Jay Kelly

 

Director Noah Baumbach

Baumbach on the set with George Clooney

Clooney with Adam Sandler

Crudup, Dern, Baumbach, and Sandler

The boys, Baumbach, Sandler, and Clooney

JAY KELLY              C+                                                                                                               USA  Great Britain  Italy  (132 mi)  2025  d: Noah Baumbach   

All my memories are movies.                                                                                                           —Jay Kelly (George Clooney)

A somewhat disjointed, emotionally disconnected attempt to do a Felliniesque 8 ½ (1963) existential reassessment of one’s life and career, elevating 60-ish actor George Clooney to the Marcello Mastroianni role, where a whirlwind of behind-the-scenes showbiz personalities are suddenly thrust centerstage, and the surrounding chaos of celebrity entourages suddenly become the focus of the film.  Written with Clooney in mind by Baumbach and British actress Emily Mortimer, both also making brief screen appearances, where only a real movie star would get the underlying nuances of this role, re-examining familiar Baumbach themes of family, separation, resentment, and personal reckoning, the question remains whether anything of real value arises from this trail of missed opportunities and perplexing existential confusion in this overlong film, lacking the subversive edge of his earlier work.  Is George Clooney working with Noah Baumbach a match made in heaven?  Jettisoning a movie career from his success as a handsome leading man in television, Clooney’s best work remains Steven Soderbergh’s Out of Sight (1998), which features early performances in the budding careers of George Clooney and Jennifer Lopez, not yet stars, yet both sizzling onscreen, followed by David O. Russell’s THREE KINGS (1999), the Coen Brother’s O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000), BURN AFTER READING (2008), and Hail, Caesar! (2016), Soderbergh’s OCEANS ELEVEN (2001), Stephen Gaghan’s SYRIANA (2005), Tony Gilroy’s MICHAEL CLAYTON (2007), Jason Reitman’s UP IN THE AIR (2009), Alexander Payne’s The Descendants (2011), Clooney’s own GOOD NIGHT, AND GOOD LUCK (2005), The Ides of March (2011), and The Monuments Men (2014), Alfonso Cuarón’s Gravity – 3D (2013), and Jodie Foster’s Money Monster (2016), where there are ups and downs, but he remains one of the familiar faces of Hollywood.  As for Baumbach, these are not exactly the snarky intelligent kids or anxiety-ridden young adults that comprise so much of his early work in Kicking and Screaming (1995), The Squid and the Whale (2005), Margot at the Wedding (2007), Greenberg (2010), Frances Ha (2012), While We're Young (2014), The Meyerwitz Stories (New and Selected) (2017), and Marriage Story (2019).  What this film brings is plenty of Hollywood money from Netflix, feeling excessive and over-bloated, yet that’s the point, featuring an A-list cast that is to die for, and while essentially cut from the same cloth, this breezy effort doesn’t hold a candle to Ingmar Bergman’s Wild Strawberries (Smultronstället) (1957), Bob Fosse’s All That Jazz (1979), or Woody Allen’s Stardust Memories  (1980), lacking the brutal autobiographical honesty those films bring.  Strangely opening with a quote from Sylvia Plath, a highbrow American poet whose career abruptly ended all too soon, it eloquently provides the framework for the film, “It’s a hell of a responsibility to be yourself.  It’s much easier to be someone else or nobody at all.”  The lush orchestration by Nicholas Britell is cheesy and overly melodramatic, literally pounding us over the head, though the piano score is more in balance with the brief moments of introspection, while the 35mm cinematography by Linus Sandgren, who has worked before with Damien Chazelle and David O. Russell, is always complimentary, yet this is a vacuous film with no lingering aftereffects, where what’s missing are the meticulously crafted human emotions in Baumbach’s other films, nominated three times for a Best Screenplay Oscar, feeling more like escapist, big budget entertainment, which is unlike anything else in his career of smaller yet boldly personal filmmaking.

What this film lacks, however, is Fellini’s visionary artistry, dark and surreal, creating a psychic kaleidoscope in which Mastroianni’s virtues and peccadilloes, fears and hopes, are quite literally paraded before our eyes, creating a character so dangerously complex that his image forever became emblematic of Fellini himself.  That doesn’t happen here, as no one associates George Clooney as a mirror image of Baumbach, instead Clooney plays himself and his own stardom in what may well be a career-defining performance, where the dreamlike flashbacks and other intrusions into his midlife crisis feel mildly entertaining, but hardly revelatory, seemingly overly shallow, with too many underdeveloped subplots.  In fact, this could be a candidate for the most insipid and least authentic film in Baumbach’s career, the most mainstream and conventionally old-fashioned, a thoroughly polished product and a hollow crowdpleaser, where it’s hard not to think this film is drastically out of step with the times by dealing with the problems of the super privileged.  While it’s not a disaster in the making, it just feels so frivolous and excessive, like the ravings of an overly selfish man, continually placing his career over family, irrespective of the emotional harm, and while he has second thoughts later in his life, his attempts at reconciliation come up short, as the damage has already been done, where his children really don’t want to be around him anymore, sickened by the emotional negligence he has inflicted into their lives, like a black hole.  It’s hard to feel sympathy for this man, yet he’s emblematic of the kind of powerful men now running the government, elitist billionaires placing career over family, or even the interests of the nation, where it’s all about money and power.  While this raises no real questions about the repercussions of politics or capitalism in our lives, it does expose the empty vacuum left as the price of success, where there’s obviously a trade-off, becoming fabulously wealthy as opposed to happy.  These aren’t the kinds of questions asked by ordinary citizens, where it’s hard to feel sympathy for the privileged super rich, as they have all the advantages.  While there is a chic and sophisticated cool in the way this is presented, it breaks no new ground, with Clooney as famous actor Jay Kelly basically doing a riff on himself and his own publicly acclaimed persona, looking back with regret on certain events that shaped him and his career, examining his personal life and some of the choices he’s made, essentially re-examining the legacy he is leaving behind.  At one point he looks at himself in the mirror and compares himself with movie greats from the past, a very self-aware moment, yet he’s also completely oblivious to the emotional wreckage he leaves in his wake, though he couldn’t have done it without Adam Sandler as his agent Ron Sukenick coming along for the ride, a sidekick who’s always there for him through thick and thin, dropping everything at a moment’s notice, continually assisting him any way he can while sacrificing his own family’s well-being, and in the process places his own personal life in constant turmoil, often turning this into a darkly comical buddy movie, yet the question remains whether this is a vanity project or whether this actually holds any lasting artistic value.  You might think it would matter that so many in the cast are celebrity offspring (Clooney, Laura Dern, Riley Keough, and Stacy Keach) or married to fellow artists (Mortimer, Baumbach, Greta Gerwig, Billy Crudup, and Patrick Wilson), gaining personal insight through their own life experiences, and while it may help with the minute personal details of their roles, this is no romanticized ode to Hollywood, more of a cautionary tale about what we sacrifice for success.

There are self-reflective similarities between this film and Joachim Trier’s Sentimental Value (Affeksjonsverdi) (2025), both exploring the dysfunctional relationship between a man and his two adult daughters, who he mostly ignored to focus on his career, while also exploring the delicate balance between art and identity, but Trier handles the familial relationships with so much more complexity and depth, showcasing a poetic eloquence with richly-layered filmmaking.  Premiering at the Venice Film Festival, this is a movie built around the making of movies, as we see the daily anxieties and the juggled priorities, though it opens with a dizzyingly immersive film set, as the camera glides around in a long, single take with overlapping dialogue, reminiscent of Robert Altman’s The Player (1992), catching all the various personalities in shadowed silhouettes, producers, managers, camera operators and assistants, yet at the center of this orchestrated chaos is Jay Kelly (Clooney) lying on the ground with a gunshot wound, offering a near-death monologue that wraps up the film before asking the director whether he can go again, thinking he can add more to the scene, essentially opening the door for viewers to enter this highly exclusive world, with a myriad of voices heard offscreen.  “What do you say to people who say you only play yourself?”  It’s a question asked not only of actor Jay Kelly, but of Clooney himself, who’s been playing some version of himself since the beginning, incredibly handsome, suave and debonair, with a witty rapport, like a reincarnation of Cary Grant, one of only four men to have been voted “the sexiest man alive” twice by People magazine, the others being Richard Gere, Brad Pitt, and Johnny Depp.  Sandler showed a different side of himself in Paul Thomas Anderson’s Punch-Drunk Love (2002), turning compulsively out of control with a gambling addiction in the Safdie Brothers’ Uncut Gems (2019), while here he straddles the line between having his own life and disappearing in the Jay Kelly universe, and is on the phone for nearly the entire film, usually talking to his wife Lois (Greta Gerwig) about the latest family emergency, where he’s emotionally exhausted, torn between two worlds, trying to hold his family together from afar.  But he’s a trusted male companion for Kelly, omnipresent, going wherever the actor goes, as does Laura Dern as his publicity agent Liz, following him around along with an everpresent bodyguard Silvano (Giovanni Zeqireya), hair and make-up artist Candy (Emily Mortimer), and even an intern.  While the man likes to complain that he’s always alone, someone is always by his side, where his every whim is catered to, but they’re simply invisible to him, as he takes them for granted.  “We’re not to him what he is to us,” Liz tells Ron.  Putting himself on a pedestal is the first order of business, where perhaps most especially his family become secondary figures in the life he’s chosen, like a solar planet with the moons and stars orbiting around him, where tuning them out seems necessary, at least to him, to maintain his own professional equilibrium, as he needs to be hyper-fixated on each successive role.  Despite this, he can be standoffish and emotionally inaccessible, keeping viewers, fans, family and friends at arm’s length, lacking the exploratory, character-driven nature of Baumbach’s previous films.  Maybe this reveals more about the destructive power of the industry itself than having anything to do with the actual world around us.  In Joseph L. Mankiewicz’s showbiz movie ALL ABOUT EVE (1950), Bette Davis gives an infamous monologue while contemplating her own stardom, “The things you drop on your way up the ladder so you can move faster.  You forget you’ll need them again.” 

Much like Richard Linklater, Baumbach has built a career accentuating the complex interactions between characters, where his emotional authenticity established him as an important voice of independent cinema, yet there’s much less of that here, sacrificing the usual finesse, as characters routinely appear and disappear within the scenes, with few sticking around, outside of Ron, making it much more difficult to assess, as this never really delves deep enough to challenge the viewers.  Supposedly the most reflective performance in Clooney’s career, “the last of the classic movie stars,” he’s an actor facing his mortality while contemplating his personal and professional choices, feeling more like a road movie, told in a non-linear fashion, with extensive use of flashbacks, moving between his real self and his movie star façade.  Perhaps the most powerful scene in the entire film is a mix of the past and the present, meeting up with an old friend from his young actor studio days, as he runs into Billy Crudup as Timothy, sharing a drink in the present, rehashing old times, recalling that Timothy was the most talented actor in the class, someone who could make anything interesting, and to prove it, he has him read the menu, which turns out to be flabbergastingly good, taking us all by surprise, making so much out of so little.  For a few minutes of screen time, it’s simply phenomenal.  But their respective careers took off in opposite directions following a single audition, with a younger Timothy (Louis Partridge) nervously reading for the part, with a younger Kelly (Charlie Rowe) feeding him the lines, until the director Peter Schneider (Jim Broadbent, modeled on Peter Bogdanovich, who mentored Baumbach) decides to switch the roles and have Kelly audition for the part.  The scene plays out with Clooney in the present mode off to the side of the frame looking on at their younger selves, like stepping into a memory, a technique that was used by Robert Altman in Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean (1982), a pivotal moment in their lives where he essentially stole the role from Timothy, who continues to hold a grudge to this day, angrily giving Kelly a black eye before the scene is over, happening offscreen, requiring the expertise of a make-up artist to smooth over the rough edges for his public image.  The real bone of contention is between his two kids, two daughters, Jessica (Riley Keough) and Daisy (Grace Edwards), with the completely estranged Jessica trying to pull him into her therapy session, amenable at first, but he quickly exits when he realizes it’s all about the mistakes he’s made, getting a little bit too real, while Daisy is traveling through Europe with friends before heading off to college in the fall, surprising her unannounced on the train one day, which is an unwelcome visit when she realizes he’s been stalking her through her credit card transactions, wanting nothing more to do with him.  Yet these are the two people whose approval he most wants in his life now that his career is slowing down, suddenly finding himself with time on his hands.  While he’s essentially en route to pick up a lifetime achievement award in Tuscany, watching tribute clips of his own films, which turn out to be Clooney’s movies in his own CINEMA PARADISO (1998) moment, continually thinking about his life along the way, his world splits apart at the seams, seemingly losing everyone he holds dear, where his view of himself comes under scrutiny, regretting he wasn’t there more for his children, where the wondrous flashbacks of the two giggling girls doing amateur outdoor theater as Kelly and Kelly in the back yard are simply adorable, but it’s a reminder of what he’s left behind, adding a tragic humanistic element to the price of fame.     

Out of Sight

 

Director Steven Soderbergh

Soderbergh with Jennifer Lopez

George Clooney and Jennifer Lopez

OUT OF SIGHT         A-                                                                                                             USA  (123 mi)  1998  d: Steven Soderbergh     

I'm just gonna sit here, take it easy and wait for you to screw up.                                                   —Karen Sisco (Jennifer Lopez)

This foursome of films from 1998 to 2000, OUT OF SIGHT (1998), The Limey (1999), ERIN BROCKOVICH (2000), and Traffic (2000) represent Soderbergh working at the peak of his creative powers.  This is one of his finest efforts, named Entertainment Weekly’s Sexiest Movie Ever (50 Sexiest Movies Ever - Nick Kaufmann - LiveJournal) in a 2008 poll, a smooth, sophisticated and very sexy Hollywood thriller that features early performances in the budding careers of George Clooney and Jennifer Lopez, not yet stars, yet both sizzling onscreen and romantically involved in the most unorthodox fashion, as he is the handsome and charming Jack Foley, a career bank robber incarcerated at Glades Penitentiary in Florida, while she is Karen Sisco, a smooth-as-ice, intoxicatingly beautiful FBI Federal Marshal.  They meet while locked in the trunk of a getaway car as she’s kidnapped during a prison breakout when he is covered with mud, where the two have time on their hands to chat with one another and break the ice, actually discovering they have a mutual interest in classic Hollywood movies, talking about Faye Dunaway movies of all things, including the bad end of the otherwise likeable Bonnie and Clyde (1967) and Clooney misstating the famous line from Network (1976), also wondering whether Robert Redford hooked up romantically with Dunaway a little too easily in THREE DAYS OF THE CONDOR (1975), while he continues to stroke her thighs, “But in a nice way,” he insists.  Capturing the best of his directorial ideas, with an emphasis on stylish editing, sound, camerawork, frame compositions, and color, while still managing to maintain an independent director’s control over his films, Soderbergh has imported into Hollywood some of the formal preoccupations of experimental filmmaking, such as challenges to character identification and narrative structure, where his visionary style and his habit of playing with the timeline of events gave a new impetus to American cinema, though this inexplicably didn’t do well at the box office.  Adapted by screenwriter Scott Frank from a 1996 Elmore Leonard crime novel, best known for character-driven stories, the ongoing dialogue is exquisite, exuding razor-sharp wit, making excellent use of secondary roles, so much so that the directors could just as easily have been the smart-mouthed and wise-assed Coen Brothers, who perfectly recaptured Clooney’s acerbic criminal persona a few years later in O Brother, Where Art Thou? (2000), while also generating a short-lived TV series appropriately named Karen Sisco, starring Carla Gugino as Sisco.  Casting is one of the more imaginative aspects of the film, as character development through the introduction of new faces continues to surprise the viewer from the first to the last shot, including Catherine Keener as Adele Delisi, Foley’s eccentric ex-wife, also brief appearances by Michael Keaton as FBI agent Ray Nicolette (Sisco’s husband) reprising his role in Quentin Tarantino’s Jackie Brown (1997), while lifelong criminal Samuel L. Jackson from that film also plays a similar role, beautifully photographed by Elliot Davis, typically using a handheld camera, featuring interior hotel scenes with a warm and memorable glow, and a jazzy score by Irish composer David Holmes.  Despite the passage of time, this film has lost none of its sophisticated elegance and charm.    

Seemingly brought together by fate, Foley, with a dubious reputation of more than 200 bank robberies while never using a weapon, fortuitously acknowledges the moment, “It’s like seeing someone for the first time, like you can be passing on the street, and you look at each other for a few seconds, and there’s this kind of a recognition like you both know something.  Next moment the person’s gone, and it’s too late to do anything about it.  And you always remember it because it was there, and you let it go, and you think to yourself, ‘What if I had stopped?  What if I had said something?’  What if, what if... it may only happen a few times in your life.”  Or maybe just once, she adds.  While the relationship is the pulsating heart of the film, like a throwback to the golden age of Bogart and Bacall, both displaying the self-assurance and sexiness that makes them naturally irresistible both to each other and to audiences, there is a novelistic structure onscreen, with more than enough subplots involving a host of vividly drawn characters.  Foley and Sisco don’t really acknowledge their interest in one another, yet in their minds they do, and in an oddly embarrassing moment where neither one is supposed to be where they are, he gives her a short little wave from an elevator as she’s sitting in a hotel lobby, eyes fixed on his before he disappears from view with his fellow partner in crime, Buddy Bragg (Ving Rhames), who helped break him out of prison.  While Foley exercises the buddy system, working professionally in public, or being surrounded by hordes of prison inmates, or ex-cons once he escapes, it’s as if he’s never alone and one wonders if he’s capable of private, reflective thought.  Lopez, on the other hand, sexy and determined, has a smart-mouthed, over-protective, yet adoring father, a now retired marshal (Dennis Farina) who worries about his daughter’s dating habits and thoughtfully gives her a gun for her birthday, but for the most part she exhibits a loner policy, as she doesn’t trust the current misogyny and system of male favoritism in place that represents the state of mind in the ranks of the FBI.  So she’s used to going her own way and taking care of herself, irrespective of what they may think of her.  When she goes looking for a career criminal named Maurice (Don Cheadle), aka Snoopy, a murderous ex-prizefighter, but instead finds Mosella (Viola Davis) as his embittered, long forgotten wife, Sisco does a number on Maurice’s brother, Kenneth (Isaiah Washington), an over-controlling serial rapist and male thug, who instantly senses a hot-blooded woman with a taste for violence, exhibiting a sensual lust for getting down and dirty on the floor with her, so she zaps him with a collapsible baton that leaves him otherwise immobile, saying “You wanted to tussle.  We tussled,” as she calmly walks out the door unscathed.

Following another Elmore Leonard novel brought to the screen, Barry Sonnenfeld’s GET SHORTY (1995), both adapted by Scott Frank and produced by Danny DeVito, this is a collective mosaic of genre pieces from past decades, including shootouts, a jewelry robbery, and prison breaks, full of zooms, jump cuts, flashbacks, flash-forwards, close-ups, freeze frames, and grainy images, as if to remind viewers we are watching a movie, with a heated romance at the center, bathed in the warmth of a retro design, with a deep respect for the classical forms, where much of the beauty of this film is the dazzling interplay between characters, which in the world of criminals is all about exuding an air of confidence, refusing to be defeated or brought down by anybody.  Oddly enough, this is also the same method for initiating romance, which is beautifully done here, one of the highlights of the film, a clever mix of image and dialogue and music, preceded by Sisco sitting alone in a near empty hotel bar being hit on by a bunch of out of town male imbeciles before Foley walks in and they have a serious conversation, where their thoughts jump ahead out of sequence and we see what they are about to do before they actually do it, a co-mingling of the sexual imagination and the real, gorgeously understated, memorably jazzy and intoxicating.  Fascinated by his carefree behavior, in the mold of Clark Gable, even their post-coital conversation has an air of authenticity not shared anywhere else in the film, where Sisco is allowed to have doubts creep in, and Foley, of course, ever vigilant, puts her mind at ease.  They call this little interlude a “timeout” before they resume back to their normal lives, where Foley and Maurice are in competition for finding the big score, the teaser in all film noirs, which in this case is the robbery of $5 million dollars worth of uncut diamonds hidden somewhere in the giant estate of fellow white collar criminal Ripley (Albert Brooks), a Wall Street billionaire who did time in Lompoc for insider trading, where he met Maurice, amusingly paying his accounts in prison by checkbook.  While the first half of the film is set in sunny Miami with those south Florida vibrant colors, where there is a perceived lack of real menace, the second half moves to Detroit in winter, viewed as a dangerous, oppressive place, rendered in darker tones, dominated by nighttime scenes in tightly enclosed spaces.  It’s a snowy night in Detroit filled with sinister possibilities where anything can happen, with an elevated level of suspense galvanized by the unfocused impulses of sadistic black criminal gangsters, yet the film is really about the sexual swagger of Karen Cisco, one badass woman who’s sitting on the outside waiting to bust them.  Generally regarded as one of the most overlooked gems of the 90’s, the film is smart, tense, stylish, well-directed, character driven, atmospheric, and moves at a fast clip, like a screwball comedy, beautifully edited by legendary British editor Anne V. Coates, but the believable chemistry between the unconventional connection between Clooney and Lopez makes all the difference.   

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