“Some are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them.” William Shakespeare got it right in talking of “Michael Clayton.” The movie, directed by Tony Gilroy, is concerned with questions of morality, suffering and the insidious corporate greed that blurs those things into nothingness—into a cheaper amalgam more pressingly concerned with profit margins. The underpinnings of this greed are explored in the first three minutes by a character named Arthur (Tom Wilkinson), who delivers a monologue so righteous and fierce that one might think him manic…indeed, there is a fervor to it that borders on insanity.
Arthur is an attorney who represents a giant agricultural company called U-North. He is defending them from the claim that their formula has tainted farmers’ groundwater. He is a brilliant lawyer with a knack for this kind of work (defending the guilty)…and he has suddenly developed a conscience. U-North and their legal counsel, led by Karen Crowder (Tilda Swinton), are left scrambling, frantic to rein him in or shut him up. They are aided by a man they know nothing about.
His name is Michael Clayton, and he is played to great effect by George Clooney. He is (as he calls himself) a “janitor,” cleaning up the bigger disasters his firm’s clients commit. And when its attorneys commit the biggest ones, he is also called in. Such is the case of Arthur, who goes “crazy” during a deposition in Milwaukee. Stripping off his clothing, he denounces the corporation he is defending, and proclaims his love for one of the plaintiffs. Clayton is brought in to bail him out, clean him up, get him ready for future proceedings, and back on his meds (he is a manic depressive) so he might litigate again. This is problem enough for U-North, who is close to reaching a settlement with the opposition. However—as in all movies of this type—Arthur knows more than he’s telling, and U-North should be more concerned with that.
And though the movie is about that, it’s also…not really about that. It’s about pressure: the kind we put on ourselves, on other people, to crack a case, to get what we want, and to maybe do something great. It’s about morality—it is transparently about morality—and the magnitude of good and evil, and how pervasive both can be in different contexts. It’s about “which kind of greatness does Michael possess?” Or is Michael great? He is 45 and 80k in debt and divorced with a kid who loves him but is also wary of him… He is a failed restaurateur with a gambling problem, and his personal life is spiraling out of control when the movie begins.
He is certainly a richer character for it. And I enjoy these characters—these types like Michael—who are so powerful in one sphere (he is called a “miracle worker” by one of his colleagues), and so diminished in the next. In one shot at home, his sister says he looks tired, and it’s funny, because of course he’s tired—and he has been since the film commenced.
Worthy of acclaim are Clooney, Wilkinson and Swinton, the three principal actors in the film. Each was nominated in a best acting category (Swinton for Supporting Actress, Clooney for Best Actor and Wilkinson for Best Supporting Actor), and it’s clear to see why. Clooney strikes the perfect balance of grim and powerful, and Wilkinson’s mania belies a kind of moral sanity and intelligence. And Swinton is equal parts neurotic and determined, an ambitious woman in a corporate environment whose better characteristics don’t justify her worse ones. All are forceful, and each makes you believe in the world they inhabit. Also worthy of acclaim is Tony Gilroy, the director, who crafted a film devoid of body fat—where each frame and each lingering shot (there are many)—is necessary to the feeling of the film. In this film, the actors achieved greatness, the characters aspired toward it, and the film itself just was.