Ella McCay

I think James L. Brooks has reached that level of wealth that causes you to forget how people interact.

Not that Ella McCay is the first indication. His previous directorial effort came in 2010 with How Do You Know, one of the more baffling attempts at a romcom that is in no way self-aware of the nonsensical nature of every single moment of its runtime. Its characters don't so much relate to each other as recite lines from wildly different versions of the script. Before that came Spanglish, a movie I like due to some marvelous performances, but which features Téa Leoni's Deb, the most nakedly selfish character in the history of cinema, who the screenplay expects us to feel bad for due to an ultra-late moment of non-apology. Brooks' failures have been all the more frustrating given the highs with which his film career began. Terms of Endearment is warm and funny and engaging as it meanders through the relationship between a mother and daughter across decades (and won him three Oscars). And Broadcast News has an energy like few other films, crafting intricate and fascinating relationships out of flawed people who are simultaneously recognizable and unique, all while revealing both logistics and Truths about the changing state of television news in the 1980s.

That latter masterpiece is the key to his biggest failures, as he's repeatedly attempted to recapture its core idea of "reveal the inner workings of ____ while focusing on the lives (and romances) of its leads". In Ella McCay, it's a half-assed look at state-level politics, as the titular Ella (Emma Mackey) ascends from lieutenant governor when Governor Bill (Albert Brooks) is tapped for the Presidential Cabinet. As they've become close over the course of his tenure, his blunt parting assessment aligns strongly with the opening scenes: her intense, matter-of-fact, steamroll everyone approach to relationships causes everyone to avoid her, so there's no way she'd have ever been elected to lead the executive branch.

That already raises some questions, as lieutenant governors still appear on the ballot in every state, giving them a chance to sink their own candidacy or their running mate's, as the case may be. Not to mention that we're never informed which state she oversees: generic license places, police officer badges that just say "police", not even the seal gives any indication. Sure, it was filmed in Rhode Island, but lieutenant governors run on their own ticket there, which is precluded by Bill's comment. Speaking of Bill, it's never mentioned whose Cabinet he's joining. The film is set in 2008, which implies Obama, but his name is never uttered and nothing on screen screams "winter in Colorado" (where Obama's actual first Secretary of the Interior was from), so it's left ambiguous.

While Brooks doesn't want us to care about these details, by trying to set his story in the real world of politics, he raises the questions himself. It contributes to the murky blandness of the whole story. Because it's not just the setting; every detail of the story, of the characters, of the events, is left vague and unspecific, gesturing at some idea but trailing off before enough of the shape is colored in to make it feel real. Arcs are introduced and resolved in consecutive scenes, and those which aren't take cartoonish steps that feel unmotivated and incomplete. Neither flavor is explored with any depth or care, as if discarded during a brainstorming session before being rescued by some pushy intern and inserted into the script only out of some misplaced obligation. Even Ella's ambitions are left unaddressed. She's dedicated to helping people through government, that much is certain. But that usually sets one on the path of career bureaucrat, tirelessly working behind the scenes to get things done while others get the credit. What led her down the road of politician? What put her in front of the people? And how did she get successful and popular enough to become the second highest-ranking state-level official, despite people constantly referring to her lack of popularity?

Brooks' scripts have always benefited from strong performances to smooth over their rougher edges, to charm the pants off us even when what's on the page isn't particularly coherent. Mackey just isn't up to the task. She's fine enough, but as with every performance of hers thus far, she neither sinks nor swims. She's quickly sliding into my Daisy Edgar-Jones category: actors who keep appearing high up the call sheet despite having demonstrated neither exceptional talent nor an ability to hold the screen. Granted, Jamie Lee Curtis isn't able to do much as her aunt and closest friend Helen despite her skill, so the screenplay deserves most of the blame.

Only two people escape its grasp. Spike Fearn plays Ella's younger brother Casey in a few scenes, a stereotypically twitchy, social anxiety-ridden math genius who went to MIT. He feels like a character cut from As Good As It Gets, Brooks' 90s smash hit about a man with OCD. Although I must say, Fearn captured the energy of a young Caleb Landry-Jones, so he worked for me, despite not being memorable in any of the other movies he's apparently popped up in. Most powerful, though, was the appearance of Ayo Edebiri. She was the only one able to rise above her character's poor conception and command the screen. Despite Susan's actions being preposterous in light of the situation into which she's thrust, Edebiri is captivating, successfully communicating every thought that flits through Susan's head before she's ever had the chance to speak.

The ultimate mechanisms that build the plot are an afterthought. The film checks back in on the unfolding political scandal periodically, but rather than a marker of wrongdoing or moral complication it's simply a technicality, presenting no risk of us turning on Ella. Her husband Ryan (Jack Lowden) is a cartoon character whose confounding motivations are moronic and addressed in a single tossed off scene, dashing what had been a solid portrait of a relationship. This appears to be the backbone of the film, carrying the plot to the various things Brooks wishes to say about government. Namely, that it's more about popularity than getting things done, and even politicians from your own party are just waiting for the right moment to pounce. Hardly revelatory. Maybe he could have gotten away with it if we were at least shown the machine in operation. But with the exception of the phone room, it's all tired snippets and hackneyed jokes and simple suggestions.

The movie's sliding doors moment was the very first scene, in which Estelle (Julie Kavner, in her first non-Simpsons role in almost twenty years) introduces herself as the narrator of the film. It implies the characters know this is a movie, and presents the possibility that Brooks is going to subvert the template we've come to expect from him. Soon, it becomes clear it was just a strange line, and Estelle settles in to providing exposition or describing what just happened, as if she was a late addition to the film to make it a more suitable second screen experience. It comes in bursts, only ever disappearing for long enough that when it reappears, it's a surprise.

What moved Brooks to return to the cinema? It's unclear. Nothing in this film is pressing, nor does it feel like a final statement. There are no interesting insights, no fresh characters, no challenging situations. So what was the point? Maybe he was trying to correct the colossal turd that was his prior film? If so, his success comes on a technicality: it's hard to overstate the insanity of How Do You Know. On the other hand, at least that film was able to inspire some sort of emotion. It was rage and confusion, but it was something. Whereas Ella McCay whiffed on every attempt at humor, and could only inspire the occasional "Why should I care?"