One moment, a man is a burgeoning film star; the next, he’s a distinguished veteran. The speed of time’s passage remains a mystery. Many films explore the aging process of Hollywood actresses— and All About Eve serving as prime examples—yet there’s an underlying assumption that men are less affected by growing older. While a woman’s allure often wanes with age, men frequently transition more easily into a state of attractive gravitas. This holds true for both George Clooney and the character resembling him that he plays in Jay Kelly, which is set to premiere at the Venice Film Festival. There could be no more fitting actor for this narrative about a highly successful performer who, after a chance meeting with an old friend that starts with nostalgic recollections and escalates into a physical fight, begins to question all his life’s accomplishments. The premise itself is refreshing, providing Clooney with ample material: as Jay, he can be dazzling and charismatic one moment—when on set or in public—and deeply introspective about his numerous errors the next. Clooney demonstrates remarkable versatility.
Yet, Jay Kelly possesses a peculiar lack of momentum. Baumbach co-wrote the screenplay with Emily Mortimer, an exceptional actress herself, who also makes brief appearances in the film. While there’s nothing overtly objectionable about the movie, it does contain several beautifully crafted, performed, and directed scenes. However, Jay Kelly comes across as more sentimental than genuinely profound, particularly regarding the persistent thought that echoes in Jay’s mind: Why didn’t I dedicate more time to my children? Jay has two daughters: an older one () who harbors resentment towards her father, and a younger one (Grace Edwards) who understands him better, despite being on the verge of heading off to college. His only true companion is his manager Ron (played superbly by ), who, as the film repeatedly notes, receives a 15% cut of all his earnings. But does that truly qualify as friendship? Both Jay and Ron confront this question, and the answer they discover brings satisfaction to neither.
Perhaps the issue is that Jay Kelly attempts to encompass so much that it ultimately glides over moments that should be pivotal. As the film opens, Jay is completing the final scene of his latest major motion picture. (It’s titled Eight Men from Now, a clear but not particularly relevant homage to Budd Boetticher’s 1956 western Seven Men from Now.) He has already performed over half a dozen takes, but desires one more. This is his constant refrain: his commitment to perfection makes him believe he can always improve upon himself. When he eventually leaves the set, he gestures to the entire crew, thanking them sincerely, and they reciprocate his warmth. He thrives on this kind of attention. When he is alone, which is a rare occurrence, he finds himself at a loss for what to do. Another of the film’s recurrent lines, perhaps stated a few too many times, is “It’s harder than you think to be yourself.”
Feeling disconnected or partially estranged from his daughters, Jay is both delighted and curious when he encounters Timothy, an old friend from acting school. On a whim, they decide to get drinks. Timothy is now a child psychiatrist; he simply chose to exit the acting profession, or so Jay believes. Jay lavishes praise on his old friend, inadvertently revealing his own insecurities—Timothy was a dedicated Method actor, signifying a level of earnestness Jay felt he could never attain. Then Timothy, initially friendly, turns on him. It emerges that Timothy holds Jay responsible for his own failed career. In interviews, Jay has often lightheartedly shared a story about coincidentally landing his first significant role by accompanying a friend to an audition. Timothy was that friend, and in his view, Jay exploited him. “You stole my life,” Timothy states bitterly, leaving Jay utterly disheartened. While Jay may be unaware, he is not intentionally cruel.
There’s ample material for exploration here, but before long, Jay Kelly rushes to the next development. This is a disjointed, somewhat erratic film. There’s the film festival in Tuscany that wishes to honor Jay with an elaborate tribute. Jay initially declines, but then changes his mind when he realizes his younger daughter will be traveling in Europe around the same time. Consequently, Baumbach incorporates an extended sequence, set on a train journey from Paris to the Italian countryside, which could have been shortened or nearly eliminated entirely. Because Jay is almost constantly surrounded by people, the movie is filled with supporting actors who appear for just a scene or two, including Jim Broadbent as the benevolent director who gave Jay his big break, Alba Rohrwacher as a charming festival assistant, as Ron’s overworked wife, and Stacy Keach as Jay’s talkative but challenging father. makes a brief appearance as Jay’s frustrated publicist; she and Sandler share the film’s strongest scene, reminiscing about a time they almost committed to a future together, despite now being with other partners.
Clooney’s portrayal of Jay Kelly presents a character who is both outwardly charming and inwardly troubled, serving as the central figure in this narrative. Despite the light he projects, he actually draws more from those around him; he needs them in a way they do not need him. There’s a quiet tenderness to this performance—Clooney manages to foster empathy for a man who may, in reality, be quite hollow. When he finally arrives at the tribute in Tuscany—following considerable stress and conflict—he joins the audience as they watch the predictably complimentary montage of film clips spanning Jay Kelly’s career. Yet, what we see are excerpts from Clooney’s own career: scenes from Michael Clayton, The Thin Red Line, and even 2020’s The Midnight Sky, in which Clooney plays a solitary scientist with a prominent gray beard. We observe him watching himself—this is not simply Jay Kelly watching Jay Kelly, but George Clooney watching George Clooney, in roles where he appears gracefully dignified in his middle age, yet also, at times, incredibly youthful, like a budding movie star taking his first steps. The expression on his face—both Jay’s and Clooney’s—is one of pure astonishment. “Who is that person?” he seems to be silently asking, captivated and charmed by his own reflection. It stands as the film’s most powerful visual enigma in a story filled with unresolved questions.
