The Golden Age Of American Language

Last night I had the pleasure of watching Good Night, and Good Luck. It’s well-written, crisply shot and edited, and has some of the best ensemble work I’ve seen in ages. But what’s truly stunning is the portions of the film that aren’t original at all: Murrow’s commentary.

Members of the audience literally gasped, applauded, and shook their heads at the end of each reenacted broadcast oratory. Murrow’s championing of higher standards for journalism and civic life is, of a course, a message that rings true today. But the construction of that message, the absolute expert argumentation and delivery, is what took my breath away.

Americans can’t speak anymore.

We can’t speak, and we can’t write. Even in those places in our culture where language and persuasion can be a life-or-death affair we’ve become laughable at communicating. Our political speechwriters have reduced critical concepts like justice, terror, faith, and duty to background noise through patronizing repetition and misappropriation. Our cultural critics are vapid in print, sloppy on the web, and embarrassing to hear in person. William Safire is our keeper of the language, for god sakes.

Murrow was an exceptional mind, to be sure. His forthright delivery of taut, meticulously-crafted thoughts makes comparison to Hemmingway seem apt. Murrow’s English was honest, gentlemanly, communicative, and direct. Every word was purposed to shape the world, not merely to describe it. The result is still exceptional and refreshing to hear.

I do not believe the linguistic doomsaying cast on new communications mediums: instant and text messaging, forums and chat rooms, weblogs and online journals. I’m of the camp that believes any use of written language is a positive use; experimentation is the path to discovery and improvement.

I worry, however, that we are already in the midst of a generation of Americans that is unable to communicate verbally, perhaps because so much emphasis has been placed on written language. Listen to the voices in your world: our leaders sound imbicilic next to the most junior member of Parliament; our broadcast journalists barely have room to report, much less craft their words; public radio is slipping as the last bastion of American oratory, and podcasts are largely a painful joke.

Listening to Murrow as channeled through David Strathairn sparked in me a demand for more from the universe of speech around me, and it made me want to be a better speaker. See the film, hear the film, and tell me if you feel the same.