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Note: I wrote this for my site (ShaunMunro.co.uk) in case it shows up on search engines. Cheers:
In recent years, Tony Gilroy has become something of a virtuoso in writing slick, intense, and foremost, smart thrillers. The advertising for his latest outing, "Michael Clayton", tells us "the truth can be adjusted", and the dichotomy of right and wrong, pitted against what is true and false, is an ever-recurrent theme of the majority of Gilroy's other works (including The Devil's Advocate and the Bourne series).
Whilst Jason Bourne veers on the edge of veracity, Clooney's considerably more complex Clayton lands firmly between what he purports to be justifiably distorting the truth (or "fixing", as he calls it), and as becomes his test, exposing the truly wicked, dirt sheet cover-ups of his superiors.
Michael Clayton opens with what one could easily dismiss as an overly-wordy, mightily confusing, dare I say pretentious monologue, and whilst it initially left a sour taste in my mouth, you'll be laughing at yourself twenty-five minutes later as things begin to unravel. This opening scene very much embodies the essence of the film - it mystifies, and might even disgust you briefly (as it unapologetically references sequences later in the film), but once Gilroy's smoke subsides, the film satisfies in every way a film of this ilk should.
From the very outset, Clooney is sure to play his role as calmly and sedately as possible - he even appears to be lacking affect at times, but like the narrative itself, Clooney's titular character is a slow-burner, but when he kicks, he kicks with all the might of a football striker. We learn very quickly that Clayton is a "fixer", deftly cleaning up the messes of his law firm's clients, and in this respect you'd think Clayton might be a bit of a scumbag, but Clooney resists cracking the cocksure smile, and enjoys a seemingly loving relationship with his son, so it's hard to dislike the guy, especially once the credits roll. Furthermore, when you compare Clayton with near enough anyone else in this film, he's a veritable angel.
Clayton is, like many of us, a slave to the wage - he has his own monetary problems, as well as being divorced, but employs a stiff upper lip that doesn't quite put Gary Cooper to shame, but it's not far off. Furthermore, the fact that Clooney is able to pull this off without appearing emotionally shallow is commendable to say the least - Clayton smoulders under the surface, never quite snapping or exploding, but we're made aware that the sour broth is well and truly simmering.
However, as straight-laced as Clooney plays it, he is undoubtedly outfoxed by the brilliant Tom Wilkinson, who plays Clayton's mentally ill colleague with such relentless intensity, such a schooled-tenacity that Clooney's restrained turn-in simply pales in comparison. Wilkinson takes a character that could very well have, given the nature of his crimes, dragged the film down into sheer parody, but he makes the character his own, and quite simply outdoes everyone occupying the screen with him. The fact enough that I have yet to mention Tilda Swinton or Sydney Pollack's roles in this film is a testament to the fact that they are (with no disrespect intended to them), in the greatest sense, entirely ancillary when compared to Wilkinson's attempt.
It is at Wilkinson's arrival that the film gains the traction it was so desperately crying out for, as Clayton is charged with keeping his ill colleague in check, and subsequently uncovering his law firm's macabre attempt to win a class-action lawsuit. The film encounters a tonal shift in its second half, transforming from what was simply a smart legal drama to an invariably more intense outing, as Clayton becomes embroiled in a life-and-death battle of wits, his "way of the pen" pragmatism being pitted against a rather hefty blade. Clayton faces off against the world, against persons more resourceful and more combative than himself, forcing Clayton to wear his thinking cap and do what he does best - use it to rectify a highly volatile situation.
For all of its nail-biting tautness, perhaps the tie-off is a little too neat, and relies on a level of staginess that some viewers will simply scoff at, yet I sympathised with and understood Clayton's motivation so much that I found it largely inconsequent. Coincidence is just one of the many elements abound in the film's closing minutes, yet it isn't so unbelievable as to doom the film entirely, if at all. The final moments end with all the declivity of a Scooby Doo episode, but the rest of this piece is so intelligent and tightly-plotted that one is willing to forgive Gilroy.
Michael Clayton won't provide you with the fantastical imagery of The Devil's Advocate, nor serve up the wildly exaggerated thrills-and-spills of the Bourne series, but as far as Gilroy's writing goes, it could be far, far worse. Indeed, it could be Proof of Life, or it could even dare to be Armageddon. What pushes Clayton steps ahead of its potentially rudimentary material is the performances - Clooney is as steely and enjoyable to watch as always, and Wilkinson is simply unforgettable. The written material may not be Oscar-calibre, but Wilkinson's performance just may well be. If you seek an intelligent tale of morality and intrigue, look no further than Michael Clayton.
Thanks for reading,
Reefer
In recent years, Tony Gilroy has become something of a virtuoso in writing slick, intense, and foremost, smart thrillers. The advertising for his latest outing, "Michael Clayton", tells us "the truth can be adjusted", and the dichotomy of right and wrong, pitted against what is true and false, is an ever-recurrent theme of the majority of Gilroy's other works (including The Devil's Advocate and the Bourne series).
Whilst Jason Bourne veers on the edge of veracity, Clooney's considerably more complex Clayton lands firmly between what he purports to be justifiably distorting the truth (or "fixing", as he calls it), and as becomes his test, exposing the truly wicked, dirt sheet cover-ups of his superiors.
Michael Clayton opens with what one could easily dismiss as an overly-wordy, mightily confusing, dare I say pretentious monologue, and whilst it initially left a sour taste in my mouth, you'll be laughing at yourself twenty-five minutes later as things begin to unravel. This opening scene very much embodies the essence of the film - it mystifies, and might even disgust you briefly (as it unapologetically references sequences later in the film), but once Gilroy's smoke subsides, the film satisfies in every way a film of this ilk should.
From the very outset, Clooney is sure to play his role as calmly and sedately as possible - he even appears to be lacking affect at times, but like the narrative itself, Clooney's titular character is a slow-burner, but when he kicks, he kicks with all the might of a football striker. We learn very quickly that Clayton is a "fixer", deftly cleaning up the messes of his law firm's clients, and in this respect you'd think Clayton might be a bit of a scumbag, but Clooney resists cracking the cocksure smile, and enjoys a seemingly loving relationship with his son, so it's hard to dislike the guy, especially once the credits roll. Furthermore, when you compare Clayton with near enough anyone else in this film, he's a veritable angel.
Clayton is, like many of us, a slave to the wage - he has his own monetary problems, as well as being divorced, but employs a stiff upper lip that doesn't quite put Gary Cooper to shame, but it's not far off. Furthermore, the fact that Clooney is able to pull this off without appearing emotionally shallow is commendable to say the least - Clayton smoulders under the surface, never quite snapping or exploding, but we're made aware that the sour broth is well and truly simmering.
However, as straight-laced as Clooney plays it, he is undoubtedly outfoxed by the brilliant Tom Wilkinson, who plays Clayton's mentally ill colleague with such relentless intensity, such a schooled-tenacity that Clooney's restrained turn-in simply pales in comparison. Wilkinson takes a character that could very well have, given the nature of his crimes, dragged the film down into sheer parody, but he makes the character his own, and quite simply outdoes everyone occupying the screen with him. The fact enough that I have yet to mention Tilda Swinton or Sydney Pollack's roles in this film is a testament to the fact that they are (with no disrespect intended to them), in the greatest sense, entirely ancillary when compared to Wilkinson's attempt.
It is at Wilkinson's arrival that the film gains the traction it was so desperately crying out for, as Clayton is charged with keeping his ill colleague in check, and subsequently uncovering his law firm's macabre attempt to win a class-action lawsuit. The film encounters a tonal shift in its second half, transforming from what was simply a smart legal drama to an invariably more intense outing, as Clayton becomes embroiled in a life-and-death battle of wits, his "way of the pen" pragmatism being pitted against a rather hefty blade. Clayton faces off against the world, against persons more resourceful and more combative than himself, forcing Clayton to wear his thinking cap and do what he does best - use it to rectify a highly volatile situation.
For all of its nail-biting tautness, perhaps the tie-off is a little too neat, and relies on a level of staginess that some viewers will simply scoff at, yet I sympathised with and understood Clayton's motivation so much that I found it largely inconsequent. Coincidence is just one of the many elements abound in the film's closing minutes, yet it isn't so unbelievable as to doom the film entirely, if at all. The final moments end with all the declivity of a Scooby Doo episode, but the rest of this piece is so intelligent and tightly-plotted that one is willing to forgive Gilroy.
Michael Clayton won't provide you with the fantastical imagery of The Devil's Advocate, nor serve up the wildly exaggerated thrills-and-spills of the Bourne series, but as far as Gilroy's writing goes, it could be far, far worse. Indeed, it could be Proof of Life, or it could even dare to be Armageddon. What pushes Clayton steps ahead of its potentially rudimentary material is the performances - Clooney is as steely and enjoyable to watch as always, and Wilkinson is simply unforgettable. The written material may not be Oscar-calibre, but Wilkinson's performance just may well be. If you seek an intelligent tale of morality and intrigue, look no further than Michael Clayton.
Thanks for reading,
Reefer
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Note: I wrote this for my site (ShaunMunro.co.uk) in case it shows up on search engines. Cheers:
In recent years, Tony Gilroy has become something of a virtuoso in writing slick, intense, and foremost, smart thrillers. The advertising for his latest outing, "Michael Clayton", tells us "the truth can be adjusted", and the dichotomy of right and wrong, pitted against what is true and false, is an ever-recurrent theme of the majority of Gilroy's other works (including The Devil's Advocate and the Bourne series).
Whilst Jason Bourne veers on the edge of veracity, Clooney's considerably more complex Clayton lands firmly between what he purports to be justifiably distorting the truth (or "fixing", as he calls it), and as becomes his test, exposing the truly wicked, dirt sheet cover-ups of his superiors.
Michael Clayton opens with what one could easily dismiss as an overly-wordy, mightily confusing, dare I say pretentious monologue, and whilst it initially left a sour taste in my mouth, you'll be laughing at yourself twenty-five minutes later as things begin to unravel. This opening scene very much embodies the essence of the film - it mystifies, and might even disgust you briefly (as it unapologetically references sequences later in the film), but once Gilroy's smoke subsides, the film satisfies in every way a film of this ilk should.
From the very outset, Clooney is sure to play his role as calmly and sedately as possible - he even appears to be lacking affect at times, but like the narrative itself, Clooney's titular character is a slow-burner, but when he kicks, he kicks with all the might of a football striker. We learn very quickly that Clayton is a "fixer", deftly cleaning up the messes of his law firm's clients, and in this respect you'd think Clayton might be a bit of a scumbag, but Clooney resists cracking the cocksure smile, and enjoys a seemingly loving relationship with his son, so it's hard to dislike the guy, especially once the credits roll. Furthermore, when you compare Clayton with near enough anyone else in this film, he's a veritable angel.
Clayton is, like many of us, a slave to the wage - he has his own monetary problems, as well as being divorced, but employs a stiff upper lip that doesn't quite put Gary Cooper to shame, but it's not far off. Furthermore, the fact that Clooney is able to pull this off without appearing emotionally shallow is commendable to say the least - Clayton smoulders under the surface, never quite snapping or exploding, but we're made aware that the sour broth is well and truly simmering.
However, as straight-laced as Clooney plays it, he is undoubtedly outfoxed by the brilliant Tom Wilkinson, who plays Clayton's mentally ill colleague with such relentless intensity, such a schooled-tenacity that Clooney's restrained turn-in simply pales in comparison. Wilkinson takes a character that could very well have, given the nature of his crimes, dragged the film down into sheer parody, but he makes the character his own, and quite simply outdoes everyone occupying the screen with him. The fact enough that I have yet to mention Tilda Swinton or Sydney Pollack's roles in this film is a testament to the fact that they are (with no disrespect intended to them), in the greatest sense, entirely ancillary when compared to Wilkinson's attempt.
It is at Wilkinson's arrival that the film gains the traction it was so desperately crying out for, as Clayton is charged with keeping his ill colleague in check, and subsequently uncovering his law firm's macabre attempt to win a class-action lawsuit. The film encounters a tonal shift in its second half, transforming from what was simply a smart legal drama to an invariably more intense outing, as Clayton becomes embroiled in a life-and-death battle of wits, his "way of the pen" pragmatism being pitted against a rather hefty blade. Clayton faces off against the world, against persons more resourceful and more combative than himself, forcing Clayton to wear his thinking cap and do what he does best - use it to rectify a highly volatile situation.
For all of its nail-biting tautness, perhaps the tie-off is a little too neat, and relies on a level of staginess that some viewers will simply scoff at, yet I sympathised with and understood Clayton's motivation so much that I found it largely inconsequent. Coincidence is just one of the many elements abound in the film's closing minutes, yet it isn't so unbelievable as to doom the film entirely, if at all. The final moments end with all the declivity of a Scooby Doo episode, but the rest of this piece is so intelligent and tightly-plotted that one is willing to forgive Gilroy.
Michael Clayton won't provide you with the fantastical imagery of The Devil's Advocate, nor serve up the wildly exaggerated thrills-and-spills of the Bourne series, but as far as Gilroy's writing goes, it could be far, far worse. Indeed, it could be Proof of Life, or it could even dare to be Armageddon. What pushes Clayton steps ahead of its potentially rudimentary material is the performances - Clooney is as steely and enjoyable to watch as always, and Wilkinson is simply unforgettable. The written material may not be Oscar-calibre, but Wilkinson's performance just may well be. If you seek an intelligent tale of morality and intrigue, look no further than Michael Clayton.
Thanks for reading,
Reefer
In recent years, Tony Gilroy has become something of a virtuoso in writing slick, intense, and foremost, smart thrillers. The advertising for his latest outing, "Michael Clayton", tells us "the truth can be adjusted", and the dichotomy of right and wrong, pitted against what is true and false, is an ever-recurrent theme of the majority of Gilroy's other works (including The Devil's Advocate and the Bourne series).
Whilst Jason Bourne veers on the edge of veracity, Clooney's considerably more complex Clayton lands firmly between what he purports to be justifiably distorting the truth (or "fixing", as he calls it), and as becomes his test, exposing the truly wicked, dirt sheet cover-ups of his superiors.
Michael Clayton opens with what one could easily dismiss as an overly-wordy, mightily confusing, dare I say pretentious monologue, and whilst it initially left a sour taste in my mouth, you'll be laughing at yourself twenty-five minutes later as things begin to unravel. This opening scene very much embodies the essence of the film - it mystifies, and might even disgust you briefly (as it unapologetically references sequences later in the film), but once Gilroy's smoke subsides, the film satisfies in every way a film of this ilk should.
From the very outset, Clooney is sure to play his role as calmly and sedately as possible - he even appears to be lacking affect at times, but like the narrative itself, Clooney's titular character is a slow-burner, but when he kicks, he kicks with all the might of a football striker. We learn very quickly that Clayton is a "fixer", deftly cleaning up the messes of his law firm's clients, and in this respect you'd think Clayton might be a bit of a scumbag, but Clooney resists cracking the cocksure smile, and enjoys a seemingly loving relationship with his son, so it's hard to dislike the guy, especially once the credits roll. Furthermore, when you compare Clayton with near enough anyone else in this film, he's a veritable angel.
Clayton is, like many of us, a slave to the wage - he has his own monetary problems, as well as being divorced, but employs a stiff upper lip that doesn't quite put Gary Cooper to shame, but it's not far off. Furthermore, the fact that Clooney is able to pull this off without appearing emotionally shallow is commendable to say the least - Clayton smoulders under the surface, never quite snapping or exploding, but we're made aware that the sour broth is well and truly simmering.
However, as straight-laced as Clooney plays it, he is undoubtedly outfoxed by the brilliant Tom Wilkinson, who plays Clayton's mentally ill colleague with such relentless intensity, such a schooled-tenacity that Clooney's restrained turn-in simply pales in comparison. Wilkinson takes a character that could very well have, given the nature of his crimes, dragged the film down into sheer parody, but he makes the character his own, and quite simply outdoes everyone occupying the screen with him. The fact enough that I have yet to mention Tilda Swinton or Sydney Pollack's roles in this film is a testament to the fact that they are (with no disrespect intended to them), in the greatest sense, entirely ancillary when compared to Wilkinson's attempt.
It is at Wilkinson's arrival that the film gains the traction it was so desperately crying out for, as Clayton is charged with keeping his ill colleague in check, and subsequently uncovering his law firm's macabre attempt to win a class-action lawsuit. The film encounters a tonal shift in its second half, transforming from what was simply a smart legal drama to an invariably more intense outing, as Clayton becomes embroiled in a life-and-death battle of wits, his "way of the pen" pragmatism being pitted against a rather hefty blade. Clayton faces off against the world, against persons more resourceful and more combative than himself, forcing Clayton to wear his thinking cap and do what he does best - use it to rectify a highly volatile situation.
For all of its nail-biting tautness, perhaps the tie-off is a little too neat, and relies on a level of staginess that some viewers will simply scoff at, yet I sympathised with and understood Clayton's motivation so much that I found it largely inconsequent. Coincidence is just one of the many elements abound in the film's closing minutes, yet it isn't so unbelievable as to doom the film entirely, if at all. The final moments end with all the declivity of a Scooby Doo episode, but the rest of this piece is so intelligent and tightly-plotted that one is willing to forgive Gilroy.
Michael Clayton won't provide you with the fantastical imagery of The Devil's Advocate, nor serve up the wildly exaggerated thrills-and-spills of the Bourne series, but as far as Gilroy's writing goes, it could be far, far worse. Indeed, it could be Proof of Life, or it could even dare to be Armageddon. What pushes Clayton steps ahead of its potentially rudimentary material is the performances - Clooney is as steely and enjoyable to watch as always, and Wilkinson is simply unforgettable. The written material may not be Oscar-calibre, but Wilkinson's performance just may well be. If you seek an intelligent tale of morality and intrigue, look no further than Michael Clayton.
Thanks for reading,
Reefer