Shot in the black-and-white palette that has come to define our conception of the early days of television, "Good Night, and Good Luck" comes to us as if a hermetic capsule from the not-so-distant days of McCarthyism. It preserves within it, at once, a memorial to the integrity and professionalism of CBS newsman Edward R. Murrow and an admonition against the dangers of complacent and risk-adverse journalism.

A typical historical picture on face value, the film, as directed and co-written by George Clooney, is anything but. Its narrative unfolds, in present tense, to the vivid and often frantic pace of life during the Cold War.

Opening with a scene of Murrow's 1958 industry dinner speech, during which he bemoans and rails against the relentless shift in focus of the media from the often controversial presentation of the truth to mere entertainment, the film shows viewers a time when television was more than just a medium for the empty sensationalism of today's "reality" TV.

The film follows Murrow (David Strathairn) during one of the more notable moments of his career in 1954 as he and his colleagues at the Columbia Broadcasting System (CBS) prepare to wage a televised war against Senator Joseph R. McCarthy and his anti-Communist witch hunt.

Viewers are drawn into the battle as Murrow and Fred Friendly (George Clooney) plan out their line of attack, meeting in darkened filming rooms, reviewing kinescopes of Senator McCarthy's latest speech or the House Committee on Un-American Activities (HUAC) convening. The anxiety and anticipation is infectious as Murrow finally delivers his challenge to the Senator, and the station waits with bated breaths for the backlash.

When the reply comes, it comes straight from the mouth of McCarthy through video clips of his hearings and public appearances. The use of era-relevant footage is particularly effective in reconstructing the atmosphere of the era and, additionally, has the effect of imbuing the film with a sense of documentary truth. At the same time, the usage reinforces the persistent underlying theme of the power of television as both tool of and weapon against demagoguery. As reels of news programming are increasingly replaced with clips of largely vapid interviews with Liberace throughout the film, viewers are once again reminded of Murrow's polemic against the complacency of the media.

From start to finish, "Good Night, and Good Luck," through its cinematography, substitutes past for present, drawing viewers into the world for the 1950s as seen from the eyes of the news media. Rarely leaving CBS's Manhattan headquarters, the cast and viewers alike exist in the artificial, enclosed reality of a television broadcasting station.

The world outside is, at most, an intangible presence as viewers experience everything in the same way that Murrow and friends do: the ringing of a telephone, the flickering of a news reel, the occasional newspaper. The internal politics of the workplace, while ostensibly reflecting the state of affairs of the world, take precedence; Murrow's fight for funding and support eclipses the Cold War.

The movie's superb camerawork and editing are well complemented by the incredible talent of its cast. Murrow, a ruthlessly rational and honest figure, is portrayed convincingly and with great talent by Strathairn. Poised and able, he delivers his lines with quiet eloquence, each word an incisive and calculated critique, all the while maintaining a cool and composed professionalism. Frank Langella, in the role of William Paley, serves as an excellent foil for Strathairn's headstrong character. Paley, as Murrow's superior, is, at once, his antagonist, colleague and protector.

Ironically, despite their excellent quality, the cinematography and acting in "Good Night, and Good Luck" are overshadowed by the film's content. The magnitude of the history portrayed and its resonance with present-day media issues will dominate the main focus of discussion in years to come.