George Clooney’s Sentimentality Can’t Prop Up The Tender Bar

George Clooney should’ve adapted J.R. Moehringer’s 2005 memoir The Tender Bar as a one-man show instead of a feature film: The ensemble cast playing the important figures in Moehringer’s life don’t read as standalone characters as much as hagiographical mouthpieces. Fair enough—it’s his story. But Moehringer didn’t write The Tender Bar’s script; William Monahan did. Moehringer didn’t direct the film, either; Clooney did, and his considerable star power continues to translate into amateurish screen energy. His filmmaking is earnest, but so coltish that the effort is embarrassing. This doesn’t feel like the product of a Hollywood icon. It feels like a piece of community theater with a prestige bait budget.
The Tender Bar is told over the decades spanning Moehringer’s upbringing on Long Island, where he’s played by Daniel Ranieri, to his eventual graduation from Yale, where he’s played by Tye Sheridan. A merry, colorful cast rounds out the backdrop of his life, including Lily Rabe as his mother Dorothy; Christopher Lloyd as his grandpa; scads of barflies played by Michael Braun, Max Casella and Matthew Delamater; and, most of all, Ben Affleck as Uncle Charlie. Charlie is described in voiceover (provided by Ron Livingston) as the sort of uncle everyone wants. As he’s portrayed in The Tender Bar, this is unimpeachably true. He owns and operates a pub, Dickens, stacked with books. His “man science” (male guidelines for living) includes everything from the macho art of changing a tire to chivalry. He’s smart, he’s athletic, he’s no-nonsense and he’d go through a wall for people he loves.
Charlie’s character breakdown on Clooney’s casting call likely read as follows: “A dude who’s just rad as hell.” Affleck leans into Charlie’s unflagging awesomeness with gusto, shaping him as unvarnished and polished at the same time. He’s having fun, so we have fun watching him. But “fun” doesn’t equal substantive, which frankly isn’t Affleck’s role in the first place. He’s there to help hold up Clooney’s interpretation of Moehringer’s text. Some people view the past through rose-tinted glasses. Clooney’s glasses are glazed with corn, a hideous creative choice meant to signal “period” for audiences, as if he can’t trust them to make the leap from now to the 1970s. It’s the first sign of his laziness as a storyteller.