“I’m about to add to your problems, Ella.”
I have been a staunch defender of the legendary writer/director James L. Brooks 21st 21st-century works. I felt that the 2004 dramedy Spanglish showed a wonderful melding of two cultures and the universality that exists between them, while the 2010 romantic comedy How Do You Know honed in on two individuals, once defined by their careers, who discover each other as people. Neither film was perfect, and both were a far cry from the golden days of Broadcast News and As Good As It Gets. Still, there was something about Brooks’ writing, steady throughlines, and a curiosity about the characters on the screen that made those two films just worthwhile enough. Because of those strengths, I was excited to learn about Brooks’ return to the director’s chair after such an extended absence. But that which made those (and most of his movies) as pleasurable as they continue to be is hard to spot here. Ultimately, it’s not that those elements aren’t present in Ella McCay; they’re just in the wrong places.
Emma Mackey plays the titular Ella McCay, the driven and idealistic Lieutenant Governor from an unnamed state who suddenly becomes Governor when her boss Bill (Albert Brooks) is appointed to a cabinet position in the new administration of 2008. However, before she can assume her new role, Ella must deal with some issues surrounding her complicated family, including overly supportive aunt Helen (Jamie Lee Curtis), flaky husband Ryan (Jack Lowden), socially awkward brother Casey (Spike Fearn), and estranged father Eddie (Woody Harrelson).
There’s such a jumbled nature to Ella McCay that keeps it from ever being what it truly could be. The movie is ostensibly about an overly ambitious woman who comes from a troubled family and her attempts to navigate her life and career. Although we spend time with the members of Ella’s complicated family, we never truly get to know them as scenes have them come in, make a small impression, and then disappear for large chunks of the narrative. The idea that Ella is partly using her career to distract and distance herself from her family is probably a valid one. But it’s almost as if Brooks, too, is distracting himself with the movie’s many subplots in an effort to avoid dealing with the troubled fictional family he’s created. Too many of those subplots eat up too much time, from Casey sorting out his own life to the new leaf Eddie has supposedly turned, to a scandal plaguing Ella after it was discovered she and Ryan had sex in a bedroom that is considered government property. It’s a lot for poor Ella to deal with, and a lot for us to keep track of. But we try, and as we do, we wonder how many better movies Brooks could have made out of the many within Ella McCay. The only one that feels worth following is Brooks’ Governor Bill, a character who is shown as being a former idealist, much like Ella, but is now bogged down by too many years in the game. A movie between these two characters at opposite ends of their lives and careers could very well be the best movie James L. Brooks never made.
Brooks could have easily fallen into Garry Marshall territory at this point in his life and career; a once-celebrated TV writer/producer who found great success as a director, only for his comedic instincts to lose their potency in later projects. Despite Ella McCay‘s haphazard construction and less-than-stellar plotting, there are plenty of chuckles to still be had. The movie is full of enough classic Brooks dialogue and situations that incorporate slight slapstick, wit, and even some charm. There’s Ella’s inauguration scene, which Bill interrupts by having an aide slip her a note at the podium that says: “Thank me.” Ignoring it, Ella launches into a diatribe, prompting a less-than-favorable reaction from the crowd and another note from Bill, this one saying: “Don’t thank me.” A bonding scene between Ella and Helen has the former trying to convince her niece to get everything out by yelling. When Ella admits she can’t, a sympathetic Helen softly says, “It’s too bad. I was going to join you.” Finally, a later scene that sees Casey trying to win back his ex-girlfriend, Susan (Ayo Ebebiri), is a great sequence in the tradition of quirky couples being awkward. It’s easy to see these and a number of other moments from Ella McCay taking place in any one of Brooks’ classic series from the 70s. The story may falter to the point of no return, but the comedy shows that while he hasn’t fallen into the trappings that made up Marshall’s final three films, two things are clear: Brooks still has it, and he’s a bit rusty.
Mackey is fantastic in the title role, as anyone familiar with her work knew she would be. She was, after all, one of the few bright spots of 2022’s Death on the Nile, and soared as Emily Brontë in the underrated Emily. Here, she continues to prove her ability to carry a film on her shoulders, even though she manages better when Ella functions in the straight man role. Despite the messiness around her, Mackey’s natural warmth and openness in front of the camera make audiences glad she’s the calm in the center of this Brooks storm.
Not all of her fellow castmates are as lucky, however. Harrelson is fine, but the movie doesn’t even need him, while Lowden struggles playing a character that’s virtually unplayable. Fearn manages some good moments, as does Ayo Edebiri. Elsewhere, Kumail Nanjiani as the head of Ella’s detail and Julie Kavner as her secretary both make the most of underwritten roles. It’s Curtis and Brooks who succeed the most; he by knowing his director’s world as well as he does, and she by proving a natural fit for the script’s various comedic beats.
As shapeless as I found Ella McCay to be, I cannot help but applaud its anti-Brooks concept and the director’s attempts to execute it. For most of his career as a filmmaker, Brooks played it largely safe with his movie stars in polished surroundings. The characters in a James L. Brooks film have traditionally straddled the line between Hollywood and the real world. Mind you, there’s nothing wrong with that, as the classic status of Terms of Endearment and Broadcast News can attest. Yet all of them carried various flaws and problems, which made them feel credible, like they could exist in the real world, minus the great dialogue. Maybe Brooks has evolved from his sheen-heavy safety zone filled with the complications of quirky characters to something more grounded, real, and messy? I’m happy that Brooks has returned, bringing with him his trademark wit, charm, and a newfound curiosity about the true messiness of life. Now I’d like to see him take all those elements to a place worth venturing.
