Ella McCay – Film Review

James L. Brooks returns to feature filmmaking with Ella McCay, a political comedy-drama that feels both comfortingly old fashioned and refreshingly sincere. Set in an unnamed state during the hopeful political climate of 2008, the film follows the rise of a young lieutenant governor thrust unexpectedly into the political spotlight. While uneven pacing and some underdeveloped supporting players keep it from being a complete triumph, Brooks delivers a thoughtful, uplifting character study anchored by a standout performance from Emma Mackey. A polished visual touch from cinematographer Robert Elswit and a warm ensemble further round out this heartfelt, sometimes familiar, but undeniably engaging film.

The premise is pleasantly low-stakes compared to most political dramas. Rather than leaning into scandal, corruption, or cynicism, Ella McCay focuses on the human side of public service. Ella is an earnest, idealistic 34-year-old lieutenant governor preparing to succeed her mentor, the long-serving governor who has abruptly accepted a cabinet position in the incoming Obama administration. The transition throws Ella’s personal life and political responsibilities into disarray, and the film follows her attempts to navigate each with grace, humor, and increasing self-confidence.

Brooks has always excelled at capturing complex interpersonal dynamics—whether in newsrooms, relationships, or family homes—and he applies that same grounded, character-first approach here. Politics functions less as a battleground and more as a workplace, complete with egos, insecurities, stressful deadlines, and the ever-present impulse to do good even when the world makes it difficult. While this gentle approach may feel overly familiar to some viewers, it undeniably contributes to the film’s uplifting tone.

Emma Mackey delivers what is easily the film’s greatest strength: a lead performance that feels lived-in, sincere, and charming without ever becoming saccharine. Mackey plays Ella as someone who is both capable and quietly overwhelmed—a young woman trying to juggle her sense of duty with her desire for a functional family life. It’s a balance that could easily tip into trope territory, but Mackey grounds the character in emotional specificity. She brings a whip-smart intensity to Ella’s professional life and a tender fragility to her personal struggles, especially in scenes with her parents and husband.

Mackey’s sharp comedic instincts also shine. Brooks’ dialogue often thrives on brisk exchanges layered with subtext, and Mackey handles his rhythms with impressive ease. She carries the entire film confidently, and her performance alone makes Ella McCay worth watching.

The supporting cast is packed with major talent—Jamie Lee Curtis, Woody Harrelson, Rebecca Hall, Jack Lowden, Ayo Edebiri, Kumail Nanjiani, and Albert Brooks—but not everyone gets the spotlight their presence might suggest. Curtis, playing Ella’s aunt Helen, makes a lively impression. She brings warmth, sharp comedic timing, and hints of personal history that enrich the family dynamic. Her scenes with Mackey have a playful, affectionate energy that serves as one of the film’s emotional anchors.

Jack Lowden is very effective as Ella’s husband Ryan, who is easily one of the most unlikable characters of the year. Their marriage feels lived-in and dramatic. Kumail Nanjiani and Ayo Edebiri add additional bursts of humor, contributing to the film’s workplace banter without distracting from the central narrative.

However, two performers are notably underutilized. Woody Harrelson, as Ella’s father Eddie, brings natural charisma and emotional gravitas, but his role remains surprisingly thin. Moments that hint at deeper father-daughter conflict are introduced and then drift away before they can truly resonate. Similarly, Rebecca Hall receives far too little to do. Her brief appearances suggest a more complicated character, but the film never fully explores her potential. These missed opportunities contribute to the sense that Brooks’ script could have used another pass to better harness the ensemble’s strengths.

Robert Elswit’s cinematography elevates Ella McCay beyond its more modest comedic-drama trappings. Known for his collaborations with filmmakers like Paul Thomas Anderson and Michael Mann, Elswit brings an elegant visual sensibility that makes the film feel richer and more cinematic than one might expect from a story about local government transitions. Sunlit government buildings, intimate family spaces, and atmospheric 2008 campaign rallies are captured with warmth and clarity. Elswit’s work subtly reinforces the film’s uplifting mood—this is a world where people genuinely want to do right, and the imagery reflects that optimism.

Brooks’ direction complements this visual approach. He keeps the tone gentle and humane, focusing on small gestures and character moments rather than political spectacle. The film doesn’t aim for biting satire or high-stakes tension; instead, it offers a hopeful reminder that public service can be meaningful work, even in the midst of personal and structural challenges.

While the film’s emotional intelligence and sincerity are refreshing, the pacing can be sluggish. Ella McCay moves with a deliberate softness that occasionally slips into inertia. Some scenes linger longer than necessary, while others feel repetitive, emphasizing themes and character beats that the audience already understands. As a result, the middle stretch of the film loses momentum before recovering in the final act.

Additionally, the narrative itself—while warm and thoughtful—feels familiar. Brooks employs themes and structures that echo his earlier work, particularly Broadcast News. While this isn’t inherently negative, younger viewers or those craving fresh political insights may find the film predictable. Its strengths lie in execution rather than innovation.

In the end, Ella McCay succeeds through sincerity, strong performances, and a palpable sense of warmth. Emma Mackey’s magnetic lead turn drives the film, supported by a talented cast and Robert Elswit’s polished cinematography. Its uplifting tone and empathetic perspective set it apart from the more cynical political narratives dominating modern media.

The film’s flaws—slow pacing, narrative familiarity, and the underuse of excellent actors like Woody Harrelson and Rebecca Hall—prevent it from reaching the heights of Brooks’ finest work. Still, it’s an engaging, compassionate story with enough heart and humor to resonate.