Cuando la ética periodística era perseguida… y televisada.

Eso nos decía, a menudo, mi suegro para resaltar el desprecio de la ética y el abandono de los principios básicos de la democracia en la prensa, la radio y la televisión durante sus años de vejez. Edward Murrow, la cara de las noticias en la cadena de televisión CBS, era, desde luego, el héroe de su juventud y madurez, en los años de la guerra fría y de la «caza de brujas» del fanático senador Joseph R. McCarthy.

Nunca llegué a conocer al gran Murrow personalmente pero sí tuve el honor de hablar (y entrevistar en directo para TVE) a Walter Cronkite, su principal discípulo y heredero, por quien siempre he tenido gran respeto profesional y admiración personal.

Atraido por la vida y la obra de Edward R. Murrow, un personaje de película (y un héroe para los periodistas honrados -que somos muchos, pese a las apariencias) he leído hoy en el IHT la crítica de la película «Good Night, and Good Luck», dirigida por George Clooney, sobre la vida de Murrow, y que se ha presentado esta semana en el Festival de Cine de Nueva York.

Una frase del crítico me ha impresionado porque refleja una idea que hemos discutido y discutimos continuamente entre los periodistas. No puedo remediar compartir esa frase con todos ustedes. Ahí va:

A.O.Scott, crítico de cine de The New York Times escribe hoy en su artículo «Televised ethics»:

«La prensa libre puede que sea el oxígeno de una sociedad democrática, pero siempre está enturbiada por partículas y elementos contaminantes, desde la vanidad o cobardía de los periodistas individuales a las presiones impersonales del poder del Estado y el ánimo de lucro».

Para quienes entiendan el inglés reproduzco a continuación el artículo:

Televised ethics

Reviewed by A.O. Scott The New York Times

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 30, 2005

Good Night, and Good Luck

Directed by George Clooney (U.S.)

Shot in a black-and-white palette of cigarette smoke, hair tonic, dark suits and pale button-down shirts, «Good Night, and Good Luck» plunges into a half-forgotten world in which television was new and the Cold War was at its peak. Though it is a meticulously detailed reconstruction of an era, the film is concerned with more than nostalgia.

Burnishing the legend of Edward R. Murrow, the CBS newsman who in the 1940s and ’50s established a standard of journalistic integrity his profession has scrambled to live up to ever since, «Good Night, and Good Luck» is a passionate, thoughtful essay on power, truth-telling and responsibility. The title evokes Murrow’s trademark sign-off, and I can best sum up my own response by recalling the name of his flagship program: See it now.

And be prepared to pay attention. «Good Night, and Good Luck» is not the kind of historical picture that dumbs down its material or walks you carefully through events that may be unfamiliar. Instead, it unfolds, cinéma-vérité style, in the fast, sometimes frantic present tense, following Murrow and his colleagues as they deal with the petty annoyances and larger anxieties of news gathering at a moment of political turmoil. The story flashes back from a famous, cautionary speech that Murrow gave at an industry convention in 1958 to one of the most notable episodes in his career – his war of words and images with Senator Joseph R. McCarthy. While David Strathairn plays Murrow with sly eloquence and dark wit, the director, George Clooney, allows the junior senator from Wisconsin to play himself (thanks to surviving video clips of his hearings and public appearances), a jolt of documentary truth that highlights some of the movie’s themes. Television, it suggests, can be both a potent vehicle for demagoguery and a weapon in the fight against it.

Murrow, as conceived by the filmmakers and incarnated by Strathairn, is a man of strong ideals and few illusions. He knows that McCarthy will smear him (and offers the senator airtime to do so) and that sponsors and government officials will pressure his boss, William Paley (Frank Langella), to rein him in. When Murrow, in March 1954, prepares to broadcast his exposé of McCarthy’s methods, the suspense is excruciating, even if we know the outcome.

Still, there is a lot of gray in this black-and-white story, and quite a few questions that are not so easily resolved. The free press may be the oxygen of a democratic society, but it is always clouded by particles and pollutants, from the vanity or cowardice of individual journalists to the impersonal pressures of state power and the profit motive. And while Clooney is inclined to glorify, he does not simplify.

The cinematic intelligence on display in this film is entirely Clooney’s. He has found a cogent subject, an urgent set of ideas and a formally inventive, absolutely convincing way to make them live on screen.

Almacenado en: Crítica de prensa, Personal, Recuerdos de periodistas