If there ever was a movie that fit the description “too perfect,”
then Michael Clayton is it. This is a slick motion picture that
is just oozing in talent; not a frame is out of place, not a line of
dialogue is spoken out of turn. Writer/director Tony Gilroy was clearly
meticulous in making the film; he almost scientifically positions each
scene in its place, as if it were a piece in a cinematic puzzle. In this
calculated approach, Gilroy also finds dramatic, climactic performances
in the members of his gifted cast, particularly lead George Clooney and
supporting actors Tom Wilkinson and Tilda Swindon. When analyzed
point-for-point, Michael Clayton appears to be nothing short of a
masterpiece.
But despite its aforementioned assets, the movie is actually
nowhere near as exciting a piece of filmmaking as it might seem. To call
Michael Clayton a great film would be a stunning miscalculation.
In truth, Gilroy’s concoction is too perfect. He and his cast
become so caught up in making a cleverly constructed film with an
air-tight plot that they pay no attention to connecting with the
audience on an emotional level. Even as far as legal thrillers go,
Michael Clayton is far too stark to affect the viewer in the least.
The result is a picture that only engages as far as it is able to
impress, never creeping its way into the hearts and minds of viewers
enough to allow it to elicit a deep response out of them.
The
Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, like its
title, is beautiful in its sprawling state but, also like its title,
could have greatly benefited from being chopped in half. There isn’t
anything inherently wrong with the movie running for nearly three
hours—its cinematography, score, and performances always engage—but the
endless time-limit allows writer/director Andrew Dominik to crowd the
screen with an unholy amount of erroneous excess. By the time The
Assassination of Jesse James was over, I couldn’t remember half of
the characters that had been introduced throughout its duration due to
their sheer insignificance. Dominik takes a great amount of liberty in
toying with unnecessary subplots which, rather than strengthening the
power of his picture, weaken its core substantially. The only
story-thread that really matters in the film is that which follows the
cat-and-mouse game played by the title characters. (These, by the way,
are brilliantly invented by a career-best Brad Pitt and an Oscar-worthy
Casey Affleck.) The remainder of The Assassination of Jesse James
exists exclusively as fatty excess, never unpleasant but only useful to
Dominik when it allows him to indulge in his movie’s beautiful visuals.
