UP IN THE AIR never really soars: review

UP IN THE AIR never really soars: review

Jan 24

George Clooney is just one of those guys you can depend on: call it predictable, call it a lack of versatility, but Clooney nails that old-fashioned / modern / classy triumvirate in every single film he’s in. If that’s a style you buy into, he has a nice long filmography for you to browse to your heart’s content, to which you can blindly add his latest outing. If, however, you got sick of Clooney’s schtick circa Ocean’s 11, prepare to be bemused as his snappy, crisp delivery is shoehorned into an already strange mish-mash of bubblegum profundity, black humour and annoying characters, otherwise known as Up In The Air, to predictably muddled results.

For the sake of full disclosure, I loathed Juno. The main problem was the dialogue. I abhor that hip, post-modern, snarky sarcasm that passes for wit in American pop culture. I hated it in Buffy in the 90s and I hate it today. I saw potential in Juno‘s failures, and looked forward with interest to director Jason Reitman’s (son of Ivan) next, but for some reason when I saw the bland poster for Up In The Air, and heard that Clooney would be headlining, my interest in the film immediately plummeted. Then all the rave reviews started gushing in like so much overzealous molasses, to the point that I was certain Up In The Air could never live up to the saccharine hype.

I was right. Up In The Air tries to be about three movies at once, goes on for at least an hour too long, lacks any empathetic (or even plain amusing) characters, and ends up feeling like a puddle-shallow attempt at pop philosophy jammed awkwardly into a small, ugly box marked “MATURE, HONEST.” I tried to stay with this film, but it lost me about halfway through, and I couldn’t for the life of me get back on. There is a pivotal scene somewhere in the second act that throws out every single frame that came before, and it was at that point that I realised there was no way I could love this film, or even really enjoy it.

At first it gives the impression that it’s gonna be one of those old-dog / young-upstart buddy movies where the upstart teaches the old dog some new tricks and everybody goes home feeling warm and fuzzy. There is some snappy dialogue, some awkward and depressing rapid-fire interview-type scenes that set up Clooney’s character’s world, and everything seems to be going okay. But then a lot of things happened that annoyed me.

First of all, there is something about Anna Kendrick’s delivery that just jars with me. Maybe it’s because I can’t help but remember her in New Moon, but any scene with her in it feels awkward and strange. Then there’s the films frivolous treatment of a devastating real-life problem in modern society — the colossal American cock-up that was (and still is) the global financial crisis. Are we supposed to laugh at all the people getting laid off in rapid succession by Clooney’s dismissive douche-for-hire? I’d like to think not. And then there’s the film’s pornographic representation of affluence and the free-floating, devil-may-care lifestyle employed by Clooney’s character. Sure these things are half-assedly dealt with by the end, but for the rest of the film they are just annoying and distracting.

The middle third is aimless, repetitious and overlong. A movie like this needs to move along at a brisk pace, but that middle just drags, especially once it derails itself at the aforementioned pivotal jetty scene. The last third is even worse, cascading into a never-ending series of completely random and strange events barely hinted at anywhere else in the film. Things just keep on happening, without any sense of emotional structure or logical reasoning. And it’s all presented with this pretentious sense of ironic pathos that is about as fun to swallow as a bucket of vinegar.

Okay, so this is George Clooney’s film. I’m struggling to remember the name of his character, let’s see if I get it before the end of this paragraph. Anyway, we’re supposed to follow him on some kind of journey, right? “Someone wants something very badly and is having difficulty getting it” — that’s a boiler-plate summary for every narrative ever invented, right? Okay. So Clooney’s character (the only name that pops to mind is Danny Ocean — argh!) starts out as a vacuous, wealth / convenience -obsessed professional asshole with zero moral compunction and very little in his corner for which a mainstream audience can root. Great, plenty of room for improvement. And, extrapolating from the film’s title, it’ll probably have something to do with touching back down to reality, talking to real people that really matter. So far, so good, except I still can’t remember his name.

The screenwriters throw Danny Ocean a bone in the form of kindred spirit Vera Farmiga, who apparently leads a somewhat similar lifestyle to Mr Ocean and is therefore required by movie law to have sex with him. After that happens, Danny Ocean’s young, annoying protege (Anna Kendrick again) urges him to settle down and actually connect with this person, so Danny Ocean tries just that. I predicted early on — avert your eyes, incredibly mild spoiler alert — that Farmiga was married with kids, so the scene in which Danny Ocean shows up on her doorstep in a cock-headed attempt to connect with someone lands with a wet thump in the frazzled mess of my consciousness, already drawn thin by the complete lack of emotional connection or sense of originality latent in the rest of the film. The guy has a very simple character trajectory to follow, from bad to good, emotional rags to riches, but he still manages to get it wrong. Go back to robbing casinos or something.

I think the reason I failed to connect with this film was just an unfortunate covalescence of a whole bunch of textures and themes I just don’t really care about at this point in my life. The way the main characters consider their awful jobs important, meaningful and fulfilling is completely alienating to me, as is the way they (I mean Danny Ocean — Girl From Twilight tries vainly to represent me in this) wantonly abandon any social obligations in favour of leading disgusting, vacuous lives. The way JK Simmons, Zach Galifianakis, Jason Bateman, Danny McBride and Sam Elliot show up randomly and trivially and play dead-boring, trying-for-funny-and-falling-flat nobodies who only serve to underline preciesly how empty and distant the actual protagonist is. The way the movie goes for well over two hours and still doesn’t reach any conclusion beyond some vague “MATURE” navel-gazing self-righteous moralising.

Don’t get me wrong, there are good aspects to this film, I just can’t remember them right now. Oh, Vera Farmiga brings a kind of sophisticated weight to her character, I guess. There are a couple of good jokes in the script, well-delivered by Clooney. And, um … yeah, okay, the cinematography is pretty cool. And at least it’s not a sequel / prequel / remake / reboot / re-imagining of a previous film (it’s still a book-to-film adaptation, but that’s something I can handle). That’s all I can manage. The rest of the film was just scene after disjointed scene punctuated by vague, messy philosophy delivered with robot-like efficiency by a few soulless leads, the gist of which goes something like this:

Girl From Twilight - “You should stop flying around and connect with people, like your family, and maybe start a family of your own.”

Danny Ocean – “No, I’m such a tough guy I don’t need love.”

Girl From Twilight – “I implore you to reconsider.”

Danny Ocean – “Okay, hey Vera, I’m gonna deny the very likely possibility that you already have a life partner and family of your own and follow you like a lost puppy, do you mind?”

Vera Farmiga – “Sure, if you want, but bear in mind I already have a life partner and family of my own.”

Danny Ocean – “Oh. Shit. Never mind, then. I guess I was right all along. See you all later.”

Up In The Air score

28 / 100