There is an inspired moment in the middle of Ella McCay, written and directed by the great James L. Brooks, in which the titular Ella (Emma Mackey) enters her first-ever cabinet meeting as the newly-appointed governor. It’s not been three days into her term (James L. Brooks regular Albert Brooks plays the governor who stepped down to become Secretary of the Interior, leaving Ella in charge) and everything is falling apart. As everybody stands up and applauds her entrance, she screams, “STOP CLAPPING!” A nice moment is immediately squandered, her face is aghast at her own actions, and her attempted recovery is no better. Brooks makes a meal of the scene, as does Mackey. It’s funny and relatable and a bit unexpected, while existing in a higher register than “everyday life.” These are all things that appear in in the best of Brooks’ films. And while Ella McCay is not one of his best films, it is certainly his best picture since As Good as It Gets.
Mackey is deeply likable in the lead role, embodying that classic Brooks heroine archetype with considerable verve. Given the all-star supporting cast (Kumail Nanjiani, Woody Harrelson, and Jack Lowden included), it is somewhat surprising that those who surround Mackey do not really keep up with her. Except Jamie Lee Curtis, who is very good here. Like many of Brooks’ narratives, there is too much going on. And unlike his best work, not all of it congeals at the end. Consider a B-plot concerning Ella’s younger brother Casey (Spike Fearn) and his maybe-girlfriend Susan (Ayo Edebiri), that starts and never really stops (or goes anywhere).
The overall through-line of the film is fascinating: policy wonk Ella seemingly gets everything she’s ever wished for, and it all begins to fall apart before she ever has the chance to enjoy it. Brooks is interested in the sins people commit that cannot be forgiven, something our narrator Julie Kavner (also Ella’s beloved secretary on screen) tells us directly. There are things Ella’s father (Harrelson) did that she will never properly recover from, and there’s the realization that she probably married some version of her father (Lowden, playing a true villain and one of the more despicable characters Brooks has created). What can be gleaned from this? Only to survive it and move on. There is an honesty in that conclusion that feels brave.
The film is also set in 2008, which is a pointed and effective decision. A recession is on the rise, as well as a coming promise of progressive achievement (cue the “Yes We Can!” chants) that will never be fully realized. McCay’s surprise governorship and “radical” policies (social programs that work? can you imagine?) scare the Democratic establishment, who immediately conspire against her. It would seem silly and ridiculous if it was not what has happened in real life for the last two generations of American liberal politics! It’s not cynicism––it’s reality.
There is an inevitability to all of this that will turn off some viewers. Ultimately, Ella is a do-gooder in a country that undervalues doing good, especially in the political realm. She is a relic of a time that probably never was. So is Ella McCay and its director. The mere existence of a mid-budget adult drama supported by a major studio in 2025 is a victory, pyrrhic thought it may be. That this film––most likely his final film––is optimistic about the little things that can still be done to help people might seem trite. It makes me sad that trite and hopeful occupy the same space these days.
Ella McCay is now in theaters.