One of the cool things about getting to see the best and worst of everything that comes out is you get unnecessarily familiar with the work of writers and directors who might otherwise go totally unnoticed.
I say this is cool because sitting around thinking about non-household names such as writer Matthew Michael Carnahan is infinitely more fun than sitting around thinking about whether eating that bite of curry that fell in the corner is still disgraceful if there's no one around to see it.
But seriously, what's Carnahan's deal? First, he writes The Kingdom, which was superb and confident, then he follows it up with Lions for Lambs, which was so boring and preachy that I expected someone to pass a collection plate around during the credits.
What do you do with information like that? Turn it into a theory even other movie nerds don't care about, obviously. In this case, I'm going with the newly-formed Jekyll and Hyde Theory, which simply states that movie people are capable of quantum leaps in talent--for good or for bad. (For a positive example, see George Clooney.) Seeing which Carnahan showed up to co-write State of Play wasn't just my duty, it was for science.
In the midst of an investigation into Defense Department contracts, influential congressman Ben Affleck is shaken by the news his lead researcher threw herself beneath a Metro train.
Within hours, it's become public knowledge they were having an affair. What's kept private is that journalist Russell Crowe is convinced it wasn't a murder, it was a suicide. Aided by young reporter Rachel McAdams, they begin to uncover an elaborate conspiracy to discredit Affleck in the midst of what could be a landmark decision for the way the U.S. goes to war.
What I didn't realize going into State of Play is it's cowritten by Tony Gilroy, the big bad stud who wrote Michael Clayton and all three Bourne movies, and thus there was about zero chance it wouldn't be some kind of good. Actually, looking at his IMDb credits, Gilroy fits the Jekyll and Hyde Theory so strongly I can only conclude that beneficial, culturally advanced Pod People replaced him sometime around the turn of the millennium. Exhibit A: Prior to becoming the master of sophisticated modern thrillers, Gilroy wrote Armageddon and The Devil's Advocate. Case closed.
But the galactic plot to bring us quality entertainment is beside the point. What's truly relevant here is that McAdams looks great.
Okay, I'm a little confused right now, because you're still reading even though that's all anyone needs to know about State of Play. Sure, it's a twisty, well-paced story with an awesome supporting cast and an interesting take on modern politics. But it's also got a pretty girl in it, and you just don't see that in Hollywood every day. (Okay, so she's talented, too. If you're into that sort of thing.)
Gilroy and Carnahan show some talent as a team, too. Carnahan's stylized, borderline overdone dialogue is tempered into a lot of quiet humor; their mutual interest in deeper politics than "Someone is going to shoot the president! Let's stop him from shooting the president" makes for legitimate governmental concerns that duck the usual hyperconspiracy madness.
If State of Play has a major flaw -- and by and large it's a strong, self-propelled piece with characters worth following -- it's that it eventually neglects its politics for another late turn that, nicely realistic though it might be, lets the main thread burn out with no more than a fizzle. It's still satisfying, it just can't land that knockout punch it deserved.
Grade: B