Jay Kelly

By Joanna Langfield

As promising as the teaming of George Clooney and Noah Baumbach is, the milky results feel even more disappointing.

Jay Kelly is a veteran Hollywood star. And he’s pretty much of an asshole. Uninterested in what he thinks is a b-level festival his long-suffering manager has created in his honor, Jay refuses to go. Until that honor is shifted to another, much more excited actor. Then, of course, Jay announces he will, indeed, consent to showing up and private jets off to Italy, assuming what’s left of his family and professional entourage will dutifully tag along.

The oft-told morality tale, reminding us to appreciate the people around us, cannot, I suppose, be told often enough. If there’s an audience who gets the point from all this, bravo. But for those of us wanting more, and fans of the filmmaker and star, even with the few truly lovely scenes scattered throughout, the piece feels surprisingly weak. Could that be an unusual shyness at the script’s end (Baumbach wrote and directed)? Or is it the admittedly handsome, star veneer Clooney often wears like a shield, allowing him to flirt with the ugly guts of emotion, while not quite hitting rock bottom?

Among the sweeter rewards, and yes, there are some, is the pretty yummy nailing of some movie industry lifestyle, a damn near perfect, if too short, spin by Laura Dern and a truly outstanding turn from Adam Sandler, whose finely measured, emotional messy mix of frustration, heart and love not only steals the spotlight but tells us everything we wish our main character had done as well.