Jolene and I rented Michael Clayton last night and I thoroughly enjoyed it. I think what was so exceptional about it was that it successfully told its story in a very understated manner (by comparison of the standard fare of explosions, jittery cinematography, and skin). I think the film was scripted and shot in a way so as to put the lion's share of the responsibility to capture the audience on the backs of the cast. They sure captured me.
I get so ramped up by movies that END well. Michael Clayton ends with a static shot facing George Clooney's character sitting in the back of a NYC cab as it drives in daytime traffic; primary credits are shown one by one in the lower right as Clooney looks ahead, out the window, all with amazing facial expression that effectively lets us know he is deeply engaged with internally debriefing all that has just happened. A soft, melancholy piano driven music bed pulses gently in and out with delicate chords. The scene runs about 3 minutes- just enough, but not too much that it gets old.
Rated R, for some F-bombs (used believably, not gratuitously)
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