If (500) Days of Summer was this summer's snapshot of modern day relational reality, Jason Reitman's Up the Air is this winter's take on 21st Century relational reality if it grew up, took its Ritalin on a regular basis, and found itself in the corporate restructuring business. It is a look at what might have been Zooey Deschanel's side of the story—as experienced by George Clooney. It is an intimate journey of self-realization which refuses to allow a culture of understood and expected disillusionment to exist without challenge or question. It is slice of life that blatantly asks us what our relationships really weigh, and why we still carry them with us. And it is film that is not to be missed.

Reitman's newest anti-hero is Ryan Bingham (Clooney), a forty-something corporate downsizer who takes pride in the hundreds of thousands of miles he has racked up flying around to different parts of the country to fire people. As he tells us when the film begins, he loves to fly, he hates being home, and he sees anything more than he can fit into his carryon suitcase (including any relationship that lasts any longer than a layover) as a burden which humans are simply not meant to carry. Cue a proposal for remote firings (via Internet) that threatens to take him off the road, enter Alex (Vera Farmiga)—a fellow business traveler who Ryan bonds with in Dallas—and Natalie (Anna Kendrick)—the young employee with whom Ryan is tasked with teaching the lay-off business, and what Ryan finds himself up against is a challenge to his disconnected lifestyle that keeps finding its way back into his carryon.

Why exactly Ryan is so committed to his free-floating lifestyle, we never really know. But as soon as the film opens, we are immediately exposed to a system of logic that pretty much backs up his lifestyle one hundred percent. It is the network of corporate value. It is the world of gains and losses. It is a reality in which people are no more than dollar amounts which either add to or subtract from the net value of the companies at which they work. When Ryan's case looks at him and asks, "This is what I get in return for 30 years of service to my company?," we know that how many years or how hard he worked makes no difference if he is not delivering a profit. When another employee asks, "Did I do something wrong? Is there something I can do different here?," we know that the answer to both questions is likely, "No."

If your years or efforts mean we have enough money to pay you and keep making money, we keep you. If not, you are not worth being a part of our "family."

Take the hotel shuttle to the closest airport to jet Ryan off to his next firing squad assignment, and the corporate view of human and relational value only continues to expand. One on side you've got Ryan's obsession with traveling with as little as possible and choreographing his every move so he gets from one hub to the next as quickly as possible&ellips; all so he can rack up as many frequent flyer miles as possible. One the other side you've got the airlines that recognize Ryan for the sheer number of hours he spends in the air by giving him a few perks, another mile on his record, and his very own number stamped on a shiny "members-only" card.

Thank you for giving us your money. Thank you for packing so light you cost us even less money. Thank you for leaving your home and family behind as much as you can. Let us recognize you by assigning you a number.

As Alex outright admits of the recognitions—it is nothing but artificial hospitality. But as she also confesses, she is a sucker for it, and so is Ryan.

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