Prelude
Being a fan of Charlie Kaufman, I was very excited for his newest work, a movie called
Synecdoche, New York, to premiere. As soon as I could, I grabbed a friend, bought a ticket, and plopped down in the theatre seat, eagerly awaiting the Kaufman magic to engulf me.
The Experience
Never in my movie-watching experience have I turned to someone next to me and mouthed "What the fuck?!!?" so many times during a single film. When the movie started, my senses were tingling with anticipation for the brilliant plot twists and startlingly
surreal departures. Twenty minutes into the movie, I had gotten a few plot twists and surreal moments, but I had also turned to my friend and mouthed those choice words at least once.
It felt like Charlie Kaufman's work, but to an extreme I had never encountered before. The plot twisted so much that it was unrecognizable. Philip Seymour Hoffman's character, Caden Cotard, has health problems that include urinating a vibrant green. Hazel, one of Caden's love interests, lives in a house that is on fire. Continually. His daughter turns into a dancing girl with roses tattooed all over her body. And most importantly, Caden starts a theatre project that attempts to encapsulate real life, hiring actors to play the people he knows in an enormous warehouse. Also, to add to the confusion of the plot developments, there is no marking for the passage of time. All of a sudden someone reminds Caden that his wife left him seven years ago, even though it occured cinematically in the previous scene. All these elements may sound strange when I describe them, but seeing them on screen was even more startlingly so. My experience during the movie is best described by the vulgar phrase I introduced at the onset of this paragraph.
Coming to Terms
This movie does not explain itself. Caden's health problems are never explained. They happen, and then they are over. It is unabashedly surreal, as in the case of the continually burning house. Hazel lives in the house for forty years, with it on fire, and then suddenly dies of smoke inhalation. This sort of randomness and unaccountability just isn't seen in movies today, which suggests to me that it can't be judged in the way other movies are judged. It is its own kind.
I think the only way to appreciate
Synecdoche is by thinking of it as an experience. An experience of life. It felt more like life to me than any other movie I've seen
because it didn't explain itself,
because there were loose ends. We don't go through life with a narrator making sense of everything for us! We live day to day, trying to figure things out based on our own impressions, bizarre experiences, and skewed sense of reality. From this movie we get the muddled recollections of what Caden might remember on his death bed. The film is not a story, but a simulation of life - not because it's "realistic," but because it's a mess.
Life.
The Value
So why should this film be appreciated?
First of all, I'm excited that this film was made. I'm aware that Charlie Kaufman is kind of a big deal and can kind of do what he wants, but I still think it's exciting that such a non-mainstream movie found quality production and an audience. In an industry where the only original screenplays that have a good chance of getting made are action-adventures, it's slightly encouraging to see something weird and thought-provoking.
Further, the life-like quality of the film is comforting. You experience strange health problems that are never diagnosed. You meet people who put themselves in harm's way, like living in a house that's on fire. You are abandoned. People in your life turn out differently than you thought they would. You can't eradicate all the awkwardness. You struggle for a higher purpose that you never seem to reach. You want to make a difference. All these things happen in our lives, just as they happen in the movie, and seeing our own stories told by someone else is part of the entire allure of movies and theatre. This movie reflects ourselves as people, and perhaps it is even a stepping stone to understanding our own reality.
Prelude
Being a fan of Charlie Kaufman, I was very excited for his newest work, a movie called Synecdoche, New York, to premiere. As soon as I could, I grabbed a friend, bought a ticket, and plopped down in the theatre seat, eagerly awaiting the Kaufman magic to engulf me.
The Experience
Never in my movie-watching experience have I turned to someone next to me and mouthed "What the fuck?!!?" so many times during a single film. When the movie started, my senses were tingling with anticipation for the brilliant plot twists and startlingly surreal departures. Twenty minutes into the movie, I had gotten a few plot twists and surreal moments, but I had also turned to my friend and mouthed those choice words at least once.
It felt like Charlie Kaufman's work, but to an extreme I had never encountered before. The plot twisted so much that it was unrecognizable. Philip Seymour Hoffman's character, Caden Cotard, has health problems that include urinating a vibrant green. Hazel, one of Caden's love interests, lives in a house that is on fire. Continually. His daughter turns into a dancing girl with roses tattooed all over her body. And most importantly, Caden starts a theatre project that attempts to encapsulate real life, hiring actors to play the people he knows in an enormous warehouse. Also, to add to the confusion of the plot developments, there is no marking for the passage of time. All of a sudden someone reminds Caden that his wife left him seven years ago, even though it occured cinematically in the previous scene. All these elements may sound strange when I describe them, but seeing them on screen was even more startlingly so. My experience during the movie is best described by the vulgar phrase I introduced at the onset of this paragraph.
Coming to Terms
This movie does not explain itself. Caden's health problems are never explained. They happen, and then they are over. It is unabashedly surreal, as in the case of the continually burning house. Hazel lives in the house for forty years, with it on fire, and then suddenly dies of smoke inhalation. This sort of randomness and unaccountability just isn't seen in movies today, which suggests to me that it can't be judged in the way other movies are judged. It is its own kind.
I think the only way to appreciate Synecdoche is by thinking of it as an experience. An experience of life. It felt more like life to me than any other movie I've seen because it didn't explain itself, because there were loose ends. We don't go through life with a narrator making sense of everything for us! We live day to day, trying to figure things out based on our own impressions, bizarre experiences, and skewed sense of reality. From this movie we get the muddled recollections of what Caden might remember on his death bed. The film is not a story, but a simulation of life - not because it's "realistic," but because it's a mess.
Life.
The Value
So why should this film be appreciated?
First of all, I'm excited that this film was made. I'm aware that Charlie Kaufman is kind of a big deal and can kind of do what he wants, but I still think it's exciting that such a non-mainstream movie found quality production and an audience. In an industry where the only original screenplays that have a good chance of getting made are action-adventures, it's slightly encouraging to see something weird and thought-provoking.
Further, the life-like quality of the film is comforting. You experience strange health problems that are never diagnosed. You meet people who put themselves in harm's way, like living in a house that's on fire. You are abandoned. People in your life turn out differently than you thought they would. You can't eradicate all the awkwardness. You struggle for a higher purpose that you never seem to reach. You want to make a difference. All these things happen in our lives, just as they happen in the movie, and seeing our own stories told by someone else is part of the entire allure of movies and theatre. This movie reflects ourselves as people, and perhaps it is even a stepping stone to understanding our own reality.
