Directed by Noah Baumbach | Written by Baumbach and Emily Mortimer | ▲1/2 | Netflix
When you put George Clooney front and centre, and he turns on that legendary charm — you can practically see the sparkle off his very white teeth when he smiles — it’s hard not to get drawn into his orbit. This movie is built around that charm. It asks the question: What if George was also a smarmy ass who sacrificed his family life for fame, and only now, in late middle age, realizes what he missed with two estranged daughters who don’t need him anymore, Daisy and Jessica — played by Grace Edwards and Riley Keough? Would that charm still win the day? I’d argue it doesn’t.
Baumbach is the king of urban domestic angst, in films like Frances Ha, While We’re Young, Mistress America, The Meyerowitz Stories(New And Selected) and Marriage Story, frequently collaborating with creative and romantic partner, Greta Gerwig. She shows up here in a role she probably shot in three days, as does this film’s co-writer, Emily Mortimer. This is an inside-baseball ode to Hollywood’s depressed ultra wealthy, laying out the burden of fame for the famous and the people who work under them. The picture is wistful for the dream factory while Jay Kelly is someone recognizing he prioritized the wrong things. I’m not sure it can have it both ways.
Clooney is the Clooney-esque star, the aforementioned Jay Kelly, whose mentor, Peter Schneider (Jim Broadbent) is a filmmaker who discovered Jay when he was a callow youth. In the years since Peter’s fallen on hard times — all he wants is for Jay to lend him a bit of his star power to help get his next project to the big screen, but Jay turns him down flat. Peter dies, and Jay starts to feel that creeping regret, he betrayed his friend. Further to that, he runs into an old buddy at the funeral (Billy Crudup), who hates his guts.
So, Jay chooses to chase after his youngest daughter who’s heading to Europe before college with friends. Jay gets on his private jet with his publicist, Liz (Laura Dern), and manager Ron (Adam Sandler), and various other hangers on. Before long they’re on a crowded train from Paris to Tuscany, with Jay attracting all the attention his face demands while slipping into unnecessary flashback-heavy reveres.
The key relationship here is between Jay and Ron. That’s a problem because Sandler is deeply miscast.
He’s plausible as a movie star, but unlikely as a guy responsible for a movie star. I’ve met those people, they’re usually frenzied A-types, lean and mean, who speak a mile-a-minute and get a huge kick operating the lives and business of deeply privileged people who’ve been so coddled for so long they’ve forgotten how to take care of themselves. They love the power and decision-making, and never feel compromised by whether their charge loves them enough to make their lives feel worthwhile.
This film suggests an unrequited romantic liaison between Sandler and Laura Dern — who are an acid and a base, no chemistry — while she does her best to convince him that the relationship between Ron and Jay is transactional, that they’re not friends. They might not be, but Sandler plays Ron as a slightly clueless puppy dog and he should’ve figured this dynamic out a long time ago. The central schism between the characters is false. Having this film in cinemas the same week as Sentimental Value is an example of how two movies with similar themes can be done so differently, and only one of them really works.
We do get some lovely time in the Tuscan countryside, and quality support from a solid cast including Alba Rohrwacher, Lenny Henry, Eve Hewson, Patrick Wilson, and Stacy Keach. But in the final analysis this is a deeply indulgent film from a filmmaker and his collaborators who’ve all been a whole lot better. Jay Kelly never quite earns our respect or a lot of sympathy for its characters, despite swaths of George’s twinkly charm.
