Clooney and Sandler’s ‘Jay Kelly’ Delivers Poignant Hollywood Reckoning on Netflix

In an era where streaming giants churn out content at a dizzying pace, Noah Baumbach’s Jay Kelly arrives like a quiet confession booth amid the noise—a tender, introspective comedy-drama that peels back the glossy veneer of Hollywood stardom to reveal the hollow echoes beneath. Starring George Clooney as a fading movie icon grappling with regret and Adam Sandler as his steadfast manager, the film, now streaming on Netflix following a limited theatrical run, has sparked conversations about legacy, friendship, and the inescapable pull of “what if.” With a Rotten Tomatoes score hovering at a certified fresh 76% from 196 critics and an audience Popcornmeter of 87%, Jay Kelly isn’t the seismic awards juggernaut Netflix hoped for, but it’s a film that lingers, much like the unresolved aches of its protagonist.

The story centers on Jay Kelly (Clooney), a beloved A-lister in his mid-60s whose career spans heartthrob rom-coms to gritty Oscar bait. As he jets off to a tribute at an Italian film festival, Jay embarks on what should be a celebratory jaunt through Europe. Instead, spurred by a midlife epiphany and the nagging distance from his grown daughters (one from each of his two marriages), the trip morphs into a soul-searching odyssey. Accompanying him is Ron Sukenick (Sandler), his long-suffering manager and surrogate brother of four decades; Liz (Laura Dern), the no-nonsense publicist who’s seen it all; and a rotating entourage including hairstylist Candy (co-writer Emily Mortimer) and various handlers who buffer Jay from the world’s sharper edges.

Baumbach, whose Netflix collaborations include the razor-sharp Marriage Story (2019)—which netted Dern her Best Supporting Actress Oscar—and the sprawling White Noise (2022), co-wrote the script with Mortimer, infusing it with his signature blend of wry humor and emotional acuity. Here, the tone skews gentler, more elegiac, evoking Federico Fellini’s 8½ or Woody Allen’s Stardust Memories but bathed in Tuscan sunlight rather than existential fog. “If you make a movie about an actor, you’re inherently making a movie about identity and performance,” Baumbach told Netflix’s Tudum in a recent interview. The director, drawing from his own brushes with fame through ex-partner Greta Gerwig (who cameos as Ron’s wife in phone scenes), crafts Jay as a man whose life has been scripted by others—agents, directors, fans—leaving him adrift in his own narrative.

Clooney, no stranger to meta roles (recall Hail, Caesar! or his directorial turns like The Tender Bar), delivers what many are calling a career-best performance: disarming vulnerability wrapped in that trademark charm. Jay’s arc—from rehearsing a rain-soaked death scene on set, pleading “Can we go again? I think I can do it better,” to confronting the montage of his own film clips at the festival—is a masterclass in restraint. “He’s noble in his trying and human in his errors,” wrote IGN’s reviewer, praising how Clooney channels his real-life poise into a portrait of quiet unraveling. It’s Clooney riffing on his persona with a gravitas that feels earned, not performative, especially in wrenching scenes where he chases reconciliation with his daughters, played with subtle steel by Riley Keough and Grace Edwards.

Yet, it’s Sandler who emerges as the film’s emotional anchor, expanding his dramatic toolkit beyond the raw intensity of Uncut Gems (2019) or Punch-Drunk Love (2002)—roles that infamously eluded Academy nods. As Ron, the lifelong enabler who’s sacrificed his own life for Jay’s ascent, Sandler brings a lived-in warmth laced with simmering resentment. His character’s inexhaustible patience frays in late scenes, revealing the toll of loyalty in a cutthroat industry. “Sandler is especially excellent… as his once-inexhaustible patience wears thin enough to show the resentment underneath,” noted Slate’s critic, who found the duo’s dynamic the film’s beating heart. Social media buzz echoes this: One X user raved, “Adam Sandler has his own wrenching moments… the final scene with Clooney left me teary,” while another called it “a love letter to friendship in the shadows of fame.” Critics widely predict a Supporting Actor nomination for Sandler at the 2026 Oscars, potentially his first, positioning Jay Kelly as a dark horse in a crowded field.

The ensemble shines in flashes, elevating Baumbach’s character-driven focus. Dern, reuniting with the director post-Marriage Story, imbues Liz with sharp-tongued efficiency, her publicist a wry Greek chorus to Jay’s chaos. Billy Crudup steals a pivotal sequence as a fellow actor confronting Jay about artistic compromises, his monologue a meta gut-punch on the “cost of success.” Patrick Wilson, Jim Broadbent, and Stacy Keach add textured cameos—Broadbent as a gruff festival organizer, Keach as Jay’s ailing mentor—while Mortimer’s Candy provides levity as the group’s unflappable stylist. Gerwig’s brief appearance grounds the proceedings in Baumbach’s personal orbit, a nod to his own blended family dynamics.

Visually, Jay Kelly is a feast, lensed by cinematographer Peter Mountain in lush 35mm that captures Europe’s romantic decay: rain-slicked Paris alleys giving way to Tuscany’s golden vineyards. Nicholas Britell’s score—piano-driven and melancholic—mirrors the film’s pivot from buoyant road-trip vibes to introspective dirge. Production wrapped in early 2025 after principal photography in Italy, where Clooney’s local fame reportedly turned shoots into impromptu fan events. “Everywhere he goes in Italy, people are like, ‘George Clooney!’ And with all of us, you feel it too—he brings you in on it,” Sandler shared in a Q&A. Casting director Nina Gold, fresh off Succession, assembled this “wealth of talent” with Baumbach’s input, emphasizing chemistry over star power.

The film’s journey to screens mirrors its themes of delayed reckoning. Announced in December 2023 as Baumbach’s next Netflix venture under his multi-picture deal, Jay Kelly premiered in Venice’s main competition on August 28, 2025, earning polite applause but no Lion d’Or. It screened at Telluride, New York, and BFI London, building awards whispers, though the response tempered early hype. “Thoroughly enjoyable without meaning terribly much beyond… smell the roses,” quipped Ty Burr in his Substack review. RogerEbert.com’s Brian Tallerico lauded its “flawless supporting cast” but noted the script’s “ambition exceeds its reach,” a sentiment echoed in some X posts: “Slow and pretty underwhelming… how is Adam Sandler getting praised?” Others defended its subtlety: “Thoughtful, mature, and emotionally resonant… a poignant reminder that success is rarely free.”

For Baumbach, this marks his fourth Netflix outing, evolving from the familial fractures of The Meyerowitz Stories (2017) to broader societal satires. Jay Kelly feels personal yet universal, a Hollywood insider’s take on fame’s Faustian bargain, especially poignant amid Netflix’s rumored Warner Bros. acquisition—a move critiqued in Jacobin as the “death of Hollywood stardom” ironically funded by the streamer itself. Clooney, producing via Smokehouse Pictures with David Heyman (Harry Potter) and Amy Pascal (Spider-Man), has long navigated stardom’s double-edged sword; his portrayal feels like catharsis.

As Jay Kelly climbs Netflix’s charts—outpacing flashier releases like a surprise 2025 comedy—its muted buzz belies deeper resonance. It’s not the “emotional sledgehammer” some trailers teased, but a scalpel: precise, occasionally sentimental, ultimately forgiving. In a year of bombast, it whispers a truth Clooney’s Jay learns too late: All memories are movies, but only the unscripted ones endure. Stream it, reflect, and maybe call that estranged friend. Therapy not included.