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Jay kelly

Ivan Webster delivers a rare, unflinching critique of a film that dares to ask if a movie star can also be an artist, only to retreat from its own premise just as the question becomes urgent. While many reviews will simply praise the star power, Webster argues that the screenplay by Noah Baumbach and Emily Mortimer fails to justify the protagonist's pain, leaving the audience to wonder if the character's suffering is earned or merely manufactured for sympathy.

The Crisis of Identity

Webster opens by dissecting the film's central tension: the protagonist, Jay Kelly, is an A-list actor turning 60, caught between his bankable status and his desperate need for validation as a serious creator. "Jay Kelly (George Clooney) is an A-List movie actor turning 60, and he's proud/nervous about reaching that milestone," Webster observes, noting that the film introduces the word "artist" only once, and then lets it drop. This scarcity is the crux of the problem. The narrative suggests a connection between celebrity and artistry but refuses to explore it deeply, leaving the character in a state of self-doubt that feels unearned.

Jay kelly

The author points out that Jay's desperation manifests in a chilling moment of self-affirmation. Gazing into a mirror, he chants the names of legends—Gary Cooper, Cary Grant, Clark Gable, Robert De Niro—before tremblingly adding his own name. "He needs to feel he falls securely within that leading man pantheon," Webster writes. "Does he belong there or not? The movie struggles to make up its mind." This hesitation in the script mirrors the character's internal fracture, yet Webster argues the film never fully commits to the tragedy of this uncertainty.

Does he belong there or not? The movie struggles to make up its mind.

Critics might argue that the ambiguity is intentional, reflecting the modern actor's perpetual insecurity. However, Webster contends that without a clearer narrative stance, the audience is left watching a man flounder without understanding the stakes of his fall.

The Cost of Fame on Family

The narrative takes a sharp turn when Jay's personal life begins to unravel, specifically his relationship with his daughters. Webster highlights a pivotal scene where Jay attempts to join his daughter Daisy on a trip to Europe, only to be rejected. The director, Baumbach, frames this with a specific visual cue: "in this scene, father and daughter never touch." This physical distance underscores the emotional chasm that has formed.

Jay's reaction is not to accept the rejection but to manipulate the situation. He orders his agent to accept a tribute in Italy, then hacks a friend's phone to track his daughter's train, staging a "chance" encounter. "The screenplay by the director, Noah Baumbach, and Emily Mortimer, shows Jay suddenly – too suddenly, it seems to me – catching hell from all sides," Webster notes. The author finds this escalation jarring, arguing that the script forces the character into a villainous role without sufficient buildup.

The fallout is severe. Jay's longtime publicist, Liz, realizes the depth of his self-absorption. "We'll never be to him what he is to us," she tells his agent, Ron. "Save yourself," she advises before leaving him. Webster finds this departure "too contrived," questioning why a loyal employee of twenty years would abandon her friend mid-journey without a clear threat to her own well-being. "Nothing we've seen Jay do has threatened Liz's job or personal life," Webster argues, suggesting the script sacrifices realism for dramatic effect.

The conflict with his other daughter, Jessica, is framed through a literary lens. Webster notes the visual echo of Dante's Inferno, where the poet finds himself "Midway upon the journey of our life/I found myself within a dark forest." In the film, Jay defends his absence by claiming he was young and afraid that if he took his eye off his career, he would lose it. "And I was right. There's no other way to do it," Jay says. Yet, Webster finds Jessica's rebuttal hollow, as she fails to acknowledge the "delicate balancing act" required to sustain a career while parenting.

The Performance vs. The Script

Despite the script's flaws, Webster reserves high praise for the acting, particularly George Clooney's portrayal of a man on the brink. "Clooney carries the uncertain, frightened look of a man, not just an actor, who senses his future isn't guaranteed," Webster writes. The author contrasts this with Clooney's previous roles, noting that while he has often played charming figures, here he embodies a "doomed countenance" reminiscent of the tragic heroes of the past.

Webster draws a parallel to Marlon Brando, referencing a flashback where young Jay tears off a picture of Brando and swallows it. "Did Jay reach Brando's heights? Has any actor since Brando? That's still a living question," Webster muses. The author suggests that Clooney is ready for the kind of transformative roles that defined Brando's later career, perhaps even the role of James Tyrone in Eugene O'Neill's Long Day's Journey into Night, a part recently taken by Ed Harris.

However, the author feels the film holds Clooney back. "I think the filmmaker's 'sympathy' for Jay blindly softens the impact of a performer who's at a deep personal turning point," Webster argues. Instead of a clarifying rage or a tragic reckoning, the film offers a "gentle, fond romantic portrait of a 'beloved' man in distress." The author laments that the script denies the character a true fight, leaving the audience to simply "give him a hug" rather than witness a profound transformation.

I think the filmmaker's 'sympathy' for Jay blindly softens the impact of a performer who's at a deep personal turning point.

Bottom Line

Webster's critique is most compelling when it exposes the disconnect between the film's ambition and its execution; the script wants to explore the cost of greatness but settles for a gentle portrait of a man in distress. The strongest element is the recognition of Clooney's untapped tragic potential, while the biggest vulnerability lies in the screenplay's refusal to let the protagonist truly fail or fight back. Readers should watch for whether Clooney can find a vehicle that allows him to fully inhabit the "doomed countenance" Webster sees waiting beneath the surface.

Deep Dives

Explore these related deep dives:

  • Marlon Brando

    The article directly references Brando as the ultimate standard Jay Kelly measures himself against, with a pivotal flashback showing young Jay swallowing a photo of Brando before an audition. Understanding Brando's revolutionary impact on acting and his legendary status provides essential context for Jay's artistic aspirations and insecurities.

  • Noah Baumbach

    As the director and co-writer of Jay Kelly, Baumbach's filmography and recurring themes of family dysfunction, aging, and intellectual anxiety directly inform this film's exploration of a movie star's midlife crisis. His previous work (Marriage Story, The Squid and the Whale) provides context for the film's introspective, character-driven approach.

  • Divine Comedy

    The reviewer explicitly identifies a Dante's Inferno allusion in the foggy forest scene with Jessica, quoting the famous opening lines about being lost 'midway upon the journey of our life.' Understanding Dante's masterwork enriches the film's meditation on midlife crisis, moral reckoning, and the journey through personal darkness.

Sources

Jay kelly

by Ivan Webster · MovieStruck · Read full article

Jay Kelly (2025)

In theaters and streaming on Netflix

It can sound pretentious to mention “art” in the same breath as “movie star”. But this movie, however tentatively, suggests such a connection – only to let it drop just when we’re most intently wondering if it could be true.

Jay Kelly (George Clooney) is an A-List movie actor turning 60, and he’s proud/nervous about reaching that milestone.

His agent-manager and closest friend Ron (Adam Sandler) reminds him, at a moment when Jay’s feeling down, that he’s not just a bankable leading man but also an “artist”.

We only hear the word “artist” applied to Jay that one time. It might have helped if we’d gotten to hear it – and watch him absorb it – more often.

Jay is at the peak of his career when we meet him, but it feels as though he’s on a cliff edge, maybe about to tip over into decline. Self-doubt is making him desperate.

Gazing anxiously in a mirror, his voice quivering, he chants to himself, in a self-healing mantra, Gary Cooper, Cary Grant, Clark Gable, Robert De Niro – and adds, tremblingly, Jay Kelly.

He needs to feel he falls securely within that leading man pantheon. Does he belong there or not? The movie struggles to make up its mind.

But aging, an occupational hazard he surely must have seen coming, isn’t all that’s freaking him out. The screenplay by the director, Noah Baumbach, and Emily Mortimer, shows Jay suddenly – too suddenly, it seems to me – catching hell from all sides.

With a couple of free weeks between film projects, he all but begs his younger daughter Daisy (Grace Edwards) to spend some quality time with him.

No thanks, she declares jauntily. Before starting college in the fall, she’s off to France and Italy with friends.

Jay asks if he could join them. Come on, Dad, she counters. She and her friends will be living cheaply and traveling on trains, which he well knows mega movie stars can’t do. (We can’t miss that, in this scene, father and daughter never touch.)

Sad but also piqued, Jay refuses to accept rejection. He makes a counter move. Even faithful Ron is surprised at his mood swing.

The actor has ordered Ron to turn down a “tribute” in Italy. To Jay, such celebrations feel like a performer’s past-his-prime kiss of death.

However, now ...