THE MIDNIGHT SKY Review

Not to be confused with the latest Miley Cyrus single, George Clooney's seventh feature directorial effort takes place over what is seemingly only eleven or so hours, but takes us not just to the stars, but the possibilities beyond them. The Midnight Sky is the type of film that desires to have layers upon layers of meaning and be cause for deep, existential reflection yet what it brings to the table couldn't feel more hollow. It's admirable, the way Clooney - working from a screenplay by Mark L. Smith and based on the book by Lily Brooks-Dalton - keeps the focus of this large scale story on two entities that mostly exist outside the bubble of where the more urgent, genuinely dramatic situations are happening. It's a bold choice to be sure, but we've seen the other movie before. You know, the one where a person or family is racing against the clock to find a safe haven before something catastrophic happens which, in the case of The Midnight Sky, is the fact Earth is now completely uninhabitable. So, why not remove the chase and zero in on those that have accepted their fate? The answer to this question should seem obvious in that there is then a complete lack of imperativeness to the proceedings, but Clooney's intent seems to have been not to focus so much on the details - what's happening is happening and can't be helped at this point - and instead on making the material more compelling by extracting the human angle of what brought these individuals who were once considered influential in this crisis to now be on the outside looking in.      

Clooney has always seemed to be more comfortable in the director's chair, behind the camera even if his looks and effortless charm have always made him a more effective player in front of it. Unfortunately, at this point - eighteen years into his directing career - his work as a filmmaker has been hit or miss at best. The lone exception I haven't seen in Clooney's directorial arsenal is 2002's Confessions of a Dangerous Mind which I recall receiving generally favorable reviews and while I don't know that I've seen Good Night, and Good Luck since my senior year of high school - 2005, the year it was released - I can recall sitting down for each of Clooney's subsequent features in a theater and being excited not only at the prospect of what Clooney might bring to the table, but also about the actual stories he was telling. From Leatherheads to Ides of March and from The Monuments Men to Suburbicon, Clooney has directed a new feature every three years since 2002 and yet - despite the intriguing premises, often fascinating characters, and irresistible true stories seemingly begging for a movie to be made around them - there is something in Clooney's execution that allows these stories to wind up with that same hollow feeling I felt in the final minutes of The Midnight Sky. Yes, the visual landscape here is maybe the most moving Clooney has achieved and the score from Alexandre Desplat works more to enhance these visuals than it does detract from them, but the narrative missteps and - to an extent - the lack of investment in these character's plights present not necessarily an uglier picture than the one we're seeing on screen, but certainly a less powerful one.