It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. It was an entire lifetime of possibilities compressed into the last minute of a dying man's life. It was life imitating art, imitating life, imitating art, imitating life, ad infinitum. It was Charlie Kaufman's directorial debut, and I wasn't sure what I thought of the movie upon leaving the theatre and still don't know what I think about it now.
So for now, four (4) simple observations:
1. 'Synecdoche, New York' makes all previous films written by Charlie Kaufman seem conventional and straightforward in comparison. There is simply nothing we ordinarily expect from a film (even a film with a Charlie Kaufman script) to grasp onto. The film is a schizophrenic (see: Cotard's syndrome) jigsaw puzzle of non-sensical vignettes. Occasionally someone cries. Even more rarely something wierd and cool happens. And yet it kept my attention somehow.
2. I laughed. I got a little teary. I almost fell asleep more than once. I didn't understand anything in the film, and yet found myself profoundly affected by its beautiful, little mysteries, its rare moments of poignancy and desperation.
3. This is a film for people who read Derrida, or who pretend to read Derrida, or who name drop Derrida without really knowing anything about him (like me).
4. 'Synecdoche, New York' is either the worst movie of the year, or the film of a lifetime. It's either our generation's 'Citizen Kane,' or a steaming heap of green poo (which is an allusion to an early episode in the film, not just lame scatology). Yeah, the film has poo. Twice.
Synecdoche, New York: 1/10
Synecdoche, New York: 10/10
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