Jackson Bragman, Staff Writer
“Why is there always a slice of cheesecake in every room I’m in?” asks Jay Kelly–one of the world’s most recognizable film stars–staring down a New York-style slice in his trailer.
“You once said you liked it,” his devoted manager and friend Ron replies.
“No I didn’t.”
“You did. You just don’t remember.”
Noah Baumbach’s “Jay Kelly” is an exploration of regret, and the steep cost of prominence and celebrity.
It’s worth noting that Jay Kelly (played by George Clooney)’s name sounds awfully similar to that of the actor that portrays him, and one would be remiss not to point out the similarities between Kelly and Clooney’s statures as titans of Hollywood.
Jay is considered “the last of the old movie stars,” and, now in his early 60s, is completely divorced from reality. He seldom leaves his Malibu mansion for anything other than a call time and his mind rarely strays far from his next day on set. He lives to be in front of the camera, and not much else.
In the film’s first scene, Jay is shooting what is the final scene of his latest project–a film with a young director titled, “Eight Men From Now.” After nailing the take, he just about begs the director, “Can we go again? I’d like another one.” He so desperately doesn’t want the shoot to end, because, if it does, well… he’ll have to go home.
Jay is father to two girls. Jess (Riley Keough) is an elementary school teacher in her mid-thirties, and Daisy (Grace Edwards) is an 18-year-old set to start her freshman year at Johns Hopkins in the fall. We come to realize that Jay hasn’t been around much during his daughter’s childhoods and that he has an estranged relationship with Jess.
As it begins to sink in for Jay that Daisy is headed off to college, and that he’s missed most of her adolescence, he makes a last ditch effort to make up for lost time. Jay concocts a plan to “coincidentally” bump into Daisy and her friends on their summer excursion to Europe. He’s also agreed to accept a lifetime achievement tribute for his acting career in Tuscany as an excuse for the trip.
Accompanying Jay on his voyage are Ron (Adam Sandler) and Liz (Laura Dern), who act not only as Kelly’s manager and publicist respectively, but also as his de facto babysitters, catering to the whims of, and cleaning up the messes created by, their movie star boss.
One of Jay’s assistants finds a way to track down Daisy through her friend Rio’s mother’s credit card, and books Jay on the same train as them. When the two meet, Daisy presses her dad as to how he ended up on the exact same train as her and her friends, and is less than pleased when Jay eventually reveals why.
“I’m here because you can’t just leave and stop being a kid. I haven’t spent enough time with you,” he tries to reason. He invites Daisy to his tribute in Tuscany, but Daisy is having none of it. A soon-to-be college student, she wants her independence, and a single grand gesture like this won’t make up for the years of absence.
Jay later calls Jess, who he hasn’t spoken to in some time, to invite her to be his plus one in Tuscany. Jess is less than thrilled, asking, “So you think that if I go and I celebrate your career that your brilliance is gonna make me forgive you?”
She demands to know, once and for all, the truth. Why did she have to grow up without a father?
Clooney is wonderfully understated and introspective in this film and at no point is his performance more stellar than in this moment. The wrinkles in his forehead smooth and every spec of light is drained from his eyes.
“I was young. And I wanted something very badly, and I was afraid that if I took my eye off it, I couldn’t have it. And I was right,” he says, almost trying to convince himself it’s the truth. “There was no other way to do it. And it meant choosing it over you. But it was supposed to be temporary. Just… until I had what I wanted. But then I had to keep it.”
Although growing increasingly regretful for not having spent adequate time with his children, Jay appears oblivious to the neglect he’s shown to his relationship with Ron. A hard working manager and loyal friend, Ron begins to realize how one-sided his friendship with Jay might be. Sandler’s brilliance shines through more with each new scene than the last, as we see what deep reverence Ron has for Jay, but how devastatingly lonely it is to work for him. He works tirelessly behind the scenes to appease Jay’s every want and need, only to be chronically under-appreciated and overlooked.
On the eve of the tribute, Ron and Jay get into a tiff that turns into Ron’s breaking point. The next morning, Ron tells Jay he can’t work for him anymore, but concedes to Jay’s plea to accompany him to the tribute that night.
In the dressing room, Ron helps Jay with his makeup while Jay fixes Ron’s bowtie and gives him his pocket square. At that moment, Ron isn’t Jay’s employee, he’s his equal. He’s his friend.
On a table at the center of the room lies a piece of cheesecake, the last of what feels like a dozen slices we see over the course of the film. This recurring motif not only elicited a chuckle out of me for its irony (Jay claims he doesn’t like cheesecake, but because of one remark he doesn’t even remember making to Ron, cheesecake follows him into every room he walks into), but it also highlights the ease with which Jay gets pretty much whatever he wants, and the lack of appreciation he has for Ron making it happen. Jay picks up the fork next to the plate and takes a stab at the cheesecake, shoveling a pair of bites into his mouth. It’s at this moment that, without saying a word, Jay acknowledges Ron.
Finally, Jay and Ron file into the famous Teatro Petrarca auditorium for the big tribute. The lights go down, the orchestra begins to play, and we’re treated to a montage of Clooney’s greatest hits up on the big screen, including scenes from Clooney in “Ocean’s Eleven,” “Michael Clayton,” “Burn After Reading,” among several others.
This eventually fades into a flashback of a live talent show put on by Jess and Daisy that they call, “The Kelly and Kelly show.” Both sisters dance and do tricks for an audience of one, their dad. At this moment, Jay realizes that, after an almost forty year career, this is the only movie that’s really ever mattered. The lights come up and Jay turns to the camera.
“Can we go again?” He asks. “I’d like another one.” Only this time, it’s not another take that he’s after, but another chance at being the dad he never was.