Impenetrable ‘Jay Kelly’ does Clooney no favors
“Can we go again?” That question becomes somewhat of a catch phrase for George Clooney’s title character in Noah Baumbach’s Netflix entry, “Jay Kelly.” It’s a query I pondered throughout this 134-minute marathon in which Baumbach made one avoidable blunder after another in telling the deadly dull tale of a silver-haired actor simultaneously coming to terms with his mortality, his legacy and his outright failure as a father, husband and friend.
There’s little doubt that Baumbach and co-scripter Emily Mortimer wrote this sappy “81/2” wannabe with Clooney in mind. Given how blurred the lines are between the two, it’s difficult to discern any difference, particularly the implication that both relied on their looks and charm more than raw talent in amassing fame and fortune. There’s also a lot of Jay’s DNA in Baumbach, a filmmaker who has enjoyed varying degrees of success professionally, but has suffered personally, as revealed in his brilliant, semi-autobiographical Oscar-winner, “Marriage Story.”
Where that film was effortlessly affecting and empathetic, this one is hollow and pretentious. What makes it even more frustrating is that all the necessary pieces are here, which is why you may also be asking, “Can we go again?” If we could, I’d revamp the stilted screenplay to pump up the relatability of Jay and his colorless entourage of manager Ron Sukenick (Adam Sandler), publicist Liz (“Marriage Story” Oscar winner Laura Dern) and makeup artist Candy (Mortimer). Then, I’d devise a story arc more compelling than Jay experiencing a handful of flashbacks while he and his minions stalk the star’s youngest daughter, Daisy (Grace Edwards), on a train en route to Tuscany.
As Jay says, “movies are my memories.” Accordingly, Baumbach borrows a page from Dickens by dispatching Jay, a la Scrooge, on a series of odysseys to revisit seminal moments from his life, played out before him like scenes from a film. These recollections are so mannered and unengaging that they only serve to interrupt the already disjointed flow.
Much of that inconsistency can be traced to Baumbach and Mortimer and their inability to make up their minds about what they want their movie to be. As is, it drifts about, shifting between subplots involving Jay’s one-sided, transactional friendship with Ron and his nagging doubts about the various choices he’s made in his life. The catalyst for this self-reflection is a one-two punch that begins with a dear old friend’s death and ends with Jay’s old college buddy, Timothy (Billy Crudup), preposterously baiting him into a fistfight after the funeral.
It’s all so unmitigatedly contrived. Nothing feels genuine or organic. And that goes double for every member of this impressive ensemble that includes Jim Broadbent as Jay’s mentor, Peter Schneider; Greta Gerwig as Ron’s somewhat frazzled wife, Lois; Stacy Keach as Jay’s seemingly frail father; Eve Hewson as Daphne, a former co-star Jay once memorably shared a bed with; and Riley Keough as Jay’s estranged eldest daughter, Jessica.
Nothing against the performances. All range from perfectly acceptable to outstanding. No, this film’s fatal flaws are traceable to the subpar writing by Baumbach and Mortimer. Their take is so inside Hollywood that there’s zero chance it resonates with anyone unfamiliar with the day-to-day inner workings of a movie set, where egos are in constant need of stroking and designated strokers fulfill their duties without the benefit of loyalty or recognition. I don’t know about you, but I couldn’t care a lick about these self-involved bozos and their petty problems. The result is a bona fide slog.
I swear I developed a crick in the neck, either from repeatedly looking at my watch or from shaking my head in disbelief over every one of those cockeyed “This Is Your Life” cinematic journeys into Jay’s past. It’s as if the writers watched “81/2” and “Stardust Memories” on a loop for inspiration. And in almost every case, these glimpses into yesteryear only further alienate us from Jay, who never projects as anything but a selfish jerk.
And don’t get me started on the clunky expository dialogue that tends to run on, like when Ron and Liz recount their brief romance from years ago, an affair so indelible that they feel the need to evoke the experience in great detail. It’s cringeworthy. As is the nepotism exhibited in casting Sandler’s daughter, Sadie, as his onscreen offspring and tennis partner, adding little value. Ditto for Baumbach, going meta by stepping out from behind the camera to play one of Jay’s directors.
To their credit, everyone looks great, as does the film itself. But where’s the human connection? And where is the laughter? It is a dramedy, isn’t it? Could have fooled me. I suspect that Baumbach misguidedly believed his picture could bank entirely on Clooney’s charisma and oversized personality. Sorry, not happening. Neither is “Jay Kelly,” a wonky tale of a mecurial star imploding into an existential black hole. My advice? Don’t get sucked in.
Movie review
Jay Kelly
Rated: R for language
Cast: George Clooney, Adam Sandler, Laura Dern, Billy Crudup, Greta Gerwig, Stacy Keach, Emily Mortimer, Riley Keough, Jim Broadbent and Eve Hewson
Director: Noah Baumbach
Writers: Noah Baumbach and Emily Mortimer
Runtime: 134 minutes
Where: In theaters (limited) and streaming on Netflix
Grade: C-
