The opening Sylvia Plath quote says it all:
“It’s a hell of a responsibility to be yourself. It’s much easier to be somebody else, or nobody at all.”
Jay Kelly (George Clooney) has it all: a long and successful film career; a devoted entourage, including best friend and handler Ron Sukenick (Adam Sandler); and the admiration and respect of fans, friends and professional colleagues.
Flanked by publicist Liz (Laura Dern, center left) and best friend/handler Ron (Adam
Sandler, center right), Jay Kelly (George Clooney) cheerful interrupts his morning to
sign autographs for adoring fans.
He is one with Gary Cooper, Cary Grant and Robert De Niro: shapeshifters and chameleons of identity, with faces that represent something personal to millions.
But.
Jay’s nature, even when the cameras are off, remains a pose; he has no sense of self. His relationship with daughters Jessica (Riley Keough) and Daisy (Grace Edwards) is strained at best, estranged at worst. They’ve grown up seeing him repeatedly forsake them for the work: another movie, another months-long absence. Their mother and Jay’s other exes are distant memories.
He takes Ron for granted, failing to recognize the strain this keeps putting on his family.
Jay is selfish … and he’s so far gone, he’s incapable of recognizing this.
To be sure, he’s affable, suave and generous with the public; he’s also wheedling and persuasive, and knows how to get his way. After all, he has been doing it for decades. (This is George Clooney, after all; the man exudes charm and savoir faire the way the rest of us breathe.)
And yet …
Of late, Jay has begun to relive past choices: confronted by ghosts from his past, awakened to the shallowness of his present. And with this rising awareness comes a feeling he can’t quite identify:
Regret.
This plays out in director Noah Baumbach’s masterfully composed film, which enchants from its initial scene: cinematographer Linus Sandgren’s stunning, single-take tracking shot that follows the set-up and shooting of Jay’s final scene in his new movie, Eight Men from Now. Baumbach’s script, co-written with Emily Mortimer, is a masterful blend of drama, gentle humor, angst and character dynamics, brought to life by richly nuanced performances from Clooney and Sandler. Both are sure bets for Academy Award nominations.
(I understand the eyebrow lift. Adam Sandler, in a subtly shaded straight role? Hey, watch this film, then get back to me.)
Jim Broadbent has a key role as Jay’s longtime mentor and favorite director, Peter; Stacy Keach pops up a bit later, as Jay’s salt-of-the-earth father.
Laura Dern is strong as Liz, Jay’s frequently exasperated publicist, who has a long and consequential history with Ron: the one who got away. He subsequently married Lois (Greta Gerwig, Baumbach’s wife and frequent collaborator, in a few brief scenes).
Unlike the forgiving Ron, Liz is close to having had enough. For much too long, she has perceived the lunacy in giving so much of their lives to somebody who takes them all for granted. Even early on, Dern’s eyes display a level of impatient ferocity that Jay (naturally) fails to notice.
Having finished his current film, and with some time before the next one begins, Jay expects to spend time with his daughters … but did he run this past them? Of course not. His encounters with both are uncomfortable, with Jay registering genuine surprise that they’re not willing to drop everything, in order to accommodate his whims.
Keough subtly handles Jessica’s brief encounter with her father. She’s an adult, with her own life and responsibilities; their relationship has dissolved almost completely. She’s no longer willing to bend, or defer to his wishes. Keough’s performance is note-perfect; rather than appearing cold and heartless, Jessica clearly mourns what Jay’s unyielding behavior has created.
He doesn’t fare much better with the younger Daisy, who — having finished studies — already has planned a European excursion with friends. Her feelings toward Jay are more benevolent, but she’s at the age where she doesn’t want to “hang out” with her father.
A great line emerges, on this topic: “The tragedy of parenting is you’re only successful once you’ve made yourself irrelevant.”
So what does Jay do? He compounds the awkwardness of the situation by booking transport on the same train carrying Daisy and her friends … to her complete mortification.
The subsequent journey becomes one of memory and discovery for Jay, as Baumbach and Mortimer cleverly slide us into scenes from his past, via ingenious cinematic transitions. Most of these flashbacks focus on Timothy (Billy Crudup), a long-estranged friend; back in the day, both young men were struggling wannabe actors, hoping to get their toe in the door.
Their paths cross again, in the present day, as they commiserate over the death of a mutual friend. Crudup’s performance is sublime, with a twist we definitely don’t see coming.
Sandler reveals impressive layers, as the frequently pained Ron. He’s far more than a friend: almost a parent, affectionately calling Jay “Puppy,” nudging him into better decisions or behavior. Sandler’s best moment comes during one of Ron’s rare times at home, with his family … until Jay calls and demands his presence. The pain in Sandler’s gaze is palpable, as Ron eyes his wife and daughter, sighing as he agrees, yet again.
Clooney carries this story’s primary emotional weight, and does it so persuasively, and seemingly easy, that we’re tempted to worry that his actual life has unfolded this way. (That’s why they call it “acting.”) The gravitas often comes from Clooney’s ability to confound our expectations: Every time we think Jay might do or say the right thing … he doesn’t.
“You act twice,” we’re told at another key moment. “When you play the part, and when you play yourself.”
All this emotional angst notwithstanding, Baumbach and Mortimer manage to eat their cake and have it. Whenever we’re tempted to view acting and film-making as shallow and inconsequential endeavors, we’re reminded of the importance of cinema. Movies are “pieces of time” that profoundly affect people. Jay Kelly may have made a mess of his own life, but his work nonetheless has powerful value to people throughout the world.
Baumbach and Mortimer also honor the medium itself. Their film has touches of screwball comedy, winsome buddy bonding, and even a brief action sequence set against Sandgren’s warmly composed backdrop of the Italian countryside. Their dialogue also is laced with pungent one-liners, such as — referring to Jay — “I wish you were the man I thought you are.”
Nicholas Britell’s gentle, nostalgic score features lovely solo piano touches at key moments.
This is a marvelous, memorable film … and I’m eager to watch it again.
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