Jay Kelly

Noah Baumbach leaves no doubt about how he wants us to perceive Jay Kelly. In an early scene, the titular movie star (George Clooney) recites names like Cary Grant, Clark Gable and Robert De Niro – and finally, his own – in front of a Eurostar bathroom mirror. The film’s setup holds promise: Kelly and his long-suffering manager, Ron Sukenik (Adam Sandler), embark on an impromptu trip to Europe, only to be abandoned by most of their entourage – including high-strung publicist Liz (Laura Dern) and a hairstylist who jumps at a gig with the President of France – due to the actor’s own outrageous antics. Stripped of his staff, Kelly might have glimpsed vulnerability. Instead, Baumbach elevates him to demigod status, trailed by mobs on the train and greeted everywhere with worshipful stares and literal applause. A staffer silently hands Kelly a drink as he complains about always being alone: the gag lands once, but it’s far too weak to justify the repeated attempts that follow.

Clooney, as ever, plays Clooney: rakish, universal charm with a twinkle in his eye. The surprise is Sandler. He makes Ron more than a beleaguered fixer; he’s a weary but warm family man, sneaking calls to his anxious wife Lois (Greta Gerwig) and bantering with his children. These domestic interludes are fresher and funnier than Kelly’s struggles with his own semi-estranged daughters, where the clichés of the absentee father choosing his career over family fall flat even with a coat of Hollywood sheen. The film’s most intriguing detour centres on Timothy (Billy Crudup), an embittered classmate turned method actor, still nursing a grudge that Kelly stole his big break decades earlier. For once, the gloss of celebrity glamour is smudged, suggesting that the star’s it-factor rests less on destiny than on chance. It is a fleeting but potent idea, hinting at a sharper, less reverent film that Baumbach doesn’t quite make.

Ultimately, Jay Kelly mistakes self-obsession for satire. Baumbach’s fascination with stardom is relentless, dressed up in swooning, self-important cinematography that faintly recalls Babylon (2022) – only without Damien Chazelle’s nostalgia. Clooney drifts, the supporting cast drools, the camera laps it up – and what might have been a perfectly cast study on fame’s emptiness curdles into a glossy valentine to the very establishment it pretends to critique.

Christina Yang

Jay Kelly does not have a release date yet.

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