he allows himself to.Clooney the writer has not been so generous to Clooney the actor. The part is milquetoast, like a sanded-down version of Atticus Finch who speaks with the repetitive calm of a hypnotist.He’s even-keeled and professional to a fault, as if gunning for sainthood.
That might have been the honest case with Murrow, but figureheads are less fascinating than fleshed-out people. They need to find their humanity.
Otherwise, we start finding the articles in the Playbill.And as Murrow’s fight becomes existential, with powerful network execs like William S.
Paley (a terrific Paul Gross) growing worried as the man controversially reshapes what TV news is, the play doesn’t build to a crescendo or captivate along the way.There are other missteps in the production directed by David Cromer.
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