jay kelly

There's an appropriately wistful atmosphere to Noah Baumbach's rambling, occasionally grand Jay Kelly. To care about an uber-rich movie star (George Clooney) and his overworked, but privileged manager (Adam Sandler)... in this economy? Perhaps it's precisely because the film is so out of sync with the current mood that it becomes oddly appealing. At the New York Film Festival, it played like a brief salve out of a slate of more distressing, intricate and formally complicated pictures. 

Clooney agnostics may struggle to connect with Jay Kelly, a self-absorbed performer, whose Sharpied-over gray hairs and ice-crackling-in-a-glass-of-bourbon charm, doesn't stray much from the actor's public persona. Before Clooney became the slick, classy, Oscar-winning movie star in the tradition of Cary Grant (name-checked, along with a slew of other icons), he was the heartthrob doc on ER, a juggernaut from the bygone era when millions watched the same TV episode at the same time. We learn little about Kelly's career, beyond its obvious financial success (perhaps, artistically dubious). The opening sequence, an impressively mounted peek at the busy, multifaceted efforts of a film crew upon a faux-Brooklyn soundstage, ends with Kelly giving a halting, dramatic monologue before his picture wrap. Variations of that sequence echo throughout the film. 

In the present day storyline, Kelly is a solitary figure with no romantic partner, though he's constantly surrounded by people who rush and buzz around him. His closest relationship is with longtime manager, Ron (Sandler), though the two talk at each other more than with one another. It's like a marriage grown stale, their conversations running on separate melodic lines. His publicist, Liz (Laura Dern, in manic worrywart mode reminiscent of, but more redundant than her role in Is This Thing On?), is high strung and incessantly frazzled by every Kelly schedule change and slipup.

There's a relative emotional aloofness among his family as well. Kelly's youngest daughter (Grace Edwards) is beginning to forge a new path in her early twenties, off to travel the world. A scene between them at their backyard pool immediately recalls a key father-daughter moment from Alexander Payne's Clooney-starrer The Descendants (perhaps a coincidence, though Baumbach's film often seems to wear its cinematic references lovingly on its sleeve). Kelly is much less close to his eldest, Jessica (Riley Keough), a grade-school teacher who still carries the traumas of his long absences during her childhood. When he mentions traveling to Tuscany to receive a lifetime achievement award, no one seems eager to join him.

The death of a cherished director, Peter (Jim Broadbent), who gave Kelly his first big break, combined with a run-in with an old acting colleague, Timothy (Billy Crudup), cracks open a layer of long repressed introspection for Kelly. Flashbacks, with Charlie Rowe as the younger Kelly, unfold as if guided along by Dickens' Ghost of Christmas Past, with Kelly sometimes speaking aloud, even though no one can hear him. These moments underline his lingering loneliness.

The film drifts through multiple cinematic moods as it traverses from L.A. to Paris to Tuscany. It's a risky move that produces tonal unevenness, with some sections far more engaging than others. The beginning resembles a sunbaked L.A. satire of failed actors, cult directors, and smarmy, sunglassed therapists (Josh Hamilton plays Jessica's). An unexpected  train ride to Paris, packed with the most whimsical assortment of characters imaginable, has the tone of a fizzy, madcap French comedy, complete with religious, Christ-complex iconography. The Tuscany stretch, featuring a perfectly-cast Stacy Keach as Kelly's father, nears the spinning atmosphere of Fellini (Jay Kelly sometimes reminds one of its more rigorous influences like Robert Altman's The Player, Fellini's 8 1/2 and Bob Fosse's showbiz fever nightmare All That Jazz).

With the exception of its killer, ironic final sequence, the comedy in Jay Kelly often feels strained. An unfunny gag about cheesecake runs throughout. And despite Sandler's genuinely affecting turn, his broadly-played scenes with his daughter and a distracting, miscast Greta Gerwig as his wife, designer sunglasses perched upon her head, feel unnecessary and undercooked (would his character be more mysterious if these scenes had been cut?).

The crafts, however, sometimes save the film from slipping into the abyss. Nicholas Britell's beautiful score is a highlight, smoothing out the film's jagged shifts and erraticism. Lush and old fashioned, it features a string motif that recalls Glenn Miller's "Moonlight Serenade." Linus Sandgren's cinematography is equally rich and exquisite.

In post-2020 especially, there is ongoing discourse about the death of movies and the movie star. Jay Kelly, financed by Netflix and arriving in a particularly sluggish Hollywood year, especially for that elusive, midbudget adult drama, stirs a languid longing. Can a film be both corny and so ravishing and elegant at once? Those overstuffed 1960s Hollywood musicals and Jay Kelly fit that bill. ***

-Jeffery Berg

jurassic world: dominion

I have seen all of the Jurassic World films, but they all run together in my mind like a messy finger painting--with nothing noteworthy or distinctive about them. I will remember Jurassic World: Dominion for something though--giant locusts.  Also, for the calculated move of bringing back the trio of Laura Dern, Jeff Goldblum, and Sam Neill, who starred in the original incarnation, and despite their breath-of-fresh-air charms, seem a bit shoehorned in here in this overstuffed eco-horror monster movie. There are some worthwhile things about Dominion, another creaky entry from Colin Trevorrow into a franchise that's definitely grown long in the tooth. The special effects are spectacular--with dinosaurs that are quite life-like and not overtly sun-flared CGI-looking. The sound design is a fun ruckus, almost shaking the theater to Sensurround disaster movie levels--a throwback to another era of Universal Studios product. Dominion sometimes speaks to the large anxieties of our times: living through and with the tragedies of climate change and also to corporations that manipulate and dominate not just the material world, but aspects of the natural world as well. Here, a soft-spoken, non-assuming Campbell Scott's dodgy Lewis Dodgson devilishly exploits genetics to control earth's food supply. But the parallel storylines of the original cast members in one thread with bland Chris Pratt and Bryce Dallas Howard's lagging tale in the other, don't quite unite satisfactorily, even if DeWanda Wise proves to be a an enlivening action star and Goldblum, in particular, offers some needed jaded humor in the soggy bog of the latter half. Steven Spielberg's (who executive produced Dominion) original, based upon Michael Crichton's novel, still remains unmatched in its ability to marry intriguing, weighty themes with awe-inspired and exciting dino-action. Young Isabella Sermon's plotline of cloning and her late mother's experiments is a bit of drag too--ultimately, we honestly just want to get back to dinosaurs stomping about and terrorizing people and audience members calling back at the screen. **

-Jeffery Berg

marriage story

Situated near Trump Tower and the Plaza Hotel, the no-frills, yet inherently classy Paris Theater in New York City has a history of single-screen showings of films that appeal to the upper-class and intellectuals. After its recent closure, streaming giant Netflix swept in and re-opened it. It feels like a splashy and perceptive PR move: usher in screenings of their slate of films like Noah Baumbach's Marriage Story that were refused showings in chain cinemas for awards season consideration, while also rescuing an institution of cinema-going. Marriage Story in particular speaks to the sort of audience who would go to the Paris Theater--a classy set, craving complicated, grown-up entertainment which has become more scarce yearly in movies. I came to the Paris on a mild Fall morning on the eve of Veteran's Day--barricades and security around Trump Tower, more stacked than usual, before his impending arrival for the day's ceremonies. The theater was half-full, an older crowd mainly clad in black coats. In the cold-ish dark, it felt like the set-up for a stuffy experience. Ultimately, however, Marriage Story emerges, like its influential predecessor, Robert Benton's Kramer vs. Kramer, as something much more warm, earthy and broad-appealing than what a typical upper-crust character study may imply.

Baumbach's films, in dramatic and witty ways, look at characters in crisis. They are mapped out with alluring, but seemingly no-nonsense theatrical flair. They feel studied, beautifully executed and organic at the same time--a miraculous combination that has made Baumbach a fixture but also underrated as an auteur. Young couple Charlie (Adam Driver) and Nicole (Scarlett Johansson) are going through a bi-coastal divorce, while raising their young son Henry (a nod to Justin Henry?), played by Azhy Robertson. As their relationship is fraught romantically, they are also coming apart in their livelihoods. Charlie wants to maintain his creative life in Park Slope as a talented New York theater director. Nicole wants to establish herself outside the confines of performing in Charlie's work, by shooting a pilot in Los Angeles, while also yearning to become a director herself. Like the couple in Kramer vs. Kramer, Charlie and Nicole have a somewhat enviable status (Charlie nabs a MacArthur Genius Grant), but with the aid of the gifted players portraying them, the characters emerge as sympathetic and whole in their personal tumult, especially as they battle their lives through the harsh (and harshly-lit) courts; Laura Dern, Alan Alda, and Ray Liotta play lawyers with their own specific personalities, battles and at times, morally suspect agendas--some more blatant than others.

All of the dramas and poignant comic moments are drawn exquisitely by Baumbach and his talented crew. I've always been a fan of the editor Jennifer Lame, who did such lovely work on Baumbach's Frances Ha. It's the kind of non-flashy editing that often doesn't get recognized. There is one symbolic scene in Marriage Story, involving the closing of a gate, that's one of the best edited sequences I've seen this year. Throughout, as we see the couple and lawyers spar, the awkwardness of family life, the rhythms of the film are achingly apt. Shot by Robbie Ryan (The Favourite), the movie captures both the New York setting and L.A. settings well, especially interiors. 

I was entranced by Randy Newman's score. It's a risky one for these times: tuneful, romantic; sprightly strings, horns, and reeds.  Definitely a score of late bygone sensibilities (almost like silent film ragtime-esque score re-writes) that's been out-of-style for decades. Immediately, it establishes the singular atmosphere of the picture. The movie opens with a whimsical portrait of what both characters "love" about one another--through a scattershot of imagery. It's completely charming and ends up culminating in a devastating way. Overall, music in the film is elegant and spry, but also fragile, and compliments emotionally raw moments of the story effectively. A particular Broadway musical chestnut becomes a naked expression of Charlie's bewilderment at his situation.

Outside of its technical merits, Marriage Story boasts a terrific ensemble. Johansson hasn't been given a role as strong in quite some time--and she kills. Often with tear-rimmed eyes, and an expression of emotional exhaustion, she gives a layered turn. A monologue in her lawyer's office is an impressive moment: it's an actor's showcase, but you also feel her character deeply through her delivery and specificity of action. Driver has always been a fun actor to watch. Here, he's in one of his deepest, most vulnerable roles. I couldn't help but tear up at his gangly "Invisible Man"--earnestly and desperately trying to create a fun Halloween for his son in sprawling, late night L.A. There's plenty of moments like these of quiet tenderness and bittersweet, physical comedy that's just as wrenching as a painful, drab-apartment-set shouting match. In supporting parts, Laura Dern is electric as high-powered attorney Nora. Had she not already been so wicked in her Big Little Lies turn, the performance would be even more startling. On a surface level, she emerges as a sort of villain in Marriage Story, but in hindsight, she's something more complex, especially after a biting, delicious monologue towards the end of the picture--you can see she's surviving (and thriving) in an extremely flawed system. In contrast, Alda is appealing as a fuddy-duddy lawyer in his cluttered office, seemingly beleaguered by the system and amusingly weary from his own rocky past relationships. It's great to see Airplane!'s Julie Hagerty so pitch-perfect, funny and believable as Nicole's mother. And Merritt Wever, who was so utterly fantastic in this year's Unbelievable series, is great in one of the movie's funniest screwball scenes. Even actors in bit parts, like Martha Kelly as "The Evaluator," are outstanding. I felt most distant from Henry's character, perhaps because the movie is mostly entrenched in the perspective of adults. Azhy Robertson does good work with a tricky role that could easily be too precious or irritating.

Released at the end of its decade, Kramer vs. Kramer was the top-grossing film of 1979. Mainstream audiences flocked to see it in the theater! It was a cultural phenomenon. It had a Vivaldi soundtrack and was a zeitgeist picture of its time! I doubt at the end of this decade, Marriage Story will make the same impact. As Netflix holds its grip on striving to both capitalize on auteurs making great movies and also drive pronounced competition against traditional movie-going, we, as American viewers, are left at the end of the 2010s on wobbly territory (like the uncertain leasing of a single-screen theater) for the future of the movies and its experience. We get more bang for our buck for spectacle on widescreen, but as I got up and left the picture, passing a woman sobbing alone in her seat as the end credits neared their conclusion, the lights coming up a little bit in the Paris, I felt immensely touched and satisfied. With Marriage Story, Baumbach affirms the power of the art-form through the compact, fleeting time frame, script, visuals, references, and rich performances. It couldn't be anything else but a movie. ****


-Jeffery Berg