Of course, most filmmakers would be content to stick to using lighting, camera angles, editing and maybe black and white film to help set the tone, but Soderbergh has gone all-out, reverting to the technology of the era, including mics, lighting and lenses, to create a truly authentic experience. Couple this with the acting style and the dramatic film score by Thomas Newman, and the illusion that this is indeed a film from the ’40s is almost complete.

Yet somewhat incongruent to all this effort on Soderbergh’s part is a script that includes sex scenes and swearing. It’s not that Paul Attanasio’s screenplay is bad — it’s actually very good — but for this purpose it just doesn’t suit.

Set in post-war Germany in 1945, the plot follows journalist Jake Geismer (Clooney), who has been sent to cover the Potsdam conference but soon finds himself caught up in something larger. Cate Blanchett plays Lena Brandt, a prostitute and old flame of Geisner’s, whose story seems much more interesting than she’s willing to let on. And finally, there’s Tobey Maguire as Geisner’s assigned driver, cast against type and excelling as a seemingly “nice guy” with a mean, ugly streak underneath.

It’s hard not to admire Soderbergh’s audacity in sticking to outdated technology in order to bring us a film that feels caught in the era in which it is set. The question remains, however: is it enjoyable?

For film students, it certainly is, because it’s an experiment in film technique. Furthermore, it’s hard not to grin during the final scene in particular (which I won’t spoil but will note that the film’s poster is a big clue). But as a cinematic experience on its own terms, The Good German comes up short.

The performances, however, are all uniformly excellent, with Cate Blanchett in particular seemingly existing in another era — she truly is one of the great actresses of our time.

The Good German is a fine film that’s worth seeking out if you’re someone who isn’t afraid of the quirky and unusual. Is it a great film? No, but it’s very good nonetheless.

Michael Clayton (Clooney) is a “fixer” in a legal firm in New York, troubleshooting the unexpected and cleaning up other people’s messes. He doesn’t particularly enjoy his job, which seems closer to legal janitorial work than anything of great significance, and his personal life is spiralling out of control with a failed business venture, a gambling addiction and mounting debts. When Arthur Edens (Tom Wilkinson), one of the firm’s top partners and an old friend of Clayton’s, has a spectacular manic episode during a filmed deposition, Clayton is once again relied upon to rectify the situation.

On the surface, this film concerns the kind of corporate greed that puts the bottom line ahead of ordinary people’s lives, but there’s something more fundamental going on here. Edens, through a series of rants brought about by his unmedicated bipolar disorder, talks about the filth and taint that he’s accumulated over the years in his role of defending the indefensible. On the other end of the spectrum is Karen Crowder (Tilda Swinton), the lead counsel for the company U/North (whom Edens was defending), who effectively sells her soul in order to please her masters, willing to sacrifice any moral code she may possess. Clayton seems somewhere in the middle, caught in an amoral malaise that seems both endless and futile.

The four main stars are all excellent. Clooney’s Clayton is clearly a man fed-up with his job — his eyes and facial tics betray the years of having to fix the problems of people who seem least deserving of help. Swinton, meanwhile, plays Crowder as a woman clearly over her head and looking for easy answers, and you can see on her face a barely contained panic that could surface at any moment. Sydney Pollack as Marty Bach, another partner at the firm, is, of course, as reliable as ever, giving his character an edge and sense of menace that might not have been there otherwise.

I was, however, well prepared for Tom Wilkinson to resort to scene chewing as the manic depressive Arthur Edens, but he’s consistently on-note. One scene in particular has Edens raving one moment yet completely lucid the next, and yet Wilkinson pulls off the transition seamlessly.

Gilroy, as both writer and director, has achieved something few manage to pull off: a confident yet understated, intelligent directorial debut. This is not a film that necessarily signals the arrival of a great auteur, but its quality and craftsmanship serve it well nonetheless.