I saw Michael Clayton last night. The issue of accountability, or the lack thereof, threads its way throughout the movie. Simply put, no one is willing to take responsibility for anything. And, depressingly true to life, there seems to be an inverse correlation between taking responsibility and the rich and powerful, as those with more power run away from it the fastest. There's the Westchester big wig who calls in Clooney, the fixer, to clean up the mess he left behind at a hit and run. And Don Jeffries – the CEO of UNorth, the agrobusiness giant – who signs and then suppresses a report laying out the health hazards of their product. And don't forget UNorth's top lawyer who sweeps the problems under the rug by outsourcing wiretapping, surveillance, and eventually murder. Even the title figure Clooney portrays does not eagerly don his superhero cape. He is dragged in after his friend and colleague is murdered, and he himself barely survives a car bombing. While Clooney's character sticks up for the little guys in the end, it's only once he begins to question what has become of his life that his values start to shift and realign.