Regular NPR listeners, PBS watchers, and 1950's nostalgia buffs will love George Clooney's tightly constructed Good Night, and Good Luck. Essentially an homage to crusading newscaster pioneer Edward R. Murrow, the film pines for a yesteryear when truth seeking and candor triumphantly ruled the television air waves—themes more subtly and humorously explored in Paddy Chevsky's Network and James L. Brooks' Broadcast News. But those were fictionalized accounts while Clooney's project seriously deals with real people and seamlessly weaves extended cuts of archive footage into the narrative, which plays much more like a PBS documentary than a theatrical film.

The year is 1953 when Murrow (David Strathairn) historically took on Senator Joseph McCarthy one-on-one to expose the strongarm tactics that he abused during his Communist witch hunt. While terrorism has dominated the news recently, the internal terrorism of McCarthyism dominated the U.S. in the early 1950's when intense suspicions against Communists or Communist sympathizers could ruin lives and careers. Clooney rightfully assumes that the audience is familiar enough with the era to skim over the background material; otherwise, his taut 93-minute film could have ballooned into epic proportions. On the other hand, the brevity of his "just the facts" approach doesn't really penetrate the cool chain smoking exterior of his central character; thus, Murrow remains an enigmatic legend.

The striking black and white cinematography and now humorous Newport cigarette ads (with smooth menthol filters) place us instantly into the 1950's television era, as we see Murrow puff away while supportive producer Fred Friendly (Clooney) readies him for the opening of his news commentary. Preserving Murrow's as a near religious status for journalists, he is often shot from low angle cameras, and Strathairn maintains a stern, strong, and objective persona—no sign of human weakness or frailty, unlike many of the veteran character actor's previous work. He delivers the goods well, just as they are preserved in the archives.

The frequent use of archive material caused me to wonder why Clooney chose this format, rather than constructing a complete documentary supplemented with a few "talking heads" interviews. After all, the most dramatic confrontation involves Senator McCarthy, who appears only in person—via fifty year old videotape. But Clooney does have other agendas in mind with the second television-based drama that he's directed.

What Clooney captures best is the 1950's era itself. A time of much greater innocence, Murrow's Person to Person interview with Liberace inadvertently plays humorously now when Murrow queries the noted musician about his love life and whether he's seeking the woman of his dreams to settle down in his mansion. With fluff pieces like this and other frothy subjects, the former war correspondent itches to tackle McCarthy; he firmly believes that television can play a vital role in democracy—that it can illuminate and inspire when used correctly.

Clooney's handling of the details make this film worth seeing. A small subplot suspensefully involves a couple (played by Robert Downey Jr. and Patricia Clarkson) that want to preserve a secret from the network, which in itself is indicative of the 1950's era. He also remarkably captures the frantic behind the scenes preparations of the era's newscasts, which are far more bare bones operations than what you see in Brooks' Broadcast News and certainly what you would see in a modern operation that takes advantage of the Internet, satellite transmission, and various digital technologies. Certainly more primitive, but Murrow's character warns that television could be turning more into a vast entertainment wasteland.

Clooney highlights a striking irony behind the McCarthy confrontation. While Murrow's strong retort about the importance of not "confusing dissent with disloyalty" helps inspire the U.S. Senate to censure the junior Senator from Minnesota, McCarthy retains his Senate seat. Yet Murrow was soon destined for cancellation by CBS chief executive William Paley (Frank Langella), who no longer wished to suffer "a constant stomachache every time Murrow did a controversial subject." Game shows were profitable and news no long was.

That's hardly a unique message. The question becomes what to do about it. In the wake of commercialism that is far more concerned about profits than education, what can any one person do? The NPR listeners and PBS watchers are already attuned to Murrow's values, so it's not that likely that many other converts will be inspired by Clooney's well meaning and message filled tribute to the father of television news casting. But Good Night, and Good Luck is a palatable sketch of a bygone era, and is certainly worth viewing.