When you reach George Clooney levels of show-business seniority, you apparently have the opportunity to release as many middling and forgettable directorial efforts as you damn well please.
His latest entry in his series of films destined to fade from the collective consciousness (anyone remember Suburbicon?) is The Tender Bar. This wishy-washy dud is based on the memoir of the same name by J.R. Moehringer. True to the book, it recounts the life of J.R. (Ranieri and Sheridan as younger and older, respectively) as he navigates the pains and joys of his coming-of-age on his native Long Island. Fatherless and growing up in a financially strapped household with his mother, Dorothy (Rabe), his true tastes of life and solace come from the time spent at the titular bar owned by his Uncle Charlie (Affleck). It’s there that he continually returns for camaraderie as he grows up and attempts to find his true calling. Or something.
The screenplay penned by William Monahan simply never truly takes off, and manifests its emotional coming-of-age intent into something thoroughly unremarkable. The actual dramatic ambitions of the thing are decidedly modest; the film is interested in the everyday moments and tribulations of life, though it’s so remarkably unassuming to the point of wondering what the point of any of it is. Maybe these events hold more meaning on the page, but being filtered through Clooney’s milquetoast directorial sensibilities they’re utterly lifeless and clumsy. Even the bar J.R. returns to that is supposed to carry so much emotional weight for the story never makes much of a particular impression, just a recurring locale that we return to from time to time when the movie is ready to inject a little bit of life into frame with Affleck. He’s admittedly putting in a great, earnest performance, and it’s nice to see him returning to something so understated, even if he and his crew of bar friends sort of look and sound like a reject Many Saints of Newark cast. Coupled with the hilariously trite voiceover of J.R. that accompanies the run time, this sometimes feels made for TV.
There are small pleasures to be had in some of these scenes, as well as with some of the livelier formal and editing choices. The occasional sudden zoom or quick comedic cutaway make for brief moments of respite, and it’s hard to truly hate a film aiming for such kindly emotional resonance. But whatever slight wisdoms or truths are to be found here are squandered in a big nothing of a story trying to render them meaningful.
This article appears in December 31 • 2021.