Half-Assed Movie Reviews

November 10, 2008: Synecdoche, New York

I seem to start many of these Half-Assed Movie Reviews by saying how much I love the writer, actor or director responsible for the film about to be reviewed, and then I spend three paragraphs appearing to show off by name-dropping obscure movies that I’ve seen, when really what I’m trying to do is bring awareness to less well-known movies I enjoy.  Well, here I go again.

I love Charlie Kaufman.  Up to now he’s been the screenwriter of a few of the craziest art-house-mainstream movies of the past decade.  I have spoken before of my feeling that 1999 was a very strong movie year, and Being John Malkovich was one of the films in that year which particularly struck me.  Adaptation in 2002 gave us a taste of the circular and senseless plot lines he can weave.  Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind in 2004 was a movie which seemed like it could be figured out and explained, but every time I try, I don’t quite make it.  As a first-time director now with Synecdoche, New York, we see Kaufman’s characteristic circularity manifest itself both in the uncontrolled feedback loop between the writer and the director of the play in the movie (who happen to be the same person), but also in the uncontrolled feedback loop between the writer and director of the movie in real life (who happen to be the same person – Charlie Kaufman).  By my count, that puts us four layers deep right from the start, and if we concede that there’s an autobiographical angle to the work, then Charlie Kaufman is ALL of those layers.  And that’s even before we see at least two people playing or directing the writer/director in the play in the movie.

The movie, such as it is, tells the tale of an aging theatre writer-director played by Philip Seymour Hoffman in Schenectady, New York, whose painter wife Catherine Keener finds sudden fame.  She runs off to Europe with their young daughter, apparently permanently, and he slowly falls apart and immerses himself in his work, obsessing over his magnum opus theatrical production for several decades.  Maybe.  You’d think I could at least figure this out and state it clearly, but I can’t.

(A new habit I’m trying to establish with these Half-Assed Movie Reviews is to briefly explain the plot in the way that real movie reviews do, rather than just rambling on about the careers of everyone involved in the project, so that the reader may have an idea of whether they might want to see the movie.  It’s ironic, I suppose, that this is the film for which I try to start doing this.)

The reviews for this film have varied widely, with most agreeing that this is a significant work and a good film, but it seems to fall apart for most people at some point in the runtime, tarnishing the overall product.  I’ve seen anything from two-star to five-star reviews (out of five), and I have to conclude that the rating is driven by how long the reviewer was able to hold on.  For my part, I was grinning in my seat in the theatre from the opening scenes until about 10-15 minutes before the end, which would land it around 4.5 stars from me.  My wife had it fall apart for her around the halfway point, so she would probably lean more towards 3.  I can see how the final act would ring true for some people, and result in the proclamations of greatness seen in some reviews.  I really wanted to leave the theatre and say “Now, THIS is why I watch movies!”.  And worthwhile it certainly was, and recommend it I will, and on my shelf will it go, but it missed the mark by a bit.

Of course, one of the big things critics picked up on was the question of whether Charlie Kaufman should have actually directed this film.  Spike Jonze, who handled Being John Malkovich and Adaptation, can bring some happiness and lightness into screenplays which teeter on the brink of depression, tragedy and loneliness.  Kaufman doesn’t manage that (I think he deliberately didn’t try at all), and that might be a factor in how things play out for unsuspecting viewers.  My position is that Kaufman HAD to direct this one, and he probably knew it, because to bring to this film the touch of lightness and quirkiness we associate with movies he’s written (and which any other director would feel obligated to do, if for no other reason than commercial viability) would have completely undermined its foundation.  This is not just a sad story, it is about sadness.