“Everyone wants to be Cary Grant. Even I want to be Cary Grant.” – Cary Grant
Although Noah Baumbach’s “Jay Kelly” opens quoting Sylvia Plath, Cary Grant’s cheeky quip was on mind when Jay Kelly (George Clooney) leans in to confront himself in a mirror. Having retreated to his trailer after wrapping a movie, Kelly stares at himself and repeats his name. Then, he practically chants a few other boldfaced names, several of whom Clooney has over the years drawn comparisons to: Gary Cooper, Grant, Clark Gable, Robert De Niro (who was no slouch in front of a mirror himself). Toeing an uncertain line between cynical Hollywood satire and a sappy, meta redemption song, “Jay Kelly” spends far too much time playing pretend self-reflection. A dreamy international cast keeps the lights flickering, but Baumbach’s film lacks the snarl (“The Squid and the Whale”) and palpable agony (“Marriage Story”) of his more personal work, pinnacles not even the legendary Jay Kelly can rise to.
A roving, stylish saga which starts in Los Angeles, flies private to France and then trains and busses it to Italy, “Jay Kelly” has a striking and original visual palate. Shot by Linus Sandgren (“La La Land”) “Jay” flaunts its ample travel budget, and the giddy camera is constantly on the move, leading then following a restless ensemble in pursuit of the mercurial star. Nicholas Britell’s score elegantly tickles the mood, volleying from somber to silly, mostly avoiding emotional manipulation. Besides, as we learn, Jay is the chief manipulator in town. But while mourning the death of a mentor (Jim Broadbent) and his youngest daughter Daisy’s (Grace Edwards) final summer before college, Jay reconnects with his old pal Timothy (Billy Crudup) who forces a pivot towards introspection.
Baumbach Doesn’t Linger on Discomfort
It’s nothing new, Jay’s agent Ron (Adam Sandler) reminds publicist Liz (Laura Dern). Jay always gets this way—contemplative, regretful, threatening retirement—after finishing a movie. Where did the time go? Where was Jay? And how can he make up to everyone right now? Baumbach imposes a miniseries worth of thorny questions on Jay, a symbol of gargantuan Hollywood glamour and the attendant tropes. He’s a handsome, charismatic star who’s aging gracefully, but still requires a good ego stroking (and cheesecake, hair plugs and a black Sharpie over his grey eyebrows) on the reg. After a bruising night out with Timothy—a former master of method acting, now a child therapist—Jay makes the intrepid and idiotic decision to stalk his daughter on her European vacation, the sort of this-won’t-end-well initiative-taking/self-sabotage that Baumbach (who co-wrote the script with Emily Mortimer) has curated so skillfully throughout his career.
Only, here Baumbach doesn’t linger in the potential discomfort. He punts aside a genuine Jay Kelly reckoning in favor of a glossy protective sheen and mediocre jokes about awards seasons, California and therapy culture. A forced train meeting bounces awkwardly from a dad-Daisy talk to action-hero Jay retrieving a fellow passenger’s stolen handbag. Jay then continues moving forward by looking back, finding neither peace nor closure because the film just keeps moving out and away from any cohesive philosophical core. Jay’s memory humblebrags back through loves lost and abandoned. Through a liberal use of flashbacks, the older Jay revisits young Jay (reminding me of Richard Gere in “Oh, Canada”) being talented, hot and absentee. The signature Clooney glint implies no regrets at the roads not taken. To paraphrase his older daughter Jessica (Riley Keough): if he’d wanted to spend time with his family, he would have spent time with them.
A Film Too Punch-Drunk on Ideas
It’s almost redundant to call “Jay Kelly” gorgeous, because Jay Kelly is George Clooney. But, credit due to Baumbach, Sandgren and Production Designer Mark Tildesley for crafting a sumptuous backdrop that stands in for the dream factories that served as the background to many a Jay Kelly triumph. A whopper of a supporting cast—including the great European arthouse stalwarts Alba Rohrwacher (“Happy as Lazarro”) and Lars Eidinger (“Everyone Else”)—energize the travel sequences, delivering a satisfying composition that lands somewhere between a Fellini-esque spectacle and Sandler’s own paradise-set buddy films. But, while big-budget Baumbach (“White Noise”) can be exhilarating, the enormous scale and generous runtime of “Jay Kelly” widens its storytelling net to an extent that it becomes a chore to track the accruing themes—parenting, friendship, ambition, tennis—that are explored, recycled and underdeveloped.
However pure Jay believes his intentions to be, his follow through is uneven. The same can be said for Baumbach. Assembling a dynamite suite of collaborators, Baumbach has indeed made an ambitious film but maybe got a little too punch drunk on ideas. Plath’s quote at the beginning stands in for Grant’s incisive, self-pitying witticism: “It’s a hell of a responsibility to be yourself. It’s much easier to be somebody else or nobody at all.” For all Jay’s lip service about changing his ways, it’s unclear that Jay can really see himself in that mirror. Although his only companion remaining at the end is Ron, Baumbach’s resounding loyalty rules in favor of the star and the machine that made him (and them!). Alone but never lonesome, Jay will at least have what made him happier, if not totally happy: movies, fans, and the gift of looking away from the mirror.
“Jay Kelly,” a Netflix release, is a Main Slate selection at the New York Film Festival. Its New York premier is on Monday, September 29th, followed by several other festival screenings.
