George Clooney
Good Night And Good Luck

Good Night And Good Luck

Since we were children, we've learned to appreciate it, to live and enjoy its images: a well-deserved reward to be achieved. Television has become part of our growth, and those early years of longed-for cartoons made us dependent on the colorful box. We gradually lost part of our critical capacity, teaching us to parrot rather than think, letting those difficult things to browse grow moldy. When we enter our home after work, we feel the need to turn it on, regardless of the channel or program. We must greet it. And when this tool intertwines with political power, what happens?

It is a film made of dialogues and only one great leading actor. Well-crafted editing and cinematography made of intense close-ups for the courageous story of journalist Ed Murrow (David Strathairn) and his crusade against bad television, against servile and cowardly journalism incapable of investigating and speaking its mind without having to bow to anyone. There is deliberately no plot or life outside the construction of the episodes of the most daring and brave program of those times "Person to Person". The supporting roles are almost insignificant: Clooney steps aside and seems like a mere spectator in the sparse lines he allowed himself. There is only his ever-lit cigarette, the penetrating voice, and the determination to say what he thinks with a sharp and decisive look. We are in the USA when Senator McCarthy spread the terror of rampant communism in the post-war period. It doesn't end well. The two fighters clash and annihilate each other without ever meeting eyes. Because television can allow a violent confrontation from a distance, can enter the homes of everyone and have enormous repercussions. End credits. I could end it here, extend it at some points and write a closure, but instead, I want to use this beautiful and deliberately sparse film to talk about 3 quotes said by the protagonist. They remain impressed on me and make me think, because they are terribly current.

*** 1. "If in 50 or 100 years historians see the recordings of our major networks, they will be faced with images showcasing the decadence, vacuity, and detachment from the reality of the world we live in. There is an ingrained allergy in us to unpleasant and disturbing news, and our mass media only reflect this tendency. Television is primarily used to distract, deceive, entertain, and isolate us, and soon we will realize this reality when it will be too late to fix it."***

The new sitcom on Italia 1 causes a scandal and is moved. Iran and nuclear get 60 seconds of space on TG2, but Alessia Marcuzzi really crossed the line. In a scene involving a clumsy attempt to eat a sausage, the former Inzaghina imitates a nice blowjob with a tongue rummaging, leaving little to the imagination. 3-minute service because we are a Catholic and modest country, damn it, and Italians need to know this uncomfortable news. I learn on TG1 that dogs can live much longer than before. Now, thanks to a balanced diet, Bobby has turned 26!!! Our asses and hearts can become olive wood and high-performance engines with new technology. We'll stay glued to our seats (our life) like a politician. Hooray! Hoping that the Maya with the powerful telescopes of the time did not really predict that on a date, a celebration and jubilation of the numbers 2 and 1, the world would say to everyone: fuck you, today I'm tired and I'm dying. Voyager on La7 delves into hot topics. The moon landing? A poorly done study. Aliens? They are short and pathetic. Loch Ness? A reality. Atlantis: they had digital terrestrial and the phone made American coffee in a small cup. On Rete 4, I discover on a festive soundtrack plot that clumsy thieves managed to knock themselves out; what dummies! They hadn't noticed the cameras. Tragedies are raped with stupid bookish phrases, devoid of dignity and right soundtrack for a resounding and fake applause when a casket comes out. Because you must always be seen and heard; even at a funeral. 5 letters and 4 shaved consonants come together and form a couple of childish ungrammatical periods made of laughter in a Sunday talk show on channel five where they say they want to study acting, be different, and also show their intelligence. To sing and offer the world their portion of art. Maybe they'll give themselves a little push by sleeping with an old man to then host a nice prime-time show full of asses and boobs. The dance of the bushes in the desert, the neurons rolling. More than stones. I ask your forgiveness, because I was wrong. I cry. Come back to me. You return and we are happy, and we can hug. We cry together. Thank you, Maria, for making us meet again! You are truly a saint, and an exceptional postwoman. Quick, swift, proletarian, with a return receipt. In summer it's hot, very hot: 4 sluts in skimpy clothes with redone boobs tell me so in full view between Tuscany and Lazio. The lifeboats for lips are higher up, in the cool of the Alps.

*** 2. "Anyone who unmasks him, anyone who disputes his lack of respect for decency and human dignity and the rights guaranteed by the Constitution must necessarily be either a communist or a sympathizer. His system is very simple: anyone who criticizes or opposes his methods must be a communist. If this is true, there are several million communists in our country."***

If we look at all the newscasts, apart from the red and defeatist one, the domestic politics are going great. We've never been better in 160 years. Fini makes tortellini. The majority is a wall of reinforced concrete, and the country is fortunate to enjoy this stability in a moment of international crisis. Because we will come out of the tunnel before others. The parliamentary opposition is blatantly communist and is in disarray: rats avoiding drowning by killing each other. I, who write this trash and have never voted for the communist party, am obviously a son of Stalin, unfortunately surviving his jaws. National and international crises are resolved with mighty leaps resulting from acumen and readiness. Obstacles brilliantly jumped, and this despite TV and justice being in the hands of powerful child eaters who between bites clean their teeth with pages of Repubblica and l’Espresso. Biagi and Travaglio did/do trash. Guzzanti, Luttazzi, Rossi steaming shit compared to the high satire of Bagaglino and Colorado Café. Off. And this triumph despite the journalists of almost all newspapers being communist and pro-Catholic and interpreting amusing lines as they please to bring smiles. At 73, you will go to bed at 8 PM, and at 6, you’ll already be at the bakery, and you're jealous... Foreign policy. Worse. We are outside the national borders. Unfortunately. Afghanistan bad but necessary. Obama good, we stay with Obama because he is strong and we are great friends even if we kindly and humorously call him the n-word. Nazi kapo, a pair of horns, hide-and-seek, two signed ties, and escorts, three ad personam laws, and voila, beautiful Italy smiling with a clear sky behind.

*** 3. "If the space dedicated on Sunday night to cabaret and sports were given in major programs to the state of education or foreign policy of our country, it would be a dream. Sponsors and producers might lose revenue, but they could educate millions of people who can determine the future of this country and the companies themselves. To those who say people wouldn't watch it and wouldn't be interested, I say they are wrong. This tool can teach and can also be a source of inspiration, but it can only be if humans decide to use it for these purposes without excuses. Otherwise, it's just a heap of wires and valves in a box." ***

What the hell are you saying, George? You couldn't have made a film like this. You're the cool guy who robs casinos and banks, drinks icy drinks, sneaks into parties, and bangs the keen national Eli. But go on, celebrate; you McCarthy got him off your backs: maybe we'll also make a nice cold and intimate film about a real journalist. One with balls who will dare to take the eyelids, almost tearing them off our faces with a quick and sharp gesture. And pay the price of the rude R.E.M. awakening in which we were numbed. On current TV, there are still programs, but for how long? The press is better off, but alas, TV has infinitely more power because it is damn easier to use. Maybe the box was mostly something disgusting and stupid. I believe it is also damaging, it informs us by deforming, it atrophies us, and it is the natural fertilizer for the tares that networks make us believe is perfumed English grass. It was like this 50 years ago. Now it's worse. It's not something that fell on us. It's our fault for sparking questions and turning off the brain, intended as the capacity to process criticism. But enough... tomorrow the big brother starts for 5 months and 40 idiots, and I believe I have the X factor. Meaning that this is the right time to grab a spade and bury this stuff deep in a nice deep hole. I don't believe in fairy tales anymore. But no, I'll buy the new model, the one with the built-in digital terrestrial so I won't have to use the 3 remaining neurons to flip through the instructions, in installments. With the TAN at 0%, but the TAEG at 20%. Because TV is like a cigarette for a compulsive smoker, and Murrow knew it.

More than goodnight, good luck to us all.