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.     

A Sense of History

 

Director Mike Leigh

Jim Broadbent caricature

writer and actor Jim Broadbent

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A SENSE OF HISTORY – made for TV                  A                                                                   Great Britain  (26 mi)  1992  d: Mike Leigh

If anything should happen to me I DO want this film to be shown.                                           —23^rd Earl of Leete (Jim Broadbent)

Made after Life Is Sweet (1990), still very early in Mike Leigh’s career, shot the same year he made NAKED (1993), yet this rare, hilariously inventive film short feels more like an outlier, like nothing else he has ever done.  Going back to 1970, something traumatic happened when he was directing an amateur production of Brecht’s The Life of Galileo at the Bermuda Arts Festival, which Leigh described as an “atrocious experience,” vowing to never direct anything other than his own material ever again.  This project, however, conceived by longtime friend and collaborator Jim Broadbent, changed his mind, drawn from the arduously strict Leigh style of inventing and developing a character, initially shown as a Channel 4 TV comedy drama, this turns into a one-man show that unfolds as a virtual monologue.  While Broadbent is known primarily for his acting on stage and screen, he also wrote several television projects going back to the early 80’s culminating with this scathing satire on the British aristocracy, conceived at the end of the conservative Thatcher government rule when the rich got richer and the poor got poorer (Margaret Thatcher Ruined Britain), with this film delving into the psychopathic mindset of the aristocracy, where preservation of self, maintaining one’s social position, takes precedence over and above all other things, avoiding legal consequences while abiding by a set of rules that exist only for themselves.  In a completely unexpected aside, Broadbent spent a good part of his career doing hand-carved, wooden sculptural work (Jim Broadbent: Gallery) that reflects his ceaseless interest in creating characters, which are largely extensions of himself, much like the Michelle Williams character in Kelly Reichardt’s Showing Up (2022), where the artwork she creates are little pieces of herself.  Directed by Mike Leigh but written by and starring Broadbent, still in his early 40’s but playing an elderly man looking back on his life (accurately resembling his appearance 30-years later), where he looks like one of his sculptures, ragged and frail, teetering on the edge, with fuzzy, facial hair growing out of his cheek, not noticed at first, but a symbol of the grotesque, offering a window into his wretched soul.  This film was included as a bonus feature on Criterion’s TOPSY TURVY (1999) release, but can also be seen on YouTube.

Shot by longtime Leigh cinematographer Dick Pope on location at Highclere Castle in the middle of a freezing January 1992, this has a witty air of spontaneity to it, with surprising camera angles and a drop dead, brilliant script that takes a turn into the extreme, where this is simply not what anyone expects, much darker and funnier than anything else Leigh ever did, feeling more alive and refreshing, where this vile, dastardly underhanded character has such a pompous air of smug, self-satisfaction, yet the heinous acts he describes feel as ordinary to him as a cool breeze on a summer’s day.  Inventing a completely fictitious scenario, Broadbent introduces himself as the 23^rd Earl of Leete, a distinguished member of the British upper class, seen standing before his family’s immense estate, which he acknowledges he has a duty to maintain, at all costs, and to expand.  In order to tell his story for future generations, he decides to hire a professional film crew to shoot him in the style of classical BBC documentaries, recounting his personal story as he takes the viewer on an outdoor tour of his estate, never venturing inside, and tells of the progress of over 900 years of family history extending back to the 11^th century, speaking directly to the camera while striding around the grounds with a walking stick (which he amusingly uses to sit down at one point), faithfully followed by a black dog, yet it’s his tweed suit and balding head that stand out.  Though the format is easily recognizable, the content is shockingly confessional, acknowledging being beaten repeatedly by his appalling father, a brute of a man who nearly drove the family into financial ruin, yet what’s so savagely comic is the matter-of-fact tone he uses as he very precisely provides the ghoulish details of how he murdered his wife, children, and “homosexual” brother, sparing no details, claiming it was a necessity to preserve his standing in the upper class.  British filmmaker Nicholas Ahlmark has long championed this movie as “the best short film ever made.”  While that is disputable, it is nonetheless a highly original and provocative piece of Shakespearean fiction that traces the growth and enduring appeal of a class of people whose values might seem archaic, but constitute an essential part of the fabric of British society.

For all practical purposes, the Earl is an affable man who speaks in an erudite manner that reflects his position, where the words literally flow out of his mouth in perfect elocution, yet he’s a sneering, bigoted man of privilege who reeks of arrogance.  Horrifying and sad, growing progressively more audacious as it goes along, this takes us back to the Magna Carta, the first written constitution in European history, which was conceived to protect the various property rights of barons and other powerful aristocrats against royal encroachment, suggesting the king and his government were not above the law, having little to do with peasants and the working class.  The protagonist of this film speaks as if that is the only rule of law that matters, as inherited land passed down through the generations is the property right of his family, and anyone who undermines that net worth or hinders the ability to expand is viewed as suspect, where all bets are off, as the only thing that matters is maintaining his position of wealth at any cost, even if that means resorting to extreme methods to protect the family interest, sounding very much like THE GODFATHER (1972).  When we realize the extent of his homicidal behavior, it is both darkly chilling and absurdly hilarious, especially considering the casual manner in which he speaks, offering no regrets or remorse, instead what’s emphasized is that he considers himself first and foremost a member of his class, realizing at the age of seven that he is the only rightful family caretaker, as if chosen by God, and he simply did what he had to do.  While there are macabre elements of a mockumentary, Broadbent’s persona is so well crafted that he actually comes across as sympathetic, even though it’s clear he has no regard for anyone except himself, but it’s a beautifully realized work without an ounce of sentimentality that feels unmistakingly naturalistic.  To quote one of the characters at the end of Leigh’s Secrets and Lies (1996), a significant line about family relationships, “We’re all in pain!  Why can’t we share our pain?”  Firmly rooted in the intelligence and humanism of Jean Renoir, Leigh is a brilliant observer of the human condition, paying close attention to the mundane details, hoping to better understand the world around us through carefully crafted characters, where ordinary and everyday life is examined with an acute eye.  Most especially in Leigh’s films, England is presented in miniature.   

A Sense of History (1992) BluRay by Jim Broadbent & Mike ...  Mike Leigh film with Jim Broadbent on YouTube (26:26)