Those familiar with my writing are likely well aware that I have often said the cardinal sin in moviemaking is predictability (why see a film if you already know what’s going to happen?). On the heels of that belief, my second biggest cardinal sin in this field is a lack of originality (to a great degree because predictability often walks hand in hand with this shortcoming). And, unfortunately, those are the problems that sink this latest effort from writer-director Noah Baumbach. In a nutshell, this offering tells the story of its self-important title character (George Clooney), a successful but aging movie star who’s beginning to realize that his life has slipped away from him, leaving him with a pile of professional and personal regrets, many of which involved burning some significant bridges. Through a series of flashbacks (and a whole lot of vacuous hand wringing that’s quickly and easily dismissed), he sees – perhaps for the first time – how he’s squandered much of his time and alienated many kindreds, leaving him feeling fundamentally empty. (Now there’s a novel idea for a story – a pampered, self-absorbed LA celebrity who experiences a midlife (or, in this case, a late life) crisis and goes into meltdown mode to haplessly search for “meaning.”) But haven’t we already seen this storyline play out countless times before in other releases, such as “All That Jazz” (1979), “Stardust Memories” (1980) (and the film it’s based on, “8½” (1963)), “Bardo” (2022) and “Birdman” (2014), to name only a few. So what does “Jay Kelly” offer that’s new to this narrative? Frankly, nothing. And, to make matters worse, it doesn’t even traverse this well-worn ground very effectively (all of the aforementioned predecessors having done a much better job at this). There’s little to like about – or even empathize with – any of the characters in this story, leaving viewers to sigh a big “So what?” Even the protagonist is unengaging, coming across as an amalgamation of his (i.e., in essence, Clooney’s) on-screen personas. The effect of this is shamelessly self-congratulatory that essentially plays like a reel of the actor’s greatest hits, set against a backdrop of superficiality and relentlessly obtrusive product placement (again, so what?). In fact, the most interesting players in this production are the supporting characters, such as an old acting school colleague (Billy Crudup) and the director who gave Kelly his start (Jim Broadbent). Regrettably, though, these characters are relegated to comparatively small roles with little screen time. The supporting character who receives the lion’s share of such attention is Kelly’s manager (Adam Sandler), a wholly uninteresting, inconsequential cast member who could have been easily eliminated without losing a thing. In short, this whole affair is so shallow and so LA-clichéd that it’s difficult to care about any of it in the slightest, all the while trying to pass itself off as something sublimely profound. (Yawn.) Sadly, this vehicle is a waste of Clooney’s and Baumbach’s considerable talents. Both are better than what they’ve produced here. Indeed, if there’s genuine tragedy to be had in this effort, their derivative, uninspired creative output on this project would undoubtedly be it.
