“JAY KELLY”

“All my memories are movies.” It’s a line repeatedly spoken in “Jay Kelly” that would deeply touch the souls of many who are watching it. The phrase is initially spoken to make a direct connection to significant events in a person’s life tied to the actual productions they worked on. Associations of individuals and significant moments are meant to be drawn to these specific points in time. However, there is an obviously deeper level to this commentary. That cinema houses an entire world that informs personality and desire. It’s not a novel statement to make regarding how powerful the world of film can be, but there is a reason why this theme has felt so persistent. For those who make this medium a foundational aspect of their existence, whether it be fruitful employment or a passionate hobby, the experiences earned from watching these movies are a treasured commodity. This is at the heart of “Jay Kelly,” which can often be an engaging portrait of a suffering artist yearning for a new meaning of validation. At the same time, it’s also a frustratingly assembled work that struggles to coalesce its disparate sections of the story into a cohesive whole.

The film’s titular character (George Clooney) is already an established actor and considered to be one of the biggest stars on the planet. Yet, his seemingly idyllic life stands in an arena of profound hollowness and melancholy. The death of an old friend, an aging director who gave his first big break, has triggered nostalgic thoughts of the past. Another trigger was an encounter with an acting school colleague (Billy Crudup) who still holds animosity for Kelly’s rising star being in place of his own career advancement, which led them to a physical altercation. For Kelly, these events force him into action, abandoning his plans to start a new film production and instead heading to Europe, where he will end up receiving a tribute award in Italy. The venture is essentially an excuse to follow his youngest daughter, Daisy (Grace Edwards), on her own European trek in an attempt to mend their strained relationship. With his manager, Ron (Adam Sandler), publicist, Liz (Laura Dern), and a host of other associates in tow, he begins a trip to rediscover why he was drawn to this profession in the first place and how that journey can inform his personal relationships even more.

It’s pretty amusing that, even though Jay Kelly is a fictional character, it’s impossible to divorce this showcase from the actor playing him. It’s no secret that, for as talented and revered as Clooney has been through the years, his superstar status has always come with a bit of an asterisk. People have admired him as a performer, but he has admitted to having a limitation in range. For this material to explicitly call attention to that critique is one of many examples that seek to draw a direct parallel between actor and part, blurring the lines between the two. For example, Kelly is even given a backstory about being originally born in Kentucky, just like Clooney. With a foundation so tied to the biography of its real-life star, it’s no wonder that Clooney’s performance would be one to take note of initially. To be fair, he isn’t stretching himself so far that he delivers a performance that is completely divergent from his past work. There is still that limiting framework he plays within, but this time it is for a much more strategic purpose. He’s meant to indulge in his trademark charm offensive, which also houses a deep sadness in his eyes. It’s a typical but compelling turn that doesn’t reach an emotional high until an unrelenting catharsis at the end. This is a character tailor-made for Clooney, both in talent and metaphor, and he excels at striking that believable balance.

There’s a massive ensemble that circles Clooney, and with such a diverse group of actors, there are plenty of other performances that make an impact. Sandler delivers, without question, the best performance of his career. For some time now, he has oscillated between the broadly silly and downtrodden somber, with the latter never feeling quite up to his strengths. But here, he is capable of establishing a grounded character who can have moments of comedy that never undercuts the genuine sorrow within. Watching him ache for time to spend with his family while consumed by his professional relationship with his most important client brings out a tender portrayal, one that is even more effective than Clooney and ends up being the film’s best asset. He far outshines his co-stars, with Dern not receiving nearly as much weight from the material to make her part truly soar. There are nice performances from the likes of Edwards and Riley Keough, as well as his other daughter, for the familial drama storyline. Crudup has a fantastic limited role that is utilized as a catalyst for the plot in a manner that displays his amazingly complex range. Many others are more akin to glorified cameos, such as Stacy Keach, Patrick Wilson, Jim Broadbent, and Alba Rohrwacher, but their screen presence is still inviting and appreciated.

While this may be seen as an interpretation of Clooney’s career, it is still the creation of director Noah Baumbach. Even though he has his own reputation for prioritizing stark character studies that emphasize realistic scenarios, this film feels like an evolution in his practice. The environment captured by Linus Sandgren is often a lush display of vibrant colors, giving the aesthetics a rich texture. The camera is vital to the flashback transitions, allowing viewers to look into Kelly’s touchstone moments of his past. These scenes track a character moving from one space to another, such as from a moving train car door that opens to a static acting classroom from decades ago. This is a much bolder artistic statement from Baumbach than we have seen previously, and the craft has exceptional moments. One wishes the Nicholas Britell score were a little more in sync with the overall piece, as his compositions that recall a classical music flair can feel incongruous to the emotions being displayed, even if the music itself is a nice listen on its own.

And yet, even with such a marketed step up in his filmmaking, there are several fatal elements of his screenplay, co-written by Emily Mortimer, that turn what could be a captivating piece into a tedious chore. Kelly’s expeditions are presented in a chapter of sorts, cleanly marking locations that feature significant emotional set pieces, which are notably divided. This episodic structure may allow designated beats of character observations, but it absolutely kills the overall pacing and momentum. Watching Kelly hold court for adoring fans on a French train while eventually stopping an attempted purse snatcher feels more like padding out an indulgent narrative than actually bringing meaningful commentary to the storytelling, and it’s one of many examples where the writing’s refusal to streamline causes monotony to settle in. There’s also a middling romance introduced between Ron and Liz, intended to add depth to their backstory. Still, it offers little to actually motivate them in a way that is believable beyond the actors’ natural abilities.

However, the greatest sin of this narrative is that, despite its best intentions, there is something deeply condescending about portraying those who have reached the pinnacle of success as incredibly lonely figures who would be more fulfilled if they only embraced the common folk. It’s an idea communicated very plainly when Kelly looks at the train’s passengers going about their menial tasks and yearns for the simple pleasures that are now elusive to him. This is by no means a novel concept, but one that is embedded in an ideology that equates success with a heavy burden that the lower classes would shun if only they knew what an isolating existence it entails. Even the thunderous emotional high point at the end is slightly tarnished by its close connection to Clooney’s personal narrative, a nakedly sentimental ploy that will only resonate with those who have bought into the film’s conceit. For those who are more skeptical, the ending will seem far less effective.

There is a poeticism to “Jay Kelly” that can be appreciated in many individual sections. Yes, the performances from across the board are all absorbing, with Sandler achieving the title of best in show. Baumbach’s abilities behind the camera have indeed shown exceptional growth, and some stellar sequences are boldly executed. There’s plenty to admire in the film that is worthy to be celebrated, but these elements cannot solely exist on their own. Taken collectively, they are all serving a narrative whose creation of a more enthralling whole is so laborious. The thematic commentary is overly familiar, laboriously executed, and, at worst, unpleasantly patronizing. Although considerable attention is paid to a general love of cinema and those who work to create it, this portrait mostly plays on the surface, evading the more complex inquiries necessary to give this analysis greater depth. Despite much to commend, there remains an emptiness at the center that mirrors the protagonist’s own life. Perhaps it is intentional, but it remains unfulfilling.