“Put in your miniaturized toothpaste and shaving cream – feel how heavy it’s getting?”
“Add in something to slick back your hair and get rid of those nasty warts. Weighing you down yet?”
“Add in some moisturizer and cologne and a menu of paraphernalia you wouldn’t show your best friend, but here you are, placing it in some kind of plastic museum display case on a conveyer belt parade in front of dozens of strangers who could have removed their shoes, their change, and their laptops in a quarter the time if only those nagging sticks weren’t inserted so far up their asses. Feeling heavy now?”
“Add to your bag some furry handcuffs and a leather whip because your buddy told you when you go to the karaoke bar at the Hilton Airport Tulsa you have to be ready for anything. Heavy yet?”
“Add in your collection of MAD magazines and a copy of the Magna Carta, because you just never know. Need an extra shoulder to carry it all, don’t you?”
George Clooney knows all the travel secrets, all right. And not just the ones he uses to bypass every woman’s homeland security.
All to spend as much time as possible in the last place on earth where “drinks” are referred to as “beverages.”
Beneath George, both literally and figuratively, is the the actress with the name any brand of cheese would die for: Vera Farmiga.
George’s job is to fire people in a manner so efficient and effective, I felt fired just watching him. He’s a Termination Engineer, which is exactly what I become when I see two dogs humping.
George likes to travel light – in every manner of speaking – so imagine his frustration when his sister asked him to carry an oversized cardboard photo of her and her new husband around the country to take pictures of this picture in locales exotic and not. In other words, countless hours of effort and jet fuel were used for a photo montage that could have been created for nothing using Photoshop. “This is the kind of assignment you’d give Jack Lemmon in 1975,” said Clooney. “Should I use a Kodak Instamatic, too? How about if I make some daguerreotypes, where the image is exposed directly onto a mirror-polished surface of silver coated with silver halide particles deposited by iodine vapor. I can fit it in my quart-sized Ziploc bag.”
Jason Bateman is George’s boss. I never thought I’d say I like Jason’s work on the big screen, and I’m not going to start saying it now.
Somewhere in the cold and dark of Clooney’s massive shadow lurks poor Anna Kendrick, who was easy to ignore in the Twilight movies but is a revelation here. “It’s hard to shine when you’ve got that black hole of attention called ‘George Clooney’ in every scene with you,” says Kendrick. “When George walks on set, every eyeball becomes unmoored from its cranium and zings through the air in his direction, sticking to him like a hooker sticks to Tiger Woods.”
“When George passes by even iron filings and Ryan Seacrest stand erect,” Anna adds.
Up in the Air is one of those movies that matches its time like that mark on Tiger’s head matches a 9 iron.
In an age when connections are common but the meaningful ones are scarce, Up in the Air reminds us that packing light and packing well are two different things.