Some of the glorious scenic trips around Scotland are on “rickety trains,” including the world-famous West Highland Line, the Far North Line and the Kyle Of Lochalsh Line. One of the most soothing pleasures of living in Montrose is the occasion to amble to the station and take a little trip here and there on a long summer’s day. Certain stations around the country dependably serve a more-than-passable cup of coffee. It is regrettable that more films don’t utilise the charms and adventures of train travel to their benefit. But the relaxing, soft central section of “Jay Kelly” (Netflix), showing now at the Montrose Playhouse, proves without question that an entire plot and all its major characters can be tidily developed in one journey from a station in Paris to a town in Tuscany. I plan to write about this at length. Overall, this gentle, beautifully designed, non-violent film concerns, specifically, the backstage biography of an actor; and, generally, later-in-life regrets about the consequences of clambering up the career ladder.
Jay, played by George Clooney, is a Hollywood action-movie superstar. A short sequence establishes the egotistical nature of film-star fame, and that “Jay Kelly” will reveal some of filmmaking’s secrets. As “cut!” is yelled at the end of the final day of live-action shooting for Jay’s latest movie, the overpacked crew chime “Love you Jay,” and, “Jay you’re the best.” He replies, presumably not for the first time, “I am the best!”
The train journey comes about after Jay meets an old college friend. Their relationship seems agreeable—there is a very good moment where the friend role-plays an audition by reading the restaurant menu out loud—but things take an unexpected turn. “I’m going to be honest with you,” Jay is told. “I can’t stand you. Is there a person in there? Maybe you don’t actually exist,” soon after which they start fighting. Instead of fury, Jay experiences the emotion of loss. Life has passed him by and his grown-up daughters have left him. He instructs one of his “people” to sleuth about to discover where his younger daughter plans to be—she has an advance ticket for that train—and, to the horror of his entourage, cancels a planned shoot and takes a private jet to Paris, with them in tow.
The lazy way to join scenes is to plonk the characters into a motorcar and film them chatting. “Jay Kelly” demonstrates why a character in a movie is much better served by the interaction with others on a train (aside from any environmental or convenience reasons, that is). Grass-roots opposition to the vulgar lifestyle of the super-rich can spontaneously arise from merely enjoying a train journey for its own benefits. Contrast Jay’s brain-dead minders, one of whom shrieks, “We can’t just put him on a train!” with the thrilled passengers with whom Jay jokes, one of the women asking him, “Will you be using the same bathroom as us?” His sulky, manipulative manager, played by Adam Sandler, is one of those people who trots up and down the carriage barking into his mobile phone. By and by the audience feels like copying Jay and locking ourselves in the onboard toilet to escape the nagging. As the film stays on the train, a full sub-plot is developed about his managers’ previous romantic relationship and many windy disagreements are aired about whether people paid fifteen per cent of Jay’s earnings to manage him—and enjoying the trappings of his life as (dubiously valuable) perks on top—could be his friends. “You love him. I work for him,” one says. And later, “We’re not to him what he is to us.” Just when we suppose that the plot- and character-development opportunities of the train have been exhausted, the filmmakers pivot to an enchanting scene in the buffet car where Jay wises up to the consequences of his ego, ambition and choices. The precise way that Mr Clooney’s face is lit, taking into account the real light inside a carriage and the effect of the train entering a tunnel on the shot, is downright exceptional.
Three other standouts merit a brief aside. First, the subtle, well-edited musical score—predominantly piano, either solo or with small orchestra—by Nicholas Britell, who could write a textbook on chord structure. Second, what might be termed hubbubs, which are a device to speed up the action; one great example of this starts one second after the opening “cut”—a perfectly choreographed noise erupts from all four corners of the stage, like that of market day in a country town. We eavesdrop on one side of fast-and-loud, overlapping conversations about sick children and ongoing legal battles and hair and makeup scheduling and relationship decisions and dog appointments and after-work plans, most of which are on mobile phones. Third, a scene—featuring a cameo by Lenny Henry—which introduces an important sub-theme: authenticity. “Do you know how hard it is to be yourself?” twenty-three year old Jay is asked. “You have to act twice. Once when you are playing the part and once when you play yourself.”
The LandxSea eco-film festival, at the Playhouse in September, challenges our unnecessary lifestyles as firmly as is possible in film—not participating is one strategy. (One example would be not participating in the single-use plastic industry.) The outstanding contribution of “Jay Kelly” is to make this point but handle it deftly and let our minds make the necessary connections. Jay “sends a plane” to collect his father from Miami, assuming his father would not want to miss Jay’s big day, but his father refuses to play ball and leaves before the event. And his daughter isn’t interested either. “I can send a car, a helicopter, a jet, whatever you need,” Jay implores. But she reminds him of the past, “I didn’t want a helicopter or a private jet,” she says, a reference to his absence, while continuing to kiss a waiter she has picked up at a Parisian cafe. “I just want to be on this rickety train.”
Adam Poole
23rd November 2025
If you are interested in viewing this screening, please book your tickets here
