Jason Reitman is the new big success story for directors for the last five years. After spending a few years directing a couple of short independant films, he busts out of the mold with his first full length motion picture, “Thank You for Smoking”. When this movie came out, it knocked me off my feet. He was somehow able to create a satire on the life of a lobbyist for the tobacco industry while somehow making you not want to curb stomp him, but instead feel for his situation and almost understand the arguments he presents in favor of big tobacco. Next, he came out with a little jem known as “Juno”, which didn’t seem like much at first glance — a story of a teenage girl who gets knocked up by her not-really boyfriend in the heat of mutual boredom — which really turned into an hilariously exaggerated look at just how weird and damned insane teenage love can be.

With “Up in the Air”, Reitman takes that same quarky almost caricature-esque nature he has of portraying his characters and delivers another interesting character study into the life of a man who you are both meant to loath and feel sorry for at the same time. There are truly no redeeming qualities to George Clooney’s character, Ryan Bingham except for his fast witted sense of humor and his complete disregard for the basic human connections most of us make on a daily basis. Granted, when you first think about it, something like that wouldn’t necessarily amount to much of an appeal for a character, but if you think about what makes literary figures interesting, it is how much they differ from ourselves.

On the surface, “Up in the Air” is the classic story of an overworked, materialistic man with no concept of the true meaning of love, freindship and human interaction and then meets somebody who changes all of the ideas he used to hold and maintain as comfort. He is comforted by the fact that when he gets to an airport, his entire life can fit into a carry on luggage bag with absolutely no ties to the place he just left, other than the heap of employees he just got finished firing. This movie could have been so easy to have made boring, redundant and uninteresting, but instead we get a film that takes chances and really brings some new life into the romantic comedy genre.

What Reitman manages to get right about a story like this, and what in the hands of a less talented director would have failed to do, was present the complete subtleties of the inevitable transformation George Clooney’s character goes through as the movie progresses. Never does the movie stop and slap the audience in the face with a clear indication that something fundamental was happening with Ryan Bingham other than the soft easing nudge towards a more sympathetic appreciation for what he’s going through.

I found this film to be a complete success in almost every respect. It was genuine, unique and poignant for the current economic situation we’ve managed to find ourselves in. Which reminds me, everybody needs to stay till the ending credits. For one, you’ll be surprised to find out who plays some of the fired employees and there’s a special little musical number which ties the movie up very nicely.

“Listen, Clooney”, shouted Ingrid Newkirk over the telephone, “this is vitally important. We need a sample of your sweat, damnit!

“Who is this?”, asked Clooney, poking his chin in admiration.

“We don’t have time for questions!”

“Well, you know. Instead of that, you could have told me who you were. It would probably have taken up far less time, considering now I’m going to ask you again. So, who the hell is this?”

“You play it tough, Clooney. Alright, I’ll bite. You want to play it that way?”

“Is this a game? I’ll be white. Can I move first?”

“Wait, what? No, listen… George – may I call you George?”

“No. You can call me Batman if you like, though.”

“… Listen, Clooney. All I meant to say was.. urgh, now I’ve lost my train of thought.”

In the background, a voice shouted in affirmation, “His sweat, Ingrid! His sweat!”.

“Oh goodness,” continued Newkirk, “I can’t believe I forgot. Listen, Clooney. Your sweat. We need it.”

Silence.

“Clooney?”

More silence.

“Batman?”

“I’m here. What’s the problem, commissioner?”

Newkirk stammered in confusion. She would not be deterred, however.

“Here’s the deal, Batman. Eh… Joker’s escaped from,” she mutes the reciever, “what’s that place called?”, she asks her assistants, “Markam? Bakram? Guantanamo? Arkham! He’s escaped from Arkham, Batman. We need your help!”

“The Joker! That devilish fiend!” retorted Clooney, still toying with his chin. “Where did I put my mask, now… Is it in the closet? No, those are my Ocean’s 11 suits. Hey, don’t tell the agency, eh? They think a temp stole them. Morons. Hmmm… How about in the chest in the guest room. Ah, there it is. My precious.”

“Cloo… Batman? You still there?”

Amidst the static, Newkirk heard a brustling sound on Clooney’s end.

“Yes! Alfred, activate the bat-elevator! To the Bat-mobile! Alfred? Hey, what did you do with Alfred?”

“What? Me? Clooney, enough of this. I never would have thought you’d make asking for your sweat in order to manufacture a new line of tofu modeled around your natural smell more awkward than it already is. You could have just said no.”

“You clever little wench! I know you’ve taken Alfred! What, you think you can just come in here and buy off my butlers and not expect to be called on it? I’ll find you. And when I do, I’ll kill you!”

“Clooney, seriously. You can get out of character now.”

“DEAD, you hear me! You’re dead!”

“Ok, thanks for your time, Clooney. My reps will call your reps and we’ll get an official response from you. Have a good one. Oh, and don’t forget, save the whales.”

Newkirk hung up the phone and turned to her assistants in bemusement. “That did not work out nearly as well as I had hoped it would,” said Newkirk. “That was almost as bad as the time we had to explain our big crematorium out back. Who’s idea of CloFu was it, anyway? Tell them they’re fired.”

Back at Wayne Manor, Clooney was rushing to his library.

“Who was on the phone, Batman?” asked Robin expectantly.

“Two-Face, Robin. It was Two-Face. He’s got Alfred!”

THE END

But seriously, Clooney’s actual response is way better than anything I could ever come up with.