It’s been 15 years since filmmaker and TV legend James L Brooks last attempted to make a romantic comedy. The memory of 2010’s How Do You Know – a film that stumbled both critically and commercially – disappeared without a trace. So when the trailer for his new film, Ella McCay, appeared, announcing his return to the fray after a prolonged absence, anticipation came mixed with doubt.
Emma Mackey, who made a name for herself on small screen hit, Sex Education, leads as a newly-elected state governor, an ambitious politician whose rapid rise is complicated by various personal dramas. In her orbit is a useless husband (Jack Lowden), a deadbeat father (Woody Harrelson), a fiercely protective aunt (Jamie Lee Curtis) and a lost brother (Spike Fearn). Mackey anchors the film with understated steadiness, though she is occasionally upstaged by Curtis’ hilarious quips and Harrelson’s shambling charisma.
Other familiar faces include Ayo Edebiri, Kumail Nanjiani, and Julie Kavner – her unmistakable Marge Simpson cadences a nod to the Brooks-built universe humming beneath. Their presence is largely decorative, highlighting the film’s tendency to lean on charm where substance thins.
At first glance, Ella McCay looks like the kind of mid-budget studio dramedy that Hollywood stopped making years ago. It carries the promise of old-fashioned charm, and for a stretch, that’s enough. The performances are lively, the pacing steady, and the plot unfolds with ease, suggestive of a director who still knows how to juggle politics and comedy.
But as the story evolves, a certain manufactured gloss settles over things. It’s not that Ella McCay is bad – it’s enjoyable in the moment and genuinely funny in places – but there’s a nagging sense that we’re seeing a distant echo of something that peaked decades earlier. We’re left wondering whether Brooks’ brand of sentimental intelligence can still resonate in a landscape that often treats earnestness as anachronism.
Formally speaking, Brooks favours polished, warmly-lit interiors and unshowy set-ups that recall the aesthetic modesty of late-1990s Lifetime TV dramas. His televisual style prioritises dialogue and character beats over cinematic flourishes. Cinematographer Robert Elswit softens the edges of campaign offices with an idealised glow, as if political conflict might be soothed by the right afternoon light. Hans Zimmer’s unobtrusive melodic cues wrap the film in a comforting blanket, at times reinforcing the sense that it is built from much older parts.
Indeed, the film plays like a modern homage to Frank Capra’s Mr. Smith Goes To Washington (1939), offering a less grand version of the famous filibuster sequence which aimed to espouse its belief in messy people over perfect politics. Capra proposed that, in its darkest hour, simple decency could steer American democracy back into the light. Brooks doesn’t fully buy this fantasy, but he doesn’t reject it either. Jimmy Stewart’s hero Jeff Smith, and in her own way, Mackey’s Ella, become symbols of endurance dropped into systems thick with cynicism. The film sits somewhere between hope and realism, an ode to public service for an audience whose optimism is running low.
