The picture opens with a grimly measured sequence that reveals just how deeply Clayton is mired in the muck, then flashes back four days and builds up to the sequence again. It’s apparent the first time around that Michael plays a deceitful game in which he’s expected to clandestinely wipe up the spills of privileged clients (he even calls himself a “janitor”), and he’s slowly growing soul-sickened by his duties. Near the end of the film, when we visit the opening progression of events for the second time, new revelations arise from Michael’s shadow world.

There’s a lot going on in this movie, and Gilroy - a first-time director who wrote the far more agitated “Bourne Identity” trilogy - presents it with a steady hand. For the past six years, Kenner, Bach & Ledeen, the powerful New York law firm that employs Clayton, has been defending an agrochemical company against a multi-billion dollar class-action lawsuit. U/North is accused of marketing a pesticide that’s been poisoning people, and the company’s in-house chief counsel, Karen Crowder (Tilda Swinton), is about to solidify her standing as a major player by bringing the suit to a positive conclusion. However, something goes very wrong for Crowder and U/North, and it will eventually change Clayton’s existence.

Kenner, Bach & Ledeen’s brilliant head litigator, Arthur Edens (Tom Wilkinson), has what appears to be a nervous breakdown during a deposition by one of the people suing U/North. Edens disrobes during a young woman’s testimony, and more or less shouts out that he’s finally recognized the evil of his ways. Clayton is immediately sent to Wisconsin to try to take care of the problem and bring his deranged friend (who has pointedly gone off his prescribed medication) back down to earth. But when Edens escapes from his hotel room and returns to New York to build a case against U/North, Clayton is in a major bind. And Crowder, who’s panicked by Edens’ bizarre defection, recruits more sinister forces to set things straight.

Michael's life is falling apart: He's fighting to overcome a gambling problem. He’s stricken with crushing debt brought about by a misguided attempt to open a restaurant. And he's trying to rekindle his relationship with the young son from his failed marriage. The time has come to finally do the right thing, and, in the process, he’s forced to confront his own unsavory past.

This, if you’re paying attention, is pretty much “The Verdict” by way of “The Parallax View.” Clooney, along with his buddy and former business partner, Steven Soderbergh, is as attuned as anyone in Hollywood to the inherent muscle of those gritty, dark-hued pictures from 1970s (Okay, okay- “The Verdict” came out in 1982, but Sidney Lumet definitely cut it from an older bolt of cloth.) “Michael Clayton” is another welcome companion piece to those movies.

Clooney and Gilroy aren’t shy about revealing their influences, and that’s fine with me when those influences are so free of technical dazzle, and centered on old-fashioned character development and precise storytelling. They trust you to get involved in what’s actually happening, as opposed to how it’s being presented to you, which is an archaic concept at this stage of the game. A money-minting technocrat like Michael Bay couldn’t make this movie if you pumped him full of sedatives, taste, and brains. This isn't hack work.

Gilroy does falter a bit when the plot mechanics get too overtly movie-ish to fit the tone of the rest of the picture. The bad guys seem to have wandered over from a less convincing storyline, and the twisty finale smells of John Grisham playing to the cheap seats. For a picture of such unrelenting realism – the action, in particular, is always believably muted – these are unfortunate missteps. But “Michael Clayton” is still first-rate pop entertainment. It’s smart, angry, morally righteous, and driven by a trio of compelling performances.

Swinton is superb as a woman who caves to her own ambition, and crosses the line into outright evil. Look for her to get a Best Supporting Actress Oscar nomination. And Wilkinson is also memorable, in a role that’s over the top by definition, but still conveys a sad vulnerability. Even Sidney Pollack (who co-produced the movie, and even directed one of its lesser antecedents, "Three Days of the Condor") delivers a no-nonsense supporting turn as Clayton’s boss at the firm.

Nevertheless, Clooney is the real reason to see “Michael Clayton.” He often seems to be collapsing in on himself; his features practically grow more weather-beaten as the pressure mounts. This is an actor who could be cruising on his looks and regular-guy charm alone, but, more often than not, he enters into dense, ambitious projects. And he works with some of the best filmmakers in the business. He’s only been at it for 11 years, and he’s already made hugely effective movies with Soderbergh, David O. Russell, the Coen brothers, and, via "Good Night, and Good Luck," George Clooney.

If Tom Hanks has grown content to salute a 60 year-old flag at varying angles, Clooney has taken the far more risky path of pulling at our current flag’s fast-unraveling threads. He’s now the go-to guy for bankable movie stars, and he’s not fooling around. We need more actors like him.

“Michael Clayton” contains bad language, and a meticulous, heartbreaking killing. It’s not perfect, but do yourself a favor and see this one. Rated R. 120 minutes.

- Paul Tatara