Michael Clayton
I watched Michael Clayton last night, and I thought about doing a little review, until I discovered that Slate had already done a far better, far more thoughtful job than I ever could.
Instead, I'll point you Slate's way, and share three moments from their review that I found thought provoking:
Moment 1: Do the studies showing high rates of depression among lawyers tell us something about the profession or the people who go into it?
Is it possible to design study that would answer this question?
Moment 2: As a former prosecutor turned perpetual associate turned fixer for the firm, Clayton is dispatched to get Edens under control."You are a senior litigating partner at one of the largest, most respected law firms in the world," he says. "I'm an accomplice," Edens shoots back.
Do people who feel this way actually end up Edens' position, and if so, what do they do next? Drink? Crack up? Try to trace what Slated called the series of incremental compromises that defined their life?
Moment 3: Whatever the explanation, Michael Clayton offers an only slightly exaggerated portrait of a profession undergoing a kind of slow-motion existential crisis. It does so at a time when in the real world, midlevel associates are dropping out in droves.
What on earth do they mean by a profession undergoing a slow-motion Existential crisis? Is the implication here supposed to be that concern over being and existence is related to associate turnover rates? Doesn't it make more sense to suggest that associates are undergoing a personal crisis, rather than an industry? And if so, what is their crisis?
Moment 4: " . . . The ending of Michael Clayton . . . as Clayton walks out into the bright sunlight on Sixth Avenue and hails a cab, he's enacting a fantasy nurtured by many a weary associate (and acted on by a number I know). He's extricating himself from the firm, overriding the risk-aversion instinct, and walking away—without a new job or a backup plan. "Give me $50 worth," he tells the cabbie, in a sly reminder that we are all paid for our labor and our time.
Uh-oh.
Instead, I'll point you Slate's way, and share three moments from their review that I found thought provoking:
Moment 1: Do the studies showing high rates of depression among lawyers tell us something about the profession or the people who go into it?
Is it possible to design study that would answer this question?
Moment 2: As a former prosecutor turned perpetual associate turned fixer for the firm, Clayton is dispatched to get Edens under control."You are a senior litigating partner at one of the largest, most respected law firms in the world," he says. "I'm an accomplice," Edens shoots back.
Do people who feel this way actually end up Edens' position, and if so, what do they do next? Drink? Crack up? Try to trace what Slated called the series of incremental compromises that defined their life?
Moment 3: Whatever the explanation, Michael Clayton offers an only slightly exaggerated portrait of a profession undergoing a kind of slow-motion existential crisis. It does so at a time when in the real world, midlevel associates are dropping out in droves.
What on earth do they mean by a profession undergoing a slow-motion Existential crisis? Is the implication here supposed to be that concern over being and existence is related to associate turnover rates? Doesn't it make more sense to suggest that associates are undergoing a personal crisis, rather than an industry? And if so, what is their crisis?
Moment 4: " . . . The ending of Michael Clayton . . . as Clayton walks out into the bright sunlight on Sixth Avenue and hails a cab, he's enacting a fantasy nurtured by many a weary associate (and acted on by a number I know). He's extricating himself from the firm, overriding the risk-aversion instinct, and walking away—without a new job or a backup plan. "Give me $50 worth," he tells the cabbie, in a sly reminder that we are all paid for our labor and our time.
Uh-oh.
Labels: Legal Culture
posted by Patrick Bageant at 10:37 AM
7 Comments:
Speaking of movies, is anyone going to liveblog the Oscars? I feel like someone did it last year, and it was really funny.
I'm still worn out from live blogging the Berkeley City Council meeting...
fair enough
I thought the movie was just great, and I also agree with Slate that the movie was a telling if not worrying take on the profession.
Anybody still reading this thread? No? Whatever. Michael Clayton and the Slate piece you link to are equally weak. Weaquel. The guy who wrote the Slate piece went to law school but never worked for a firm, so he was very comfortable with the unrealistic, dystopian view of the legal profession the movie provides. Saying that a company hiring hit men to kill its outside counsel over a discovery issue only constitutes a slight exaggeration is like saying that porn only slightly exaggerates the erotic potential of pizza delivery.
I'm still reading the thread (nothing else to do) and with you. I thought it was a great movie about the law...in the way Wag the Dog was a good movie about politics (e.g., once you accept that the movie is a Gulliver's Travels-level farce).
But verisimilitude? Come on. The 60-lawyer meeting to do a closing, the 8 depo associates, the breezy way the name partner is so keen to commit fraud (where are they -- Milberg Weiss?)...it was schtick.
Also, Tilda Swinton had nothing on Amy Ryan for Best Supporting Actress. For 120 minutes, her only two expressions veered between anxious breathing and wide-eyed amazement, supplemented by 20-30 lines of dialogue. Amy Ryan talking about doing crack deals was way cooler.
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