Hey, I know — let’s have George Clooney get blown up and burnt to death on the way back from Westchester to Manhattan in Michael Clayton. Forget the mystical moment with the horses. He’s a flawed guy anyway. A fixer, a janitor and a shortfaller so let’s kill him. Better that way. We can just insert a bit in which Clayton, before leaving for Westchester, mails that incriminating memo to the N.Y. Times. That way the audience will know that Tilda Swinton, Ken Howard and U-North will pay in the end.