The movie that smokes more than two packs a day
My gym teacher made us sit on the side of the pool and splash ourselves with water to get acclimated — to avoid shock, he said.
I remember hunching over hoping the roll of fat in my midsection (that gave me the shape of a pear) would be obscured by my flailing arms.
S’funny how what embarrasses me has changed over the years.
Good Night, and Good Luck has no cursory acclimation—jumping right into the battle between Edward R. Murrow and Senator McCarthy, or journalism and politics from a broader perspective.
It’s timely, excellent, and marks another fine history lesson at the cineplex in less than a week. The black and white was more than fine and I wasn’t even bothered by the use of Helvetica.
There’s an extra layer of thrill seeing a local boy do good as a director. About the time I realized I was never going to win the olympics in breast stroke, I was watching George Clooney’s dad on the tube as our local anchorman. He was the one that delivered reports with a smooth baritone and a dose of personal opinion.
They even mention Cincinnati a few times throughout the film, sifting through papers to get information for their broadcasts. I smirked a little thinking, who the hell cares what the Cincinnati Enquirer writes now?
It’s embarrassing—as is the current political climate and the perception of the country I want to love.
This spare tire I carry around seems like nothing in comparison.
As I mentally stack what next to read in order, I’m going to put Murrow in front of Capote, as his words struck so many chords that give me strength to fear, less.