Synecdoche, New York

There is a lot to this movie. Too much to be appreciated in a single viewing, as is the policy of this website. (One viewing is usually never enough, regardless of the movie in question, but one viewing is all we allow ourselves here.) On the other hand, I would be very surprised if the most commonly given response to the friend’s question “You’ve seen Synecdoche, New York”, what’s it like?”, didn’t make some reference to writer and director Charlie Kaufman’s other works. (Much as similar questions about other projects he’s been involved in might probably, in the future, reference Synecdoche, New York, establishing, in a loose sense, the kind of infinite recursion that has become one of the great man’s motifs.)

In other words, having seen other Kaufman projects might help – insofar as the aforementioned recursions will not be such a surprise – or might be a factor that divides an audience – those for whom the trademark Kaufman wriggles are new have a different viewing experience from that of old lags, whose enjoyment or otherwise will more likely stand or fall on whatever else the film has to offer. All this talk of multiple viewings not withstanding, I do think we “get” most of what’s going on here (partly because we’re familiar with Kaufman’s idiosyncrasies), but that it’s not “new” (again, partly because we’re familiar with Kaufman’s idiosyncrasies).

Perhaps the foregoing intimates a dislike for the movie. That isn’t the intention. Even though Caden Cotard, the central protagonist (with the emphasis on the agonist), as one character rightly puts it “is definitely not fun”, and there can be few worse experiences than sitting through movies about ideas when we’re not sure if we have an idea what the movie’s idea is, I do commend this film. I suppose that when it comes down to it, I do so for that same reason, that it is a movie about an idea, or, at least, with ideas and that Kaufman and the cast tries, and succeeds brilliantly at times, to convey a person’s (in this case, Cotard’s) internal mental dynamics. I liked the way in which we don’t really know if anything happens at all or whether it’s all Cotard’s imagining, and I liked the way that the imaginings are so true.

For me, the film’s minor triumphs are worth the slog through Cotard’s occasionally boring solipsistic existence and the often baffling symbolism. (I’ll admit that Kaufman’s movies tend to make me feel stupid.) Those triumphs, oddly enough, for a film whose writer has given himself free rein in so many senses, and that itself is to be commended, are almost always about resonance with the audience, moments of recognition, moments of humour. Wait, I’m being distracted, I’m starting to fantasise about one of the characters. This review is over. (To get this joke, you’ll have to see the film. Enjoy.)