George Clooney (38 page)

Based on the debut 2008 novel of Kaui Hart Hemmings (the author can be glimpsed in a cameo as Clooney's secretary),
The Descendants
manages to tread a very delicate balance between mawkish sentimentality as absent father Matt King (Clooney) has to return to Hawaii to deal with a comatose wife and a fragmented family. Although it may seem that we are seeing a brand-new side to Clooney's art, his character, unequal to the pressures of fatherhood mixed with a subtle mix of grief and anger at his wife (whom he discovers was adulterous), is evolutionary rather than
revolutionary. Like
Michael Clayton
and
Syriana
, he is a father distanced from his children by marital breakdown and the demands of a particular career, respectively. Tearfulness in earlier work develops into open crying both at discovering the name of his wife's lover and at her bedside at the end, in an outburst of grief that perhaps excuses some of his character's decisions elsewhere (the island trip in particular).

What is new here is the gender balance: he is father to teenage girls. Far from his usual predominantly male environment (
Ocean's
,
Three Kings
,
Perfect Storm
) he must struggle to understand not just his own flesh and blood but the female side of his family (his wife included). What is also new is that, apart from parodies like
Collinwood
, this is the first time we have seen him play a character lacking expertise. Unlike Clayton, Kelvin, or Jack in
The American
, we do not see professional competence, only a private insecurity in coping with two wayward daughters, Scottie (Amara Miller) and elder sister Alexandra (Shailene Woodley). He describes himself as “the backup parent,” and part of the muted comedy and dramatic pleasure comes from the understudy being thrown into the main role with minimal preparation, especially in scenes between Matt and Alex, who has a greater sense of the reality behind the façade of their family bonds.

Unlike his measured exercise regime in
The American
, we see him running breathlessly in flip-flops (in a scene added from the novel and with a close-up of his distraught face): he is not in physical, familial, or emotional control. Like Ryan in
Up in the Air
, family life has continued without him. He is forced to catch up fast on the emotional nuances of relationships he has neglected to find a place for, not just within the family but in relation to his past and potential future. This latter point is implicit in the final decision to keep the land; but also perhaps there is an element of Matt as a calculating lawyer, refusing to sell to a Hollitzer, since Speer, Hollitzer's brother-in-law, would benefit from the deal. There is almost a road movie element in that the family, together with Alex's boyfriend Sid (Nick Krause), takes a trip, ostensibly to help heal emotional wounds but also to allow Matt to confront his wife's lover, Brian Speer (Matthew Lilliard). This ulterior motive diminishes Matt as a caring father, prepared to drag his children into a marital dispute. As a rich lawyer, Matt King is an urban animal out of his usual element, signaled by shift from business suit to Hawaiian shirt, although the use of the landscape remains an urban version of paradise, i.e., a lived form of a popular ideal. Hemmings's novel does not feature any specific physical description of Matt's appearance, allowing for some debate over Clooney's casting but also giving him freedom in interpreting the role.
Ironically, before the film went into production, in one of the early hospital scenes in the book, Scottie wears a T-shirt emblazoned with the words “Mrs Clooney.”

All of the films in this chapter require a shock to a middle-aged male living a financially comfortable existence, often administered by a collision with a spiritual or emotional loss experienced outside the character's usual environment (a space station in
Solaris
, a hillside in
Michael Clayton
, and a small picturesque Italian town in
The American
). Clooney seems increasingly comfortable with portraying characters on the edge of emotional breakdown and even sanity at times. There is no other actor in contemporary Hollywood who so powerfully articulates masculinity in crisis but with enough wit and humor to carry mass audiences with him.

As an actor with a very distinctive voice, Clooney is often in demand for work where audiences only hear him. I have discussed his contribution to
Fantastic Mr. Fox
elsewhere, but in terms of commercials, Clooney has starred in TV and radio ads for Arthur Andersen, AT&T, British Airways, and Budweiser among many others.
¹
He has been criticized for making commercials at the same time as speaking out on humanitarian issues, but it is a charge that could be leveled at many actors. Even before the soap opera developed in the 1930s via short radio adverts, commerce and mass media have been closely entwined. It is hardly a sign of the corruption of contemporary culture. More interesting is exactly what Clooney does in the adverts and how they work with or against his star image.

“No Martini, no party”

The ad opens with a fantasy set, filled only with attractive women dancing by a pool. Clooney, playing himself, rings the bell but is not allowed in with the closing slogan, “No Martini, no party.” Playing against his romantic image, he is rejected in a series of variations on the same theme. There is even a closing shot of him at the door with cases of Martini and a clichéd wordless popping of a cork. “Night over Manaus” by Boozoo Bajou reflects the shift to sophisticated lounge music and music channels like Deluxe, aimed at a slightly older demographic than MTV. We occupy the space outside the door as Clooney is rejected and his surprise is registered by looking down.

A subsequent ad shows Clooney downstairs from a noisy party, disturbing the mood he is hoping to create with a woman whose glasses
(and by implication, much else besides) he is about to remove. Going upstairs, he walks around collecting drinks from partygoers like an overzealous waiter in reverse, before delivering the familiar “No Martini, no party” punch line, now with the ring of a punishment about it. However, before he seems too much of a killjoy, he switches the music from pop to classical, suggesting a slightly more mature persona.

Like a later Nespresso ad, there is a false element of tension here as the two leads (Clooney and Shannyn Sossamon) both make for the last serving of the product at a party as if their lives depend on it, although there is clearly more available. She takes the more direct route while he has flashbulbs going off in his face. Although she is walking through fountains in slow motion, the element of glamor is undercut by the statue that appears to be peeing on her and also Clooney's absurd expressions and his final gestures for her to wipe her face on the handkerchief he gives her. Although supposedly set by the sea, this is a parody of the excesses of a Hollywood party.

As someone known to have a home and an interest in Italy, the idea of Clooney as a fake Italian fits with his image well. With the fake moustache, the exaggerated facial expressions, and the delivery of the single word “Bellissimo,” he comes across like a wannabe Casanova, still struggling with the language. It also reflects Clooney's vain character of Miles Massey in
Intolerable Cruelty
and McGill (with a similar moustache) in
O Brother
. Clooney seems happy to mock his own image: a monographed “G” is briefly visible on his handkerchief.

Clooney plays the same character again, here identified as a film star, named as “Giorgio” in a large poster, at a film festival, greeted by screaming fans at a premiere or an after-show party. However, the sense of glamor is undercut by some fairly crude humor: lacking ice cubes, Leonor Varela dressed as a matador provides two by cutting an undisclosed part from an ice sculpture of a bull. Culturally, there is some conflation of stereotypes here since Varela's costume and the title point to a Spanish theme and yet the name “Giorgio” is Italian. The music is provided by Mark Mothersbaugh's band, Mutato Muzika, who had contributed to
Collinwood
, and Mothersbaugh would go on to score
Fantastic Mr. Fox
. Like “Bellissimo,” this is shot in black-and-white (except for
the product), features only a single word at the end (“Magnifico”), and is more a carefully choreographed example of melodramatic pastiche.

In a further Martini commercial, in brilliant color, we see Clooney running out of gas on his speedboat and having to choose between rescue and giving up a case of Martini, at which point we cut to the final shot of him marooned with the Martini by his side. Clooney is playing a less exaggerated version of himself here, running out of gas on a date cliché of running out of gas transferred to the life of a Hollywood star with unnamed female beauty attached. Rather than keeping his boat (and the girl), this hero chooses the product.

Clooney shows his sartorial side here, donning a light suit for a change and definitely outside his usual color range: a light brown, with matching tie and shoes. His character is seen approaching a house, apparently guarded by burly bodyguards. Climbing a fire escape and hopping across a roof and in through a window, he meets the object of his quest (his mother), whom he presents with flowers. Clooney here blends his persona as master spy, deftly able to avoid detection, but also associations of an honorable son, who still has time for his mother (particularly important in Mediterranean culture perhaps). He even has time for a telltale nod down the lens at the viewer at the end.

An earlier ad (2002) shows him playfully riding a bicycle backward and forward on a seaside promenade while performing various feats of balance. The more daring moves in longer shot look like a stunt double, but tighter shots are Clooney himself. Like the later Nespresso ad, the voice-over lists adjectives, ambiguously referring to both the product and Clooney's persona in endorsing them: elegant, natural, distinctive, attractive, with character. The pseudo-martial arts moves he performs on the bike and the final shot of him still playing at dusk have a slightly
Karate Kid
-feel, perhaps pushing his action more toward the childish than playful.

An earlier ad still from 1999 shows him coming home and slipping into something more comfortable: a Tucci suit, complete with rust-brown tie. We might assume he is getting ready to go out, but the implication is as he slumps in front of the TV that such stylish clothing is more comfortable than sweatpants.

In a Mark II, we see Clooney enjoying driving a particular car, but the opening “Let's go” almost has the effect of parody when we see what he is
actually driving. As ever, his chivalrous credentials are underlined, driving around a puddle rather than splash an attractive woman walking past. Another ad shows him called to hurry as “We have a situation,” followed by similar footage through surprisingly empty urban streets. His gentlemanly nature allows a woman into an elevator first with the clichéd “After you,” picked up again later as he gives her a lift, in another chivalrous act or an open pickup. A further ad shows him as “Uncle George” taking a little girl supposedly to school but he takes her to work instead (an office rather than a film set). He seems content (as Michelle Pfeiffer noted during the shooting of
One Fine Day
) playing the “fun dad.” The Toyota ads, unseen by U.S. audiences, might seem open to parody, and offer the thrills of an action narrative but fail to deliver. Even the slogan, “Drive your dreams,” suggests your dreams must be quite tame.

Fiat uses Clooney to promote their small minivan, named the Idea. We see a woman stopping next to an Alpine villa but leaving the door open. Clooney, known for his love of sports, jogs past in typical black T-shirt (a premise used in a later Fastweb ad). Attracted by the car, he gets in and finds it so comfortable that he reclines, at which point the woman returns (shot in slow motion), locks the doors, and traps him inside, before driving off with her prize. The ad is almost a parody of the notion of a Venus flytrap (with “Fever” chosen as the soundtrack), a tongue-in-cheek notion that female drivers (the ad's apparent target audience) might ensnare the man of their dreams if they too had such a car. Clooney, now with a house in Italy, is shot in an Italian setting and interested in an Italian car. There is a deprecating wit in evidence (and a playful nature, fooling around in the car, trying on sunglasses, and putting his feet up), not about his lady-killing prowess but his desirability to a wily female, setting and springing an effective trap. However, with a typical head tilt, this time sideways, a gesture mirrored by the woman, it is clear he is not too concerned. The setting, identified by caption as Lake Como, implying the trap is for Clooney specifically, is underlined by the slogan “George not included” as if he is on first-name terms with his public.

The Nestlé-owned company Nespresso engaged the services of the agency McCann Paris to use Clooney in rebranding their product as upmarket but accessible. “George Who?” shows Clooney approaching a
Nespresso store, establishing his identity for the first of the series of commercials. He passes mother and son as they come out, looking longingly perhaps at her or at the family life they represent, both part of Clooney's interest for the tabloid media as well as underlining his chivalrous credentials in holding the door open for them. Another woman passes out, whom he also watches, so that by the time a third woman comes in and she hands her keys to him, the gag that he is some sort of parking valet seems vaguely plausible. His look at this third woman, right down the camera lens, is a very direct link with the viewer (this first ad was filmed in the Milan area, close to Clooney's Lake Como home). Whip pans juxtaposed with leisurely tracking shots of luxurious furniture with couples sitting suggest an exciting yet chic hangout for the super-rich but also accessible to anyone walking in off the street. In terms of soundtrack, there is a heavy bass line and a few chords from an electronic piano (Karma Leon's track “Eternal Bliss”), suggesting something quirky and off-beat, returning at times to counterpoint the gags. It acts like a theme tune for a favorite TV show, bookending the ad and alerting fans to its presence.