We cannot defend freedom abroad by deserting it at home.” Those words sound familiar? From critics of our current administration, maybe? Not quite.

This line was spoken a half-century ago by famed TV newsman Edward R. Murrow, best known as the man who brought down the commie-hunting Sen. Joseph McCarthy.

And with broadcast journalism today billing Paris Hilton’s every sneeze as top news, Murrow’s legendary battle as the subject of “Good Night, and Good Luck” is far less dusty than it may at first sound. “Good Night” opens with Murrow’s chillingly relevant speech warning of the dangers of complacent broadcast journalism, then sets out to give a lesson in ass-whooping reporting from an era when the risks weren’t much different — losing the sponsors, losing your job, losing the audience to celebrity talk shows — but they were risks a brave few journalists (and just as few heroic bosses) were willing to take. And when journalists do this, history shows it may just change its course (see also: Watergate). Yet what could have become a boring civics lecture instead turns out to be a rousing little marvel of a film.

Director George Clooney sure seems to have a thing for telling the lives of the men that shaped television (his daddy was a TV newsman too), but this time around, the result is light years away from the glitzy, dizzy “Confessions of a Dangerous Mind.” “Good Night” is all restrained elegance, modest yet direct, just like Murrow himself — and that, friends, is a rare and good thing. Filmed in a dazzling, luxurious black and white, Clooney wisely chose to use real footage of McCarthy, who, sweaty and zealous, plays himself rather too well, since Clooney has said that audiences during test screenings felt that he was “overacting.” Casting Murrow must have been a task only slightly less daunting. Clooney at first considered taking the role himself, but along came a man who made it the role of a lifetime.

David Strathairn plays the chain-smoking man of integrity like nobody’s business. By all accounts, he looks nothing like the actual host of CBS’s “See it Now,” but is eerily spot-on in manner and speech. Sure, his character (or, for that matter, any of the others) doesn’t seem to have much of a life outside the CBS offices, but who are we kidding here — they’re news journalists. They don’t have time for that. The camera follows Murrow and his gang from the hectic office to the corner bar and back to the office, never shooting outside (maybe serious journalists don’t get to see the sky, either). Even the film’s soundtrack is in situ, with Diane Reeves belting gorgeous jazz tunes from inside a CBS recording studio. But, by some magic, none of this gets claustrophobic. From the moment Murrow decides to challenge McCarthy over the unfair dismissal of a pilot from the U.S. Navy — the pilot’s family allegedly read Communist texts, but the proof is kept sealed away — the viewer turns into one of Murrow’s teammates, nervous and excited and tugging at the collar of his shirt every time the studio’s camera starts rolling.

What a team it is. Roll call: You’ve got the superb Frank Langella as the concerned boss. You’ve got Robert Downey, Jr., and Patricia Clarkson as a couple in hiding due to company rules that prohibit marriage between co-workers. You’ve got a wrenching Ray Wise as a “pinko” hounded to suicide by the terror of the times. Hell, you’ve even got Tate Donovan, playing, um, some guy in the office looking pretty serious. If anything, there’s too much talent to fit in here.

For all the gravity of the film, there’s humor lurking. Throughout, the dry banter between Murrow and his producer Fred Friendly (played discreetly by Clooney) takes some of the edge off their righteous crusade. Then there’s glimpses of Murrow’s other show — the fluffier “Person to Person” — which provides a surreal moment in which we watch Murrow ask Liberace (played by real footage) if he’s found anyone special. Answer: He hasn’t found the right gal yet. Yeah, not Murrow’s finest moment, but the show put the bread on the table, and the film is judicious in not turning the man into a saint.

“Good Night,” despite its lengthy use of actual footage, is no documentary. Those looking for a refresher course on McCarthyism, look elsewhere. This is a movie tailor-made for all those who have somewhere along the way lost faith in journalists as watchdogs (yeah, you). But more than nostalgia, it’s a tale of hope — just a little. And above all, thank you, Mr. Clooney, for giving journalism teachers something to spice up their curriculum. There’s only so many times one can see “All the President’s Men.”