I saw Ella McCay a few hours ago. I was the only one there so I had my phone on the whole time, although I watched the film fairly closely and carefully. For a guy with his phone on.
It was agony to sit through, of course, but I wasn’t feeling sorry for myself. I felt sorry for the cast — Emma Mackey, Jamie Lee Curtis, Albert Brooks, Woody Harrelson, Jack Lowden, Kumail Nanjiani, Ayo Edebiri, Julie Kavner, Spike Fearn. They give it everything they had and then some, but they didn’t write or direct Ella McCay. It’s all the doing of James L.Brooks.
The constant undercurrent, the never-ending refrain in this film is that most of the men are pathetic, whiney, selfish asshats. Not Brooks’ “Governor Bill” but the characters played by Harrelson (Ella’s bad, former hound-dog dad), Lowden (Ella’s jerkoff husband) and Fearn (Ella’s ding-dong younger brother). All the women are consequential, open-hearted, protective, judgmental, proud as racehorses.
Actually, of all the actors I was sympathizing with, I felt the least sympathy for Jamie Lee Curtis. Ella McCay delivers a shitload of viewer anguish and pique, but Curtis brings the fingernails screeching on the blackboard. Her over-acting reminds me of her IRS agent performance in EEAAO. But like I said, it’s Brooks’ fucking fault. He wanted her to crank it up to level 11, and she gave him that. He did this to her.
This film has already been assassinated. No point in beating a dead horse, much less one that’s on its way to the glue factory.
Brooks’ performance as “Governor Bill” is the least problematic. He’s actually pretty good, considering. His final scene — a straight-talking sidewalk confession moment with Mackey — is rather satisfying. “Good for you, Albert,” I was muttering to myself.
I can’t write any more. McCay is too sad, too deflating. What a waste.
