It all started with a whisper along the Venetian waterfront: “George Clooney is in town.” In Venice, rumors don’t stay rumors for long—especially when a dozen lenses pick up the slightest movement of a celebrity and blast it across every site and feed in existence. Within hours, Clooney was everywhere.
The next day, however, he was nowhere. The actor skipped his scheduled interviews with the press, then promptly canceled a press conference—reportedly because of a cold. Poor Noah Baumbach and Adam Sandler, his partners in the film Jay Kelly, were left to do the explaining. And yet, like magic, the cold was cured just in time for the evening’s red carpet stroll. Clooney, hand-in-hand with his wife, beamed under the flashes. Maybe it was a husband’s promise fulfilled—Amal’s vintage Jean-Louis Scherrer gown was worthy of cinematic drama in itself. Or maybe the real reason was more practical: it was simply impossible to cancel obligations tied to his long-standing Swiss watch endorsement.
Here’s the delicious irony: while the festival screened films about corporate bondage and the despair of the unemployed, the actual red carpet was staging its own lesson in economics. Clooney’s multimillion-dollar fees versus journalists who had waited for him for sums that wouldn’t cover a single button of his tuxedo.
Numbers don’t lie. Ambassadors for luxury watch brands rake in about $3 million a year. Clooney’s Nespresso deal? Roughly $40 million, according to Business Insider and The Guardian. One film role can bring him $20 million or more, sometimes sweetened by a slice of the profits. Netflix? Even better—$35 million for a single part. Yes, half disappears into taxes, plus the usual 10% for the agent and 5% each for the manager and lawyer. But still: not exactly small change. And so, red carpet > immune system. Always.
And the film itself? Officially, Clooney plays Jay Kelly. Unofficially, it’s Clooney playing Clooney—a star pausing his work to rethink his career and mend his personal life. Themes of regret, sacrifice, and lost connections in exchange for fame and fortune. On the festival backdrop, the irony is almost too sharp. After all, it’s far easier to cancel journalists who work for pennies than to step away from the obligations that come with money and fame. A story of burnout told by one of the world’s highest-paid actors, at a festival that operates on exactly the same principle as film criticism. But Clooney’s given up the festival schedule, maybe he’s finally had time to reflect?
