It’s almost cliché to worship this script — but goddamn, it’s a knockout every time. The emotional work this movie does is so stealthy, it sneaks up on you. For most of the runtime, Michael doesn’t even seem to have an arc. He’s tortured, sure. But he wears his distress lightly, like a favorite pair of pants.
Part of that is Clooney — cool, underplayed, a perfect match for Arthur’s manic moralism. And part of it is Gilroy’s clockwork script,…