Synecdoche, New York

Nietzsche said, “Whoever battles with monsters had better see that it does not turn him into a monster.”  The existentialist musings of this film are as old as Friedrich himself, which does nothing but further substantiate this film into the existentialist film canon.  Charlie Kaufman, writer of many an odd, quirky film, such as Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, directs this one for a change, revealing his incredible talent and his keen eye when looking through a lens.  The acting on the part of Phillip Seymour Hoffman is equally as talented and keen as Kaufman, and their suffixed duo here rivals the best of 2008 easily.  And Hoffman is surrounded by “strong female actresses,” which make the film better and better, with each additional actress and character.

A plot can be several things.  Among other things, it may be the following of a protagonist around as he/she attempts to overcome an obstacle.  Plot can also be the following of several different “protagonists” as they each try to overcome their own or a shared obstacle.  Here, Kaufman questions and amalgamates.  Asking the simplest of questions, he subverts the notion of plot until it is nearly unrecognizable.  The beauty of this is that it allows him to take any preconception and mold it into a new conception in your mind, probably something you did not expect.  We see Caden Cotard (Hoffman) living his life, so it seems, as the protagonist of his own story, and the protagonist of the story on the screen, but he creates another story, one on the stage and on camera, different from the life he lives, a selected part of it – verisimilitude is the name of his particular game.  And as the story unfolds, as Caden’s story unfolds, we begin to understand the title, the nature of the film itself, and the raison d’être of Cadan’s whole project becomes clearer and more lucid.

Though it is undoubtedly existentialist, Synecdoche, New York can’t keep itself too far from a form of expressionism either.  In a peculiar way, it opens with the bang of Death of a Salesman, and it closes with the same bang.  It deftly manages to handle an intense level of abstraction and and a very raw  and ironic degree of intimacy at the same time.  One might find this decidedly self-aware film extremely depressing, and for the greater part of the film, I think that that is fairly “right.”  Not in a moral sense, but in the sense of accuracy.  Just one example of the almost Derridean linguistic and communicative nature of the film, as well, on yet another richly complex layer.  But it isn’t only a self-aware, existentialist-expressionist, depressing film.

In fact, it echoes Albert Camus’s Sisyphean universe, where each person is the hero of his or her own story, the protagonist, “not an extra,” but the lead in their own beautifully fantastic and wonderful story.  It is the image of Sisyphus, forever trudging back up the eternal hill, pushing the rock to the top each time, and each time it rolls back down to the bottom.  It is here, Camus says, that we see Sisphyus for a moment, as he begins the eternal ascent yet again, smiling.

You may not be smiling the moment the curtain drops, but hopefully you will remember Sisyphus’ undying smile, or the words of Caden, anyway, that you are the hero in your own story.  Chances are, though, you will find shreds of hope that hold the film up from the abyss of despair, and you might even laugh a few times along the way.  As Nietzsche also said, “If you gaze long into an abyss, the abyss will gaze back at you.”  Everyone needs hope.  It’s what keeps the abyss from gazing back.  This film understands that, I think, and for that reason, there is hope to find in it amidst the cacophony of uncertainty that it depicts so vividly.

Rating: 4/4 Stars