeur) to save face. We find out that what drove Edens mad (er, off his meds) was his discovering that UNorth is up to no good. From then on it’s a race between Clayton to figure out what Edens knew and UNorth to make sure no one figures out what Edens knew. As for luck, well, Clayton would have met his end if it weren’t for getting impatient with Poker, or drawn to a scene of nature from a book Edens obsessed over after Clayton’s son recommended it to him in a conversation they had when Edens answered Clayton’s phone while he was out. Whew. How this conversation flourished I have no idea, clearly the kid doesn’t know not to talk to strangers (or how to appear at all important in this film, among countless subplots, the most useless was one involving Clayton’s brother Timmy, and their bad blood. The culmination of which is an emotional monologue with his son about not having to worry about growing up into a man like Timmy, although to become like Clayton may not be too good a choice either.)

I’m feeling redundant, and I beg anyone to describe the plot to me and not feel the same way. For its few moments of passionate discourse and genuine intrigue, there are tenfold as many dull discussions. As far as the film being a thriller, I never felt much tension. Two hitmen running around for UNorth’s tortured attorney (Tilda Swinton) never seem to bring much of a sense of danger, even as they ambush Edens in a hallway or plant a carbomb. The characters never know they’re in as much danger as Gilroy lets the audience know, a cheap effect in my book trying to tease the audience without getting brave and picking at the characters brains that makes it more akin to a horror film without the hair-raising violins.

Gilroy writes well enough, but his direction was certainly barebones and lacked anything too interesting until the third act (by far the best part of the film, but questionable as to worth sitting through the first two for). As he wraps it up, there’s promise in his style. The most poetic moment comes when Clayton is at his most fed-up, and vulnerable, choosing to abandon his papers and gold watch in a fire before running into the woods (liberation ala Into the Wild). My favorite visual comes at the very end, the last shot, which saves the typical ‘good guys win’ ending and leaves us with a sense of doubt about the people we’ve just watched for two hours. None of them are very good, in fact most are pretty terrible. The first thing that came to mind on the closing long take was the last shot of The Long Good Friday (to which I’d be surprised wasn’t an inspiration if not a source of emulation) where we see George Clooney dust off those old acting chops. Not to say his whole performance isn’t great, but it’s the usual Oscar run, complete with in-your-face-whilst-smirking diatribes on Shiva the God of Death and suave grace under pressure. It’s a less confusing Syriana with a beardless George that delivers on standard devices and eye-roll inducing allegories (in this case a children’s fantasy novel). Despite the lawyer-speak and restricted conversations, I fully understand how this film deceives most of the critical world into thinking it’s ripe for rewards with its pseudo intelligentsia appeal and well-delivered well-written speeches driving at the morality of the players involved (if only a bit more attention was paid to the writing of the plot). Besides Clooney and Wilkinson, the acting was on par with Sam Waterston's Jack McCoy circa 1998, in fact, I kept secretly hoping he would show up in the middle of it, just to relieve me from the tedium.