Up in the Air should Up and Leave

I have to admit that I am not a George Clooney fan. I must one of a rare breed of forty-somethings who have never found him remotely sexy. I watched him in ER and the Ocean's movies and somehow never managed to get caught up in Clooney-fever. But then I have never been a hero-worshipper. In my teen years, when my friends drooled over their pop star or actor heroes, plastering posters of them all over their bedroom walls, my walls were pristine and my nose was always in a book. I could never quite see the allure in placing one person on such a high pedestal. After all, they went to the toilet in the same way I did. So they could act or sing. Did that make them a better person than me because I could do neither, or if I could, I hadn't reached the same level of fame and fortune? I would watch my friends and scoff at their ridiculous adoration of a person who would never know they existed.

And so it was with George Clooney in my twenties. Again, when my twenty-something friends were fantasising about languishing with him on some tropical island beach, the ocean lapping at their bodies, I quietly laughed, thinking what a ridiculous waste of energy all this fantasising took, energy that could be put to much better use, oh I don't know, trying to think of a way to solve world hunger, for example. No, George Clooney was never going to be my muse. To make matters worse, I didn't rate him much as an actor either (sorry, George).

However, when Up in the Air hit the media with such hype, such adoration of Clooney's acting, touting the awards for which he was being nominated, implying that this was his best work yet, that he had actually reached new levels of acting prowess, I began to wonder if I hadn't got it all wrong. I watched the trailer online, with the added interviews, which cleverly weaved a tale of an actor that had finally made his mark - this would be the movie for which he would be remembered. I suddenly didn't want to miss the boat. I didn't want to be the person that had doubted, was proven wrong and hadn't been there to see it.

My sister-in-law and I had decided to take our teenage daughters to see a movie and since Up in the Air was the only movie available at the time that suited us both, we went to see it. Actually, I convinced my sister-in-law to see it with me because my husband refused to go and see George Clooney (I think a lot of men suffer from Clooney-hatred, actually). Having never been a Clooney fan, but with the ringing of the Golden Globe and expected Oscar nominations in my mind, I tried to give it a 'fair go'.

Oh dear. Sorry, George, but it was awful. There is no other way to put it. It was slow and laborious in the way the story was weaved, predictable in a lot of areas with a ridiculous ending, that left both my sister-in-law and I looking at each other saying out loud, "Is that it?". I felt betrayed. Here I was, George's worst fan, prepared to give him a chance based on the promise of acting prowess strong enough to get him a possible Golden Globe and even an Oscar and what did I get? A two hour Clooney monologue with him interacting with a few characters along the way. Characters, I might add, that had no depth or meaning, other than to reiterate the meaningless purpose of his character's life. Here was an opportunity for the producers to make Clooney shine, to allow him to surpass his stereotypical crooning and to find some depth in his character. But no, they chose the safe option. He crooned, he smiled, his eyes twinkled, he was empathetic, so Clooney-perfect, the whole way through, for two agonising hours. One might even be able to forgive this lack of depth if the story itself was reasonable, but it wasn't. The movement of the movie was so one dimensional and incredibly predictable - certainly not a story worthy of any award, never mind an Oscar, in my opinion. Actually, what I felt I was watching, and people who have seen the movie may agree with me, is perhaps a snapshot into his actual real life - good looking and (seemingly) commitment-phobic - and for me, that was not acting. I felt cheated.

Judging by the mood in the cinema after the movie had finished, I was not alone. My sister-in-law's daughter and mine (aged 15 and 17) had lost interest half way through, choosing to talk about my niece's impending birthday instead. People in front of us shuffled - a lot! And even my sister-in-law and I took to the odd comment here and there, something I never usually do. And so it was, I left the cinema having my original view of Mr Clooney remain in tact - a man (and actor) not worthy of my hero worship in my twenties and even less so in my forties.