O, Synecdoche, my Synecdoche!

I see a lot of films. This one had the same impact on me that only one other film has ever had on me (that would be Eraserhead). As with Eraserhead, when I left the theatre after SNY, I felt like I was in the world of the film for a while.

I, too, need to see this film again. I saw it when I was feeling sick with a cold, and even though I wasn't feeling well I dragged myself out of the house "to do something else". Because I wasn't feeling well, I fell asleep a time or two in the middle part of the film, missed maybe 20 minutes total (guessing). But curiously, cycling through awake/asleep somehow compounded the film. It lent it an extra layer of being "lived in".

Even though it's Kaufman's first time directing, some of the visuals were just stunning. The sudden hugeness of the created landscape, of the ever-expanding warehouse/city, as it occasionally lurches into view deeper and deeper into the story was just ... thrilling. At those times, what Kaufman was creating became more than just a conceit or a theatrical idea, it became real. Lookit. There it is. Argue with it if you want to waste your breath.

The discontinuities in "logic" didn't bother me one whit. Kaufman is playing with a deeper underlying logic that in earlier film eras we would have called Felliniesque or Lynchian. I like going into these realms because that kind of psychological time can be so much richer than chronological time.

I was eagerly anticipating your review in response to Owen's. This...is an extra treat.

Hopefully, it will make it to Central Florida sooner rather than later.

"An artist makes a movie that is so labyrinthine and obscure, such a road map of blind alleys, such a turgid challenge to sit through that it sends most people skulking out of the theater -- except, that is, for a cadre of eggheads who hail the work as a visionary achievement."

Oh. Did we suddenly switch to "Mulholland Drive?"

By far the most useful contribution this blog makes is its mention of explanation and the "key" concept you mention. Very enlightening to someone studying Henry James at the moment. I think the problem with a film's recognition as art, real art, is the underlying unwillingness in us to actively view—to perceive as well as see. On some level, we have expectations of engagement to what we sit down to read, or view, or listen to. Our summation of what we experience is pre-packaged by our expectations. In absorbing more dense literature in particular (my field of study), I've come to see that Art with a capital "A" tends to take shape when more and more layers of subtext are used to shape the central theme or idea at stake in the work. Or visual, or audible layers. Thank you for being insistent on exposing your readership to this concept when they approach film in particular, where many of our expectations truncate the full potential of the work to impact us, and shortchange our fickle enjoyment of "more things in heaven and earth […] than are dreamt of in [our] philosophy." Yes, I geek out to all your Shakespeare allusions.

Attentively,
David

I was fortunate enough to see "Synecdoche New York" at TIFF in September. Of the 30 or so movies I saw over those 10 days, it's one of the few titles I've kept returning to, over and over again, in the two months since. It gets better the more I think about it. (Any references I might make to specific events in the movie are all "as I remember...", but I find that film festing heightens my senses, so I think I've got reasonably accurate memories of the movie.) (Which in itself is ironic, given the subject of the movie.)

Of all the arts, film is the one that's hardest not to take literally. (We see the events happening onscreen, therefore the events are actually happening.) Still, I think it's a fool's errand to interpret *anything* in SNY literally. For me, it's a deathbed movie, evoking a line from Springsteen: "A dream of life comes to me, like a catfish dancing on the end of my line." The movie opens in darkness, with a little girl's voice; the movie ends in light, with a woman's voice. Everything that happens between these two moments is Caden's "life flashing before his eyes", as it were, in the moment before he dies.

I love this reading of the movie, because it's about his own mind trying to organize the events (the failures?) of his own life, thru the only filter he knows: the theatre. (Aha! Another meaning for the title!) A Life is, of course, too big a subject for what he's trying to do -- which is what Caden (the movie character, not my imaginary offscreen Deathbed-Caden) finds out throughout the movie. This reading also allows us to view the on-fire apartment much more easily, perhaps even as symbolic as an "old flame".

Of course, once you articulate in words what a certain thing (a character, an event, a flaming apartment) symbolizes, you immediately reduce its significance. I've always reacted similarly to recent David Lynch movies. I adore "INLAND EMPIRE" and "Mulholland Drive" (if you ask me, the latter is the greatest American film since "Nashville", and one that I hope will soon be considered a member of the canon of the greatest films ever made)... but once you start answering questions like "what does the blue box represent?" or "what about the homeless person behind the dumpster?" you immediately cheapen their impact as symbols. These symbols work on far too many levels to be able to be expressed in a few words like "the box is Betty's repressed humanity." Kaufman, in SNY, is working on the level of a Lynch, or a Bunuel. I've read commentary comparing SNY to Fellini's "8 1/2" as well; that's a movie I've never fully "gotten" (with Fellini, I prefer "Nights of Cabiria" and "Amarcord"), but it's still pretty heady company for Kaufman, a guy making his directorial debut.

What I admire most about Charlie Kaufman is his dedication to putting himself in his own writing. I don't refer to characters that resemble Kaufman or are named Kaufman. In interviews for Synecdoche, he has stated that he wants to move away from gimmicks like brain portals or memory erasure. In Adaptation, he has the Kaufman character state that writing is a journey into the unknown. I don't personally know Mr. Kaufman, but I have a feeling he's not the kind of guy that sits around and searches for a good story to put to paper. He really does immerse, he writes what he knows and feels, and his work is a summation of and statement about his own ideas of life.

When I see work like Kaufman's, it excites me to no end. I will admit, however, that I never finished the screenplay for Synecdoche when I found it a number of months ago. I haven't seen the movie, but I imagine it's a little more digestible than the screenplay.

Synecdoche is not only great fiction, its great philosophy. To examine Caden Cotard is to examine oneself. We all try to control reality, and by that I mean we try to control our own lives; however, there are inevitably moments, years, and for some an entire lifespan that is out of one's own control. We try to understand this life that we have been born into and we struggle with that for our entire lives, until we die and everything fades to white
It is rather sad that over half of the major major critics have rejected Kaufman's grand ambition. This is a film that needs to be championed by critics, who instead have casually dismissed it as too difficult, pretentious , and even over ambitious (I never realized that too much ambition was a bad thing; someone should have told Kubrick). If nothing else Synecdoche, New York gives us new images to feed from. I like your review for Malkovich. You called it "endlessly inventive." So is this. Nothing that comes before prepares you for the ending, but it feels completely organic to the story and the ideas of the film. Some directorial debut.

I'm hoping the DVDs of the future have a software simulacrum of the writer of the screenplay, that would answer curious viewers' questions just as the writer would have, as of the making of the film. Stories like "Think Blue, Count Two" by Cordwainer Smith, written long long ago, and NEUROMANCER by William Gibson, published in the mid-Eighties, were early considerations of such constructs.

One trouble is calibrating so you don't read MORE into a scene than the author intended. In Ulysses, a section begins "Stately, plump" with words that fill the page. I puzzled over that for days, before turning the page to find that it was merely the BEGINNING of a sentence, a description of--was it Buck Mulligan? Think so--and nothing obscure about it. JJoycipedia could've saved me a lot of time!

It seems like this is one of those movies that opens to mixed reviews and then, a couple years down the road, will be viewed as a classic. You have a knack for spotting these, Mr. Ebert. Your opinion is the one I listen to above all others when it comes to movies, so I can't wait to see this one.

Didn't Charlie Kaufman in Charlie Kaufman's Adaptation say it was "narcissistic" to put yourself in your own screenplay? But then again, who do you know and can relate to better than yourself? But isn't it narcissistic? It seems as though Kaufman realizes that his inclinations and downfalls and whatnot are naturally shared by others. And I agree with you on the last comparison to great fiction. I walked away from Synecdoche like I did after reading Rasselas: I felt like I was the one writing the screenplay or book, and I was every character in the movie.

There are probably 10 or 12 directors whose new movies I always make it a point to see, but Kaufman is the only screenwriter whose movies I seek out in the same way. If he writes it, I watch it. (Even if I have to watch it twice before I understand it. Or maybe because I have to watch it twice before I understand it.)

I was fortunate to see Kaufman at a Q&A after a screening in Los Angeles. He talked about how all his other films have always had a safety net because at a certain point the audience will realize, "Ha! I know where this is going..." and they, drawing from the rules of storytelling, will be able to predict the rest of the structure. With Synecdoche, it gradually unwinds to its inevitable conclusion without the safety of a three-act structure. There is no gradual slope towards a climax followed by the resolution. It's just a straight line (or perhaps a gradual downward slope. The film is saying so much about art and life, I'll be studying it for years. He's really outdone himself and I'm looking forward to his next script which, he assured us, he will direct.

On a side note, I've been reading your reviews every week for the past 10 years (since I was 14). I've learned so much more from your criticism than I ever did in film school. You taught me not only about great films, but how to watch them. I really don't think I'd be where I am without your expertise and knowledge. Thank you, Roger.

As I'm sure many do, I often refer to your measuring stick of a movies worth: not what is it about, but how is it about it? Also, why? A film can be about anything, but it has to convince me that where it goes is worthwhile, and this is often the tipping point between greatness and shallow indulgence. This is even harder when it comes to thick, initially impenetrable, non-linear films like (the as-of-yet unseen by me) Synecdoche. Or Mulholland Dr. Or Inland Empire, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, and Un Chien Andalou, just to scratch at the iceberg. What people seem to forget is that the experience is pivotal, that confusion (or, sometimes, even boredom) is often the correct and desired response to a film. If a director can lead me through such a no man's land to find meaning and truth, more power to him. My pals online are split almost down the middle regarding Kaufman's latest. I can't wait; let's hope screeners come out for us non-big city folk.

As I'm sure many do, I often refer to your measuring stick of a movies worth: not what is it about, but how is it about it? Also, why? A film can be about anything, but it has to convince me that where it goes is worthwhile, and this is often the tipping point between greatness and shallow indulgence. This is even harder when it comes to thick, initially impenetrable, non-linear films like (the as-of-yet unseen by me) Synecdoche. Or Mulholland Dr. Or Inland Empire, Aqua Teen Hunger Force, and Un Chien Andalou, just to scratch at the iceberg. What people seem to forget is that the experience is pivotal, that confusion (or, sometimes, even boredom) is often the correct and desired response to a film. If a director can lead me through such a no man's land to find meaning and truth, more power to him. My pals online are split almost down the middle regarding Kaufman's latest. I can't wait; let's hope screeners come out for us non-big city folk.

Count me as another member of the egghead cadre. Actually, I suspect "Synecdoche" will have it's fair share of loathers, at least initially, simply because it so beats the hell out of you. On one hand it's enrapturing; on the other it's kind of ravaging, no? Personally speaking, this sucker made me miserable - as in, fighting back big baby tears miserable - and even now, days later, I still can't quite get out from under the shadow of its horrible boot, forever hovering and threatening to crush me into nothingness. No lie: after we saw it, my girlfriend asked me whether or not I liked it, and all I could manage was, "I don't wanna talk about it."

But I was overjoyed by it all the same, not only by its manifest brilliance, but by the feeling that I had witnessed first-hand some sort of milestone in narrative cinema. Putting it in the company of Joyce and Faulkner is spot-on. In fact, I'd mention "2001" as well: as with that classic, all bets say that "Synecdoche" will spend a decade or so in obscurity and half-baked abhorrence, and then gradually everyone will come full circle and recognize it as resplendent and vital. I'm positive that a lot of these dismissive pans will, with the blessing of retrospection, be revised or quietly retired. Kauffman's done some great stuff before, but in the burrito of cinema, "Synecdoche" is on a whole 'nother layer.

Dear Roger,

Since I have always admired Charlie Kaufman's way of writing, and him being first and foremost a great artist when it comes to the human spirit, I think that I will enjoy this film very much. People usually tend to forget that screenplays make up 80% of a truly great film, no matter if the scenes on screen appear to be ad-libbed or not. It is an art to make things seem easy, when they are indeed hard, and vice versa. It doesn't really matter who does them, as long as the actions are followed by the right set of words, and their combination creates something unique. I have seen his interviews at the Sarajevo Film Festival this year, and apart from Kevin Spacey, Charlie Kaufman was THE star of the event. He may not have said much, but whatever it was that he said, it made an impact, and his film Synecdoche, New York was very well received. I wasn't personally there, but since I am from a neighbouring country, I saw most of the scoop and behind the scenes live on TV. And it was great to see him defusing a crowd of stalking journalists with his calm and mannered voice, while giving an interview over a specially strong and hot mixture of coffee. Also, it would be very nice of you if you could correct the tag mentioning his visit to the festival by inserting the proper spelling of the town which is Sarajevo and not Saravejo. I know it's just a few letters, but I imagine it is a big deal to people who actually live there. I do thank you in advance and wish you at least another viewing of the goodness named Synecdoche, N.Y.

I'm thrilled that you feel the same way I do about this film. I've seen so many negative reviews from reviewers I respect, I began to doubt my initial response -- that the most interesting filmmaker in the world has made the most interesting film of the year. In ’Adaptation’, Kaufman took us through the looking glass. In ‘Synecdoche’, he goes a step further, creating the cinematic equivalent of holding a mirror up to another mirror.

The title provides plenty of evidence as to what kind of film Kaufman delivers. The word “synecdoche” is a trope, a rhetorical figure of speech that consists of a play on words. The definition is akin to a metaphor: a term denoting a part of something which is used to represent the whole, or a whole of something which is used to represent a part. In Kaufman’s hands, it’s used in several respects –- people who replace one person with another in their lives, the way in which writers use characters to substitute for real people, the way actors use themselves (and are used) to represent other people. It's metaphorgasmic!

Added to the layers of meaning is the fact the movie takes place in Schenectady, New York, which may be spelled differently then "Synecdoche, New York", but is pronounced very similarly. That's yet another trope. Or rather, a trope within a trope -- yet another clue to the storyline: Kaufman is telling us in the title that nothing here is quite what it seems, everything is standing in for something else, which might also be standing in for something else.

The entire film is like Kaufman's vision of the M.C. Escher's painting where people ascend a staircase in a continual loop. Escher's work is a trick of the eye, Kaufman's his a trick of the mind. He's clearly drawing from his own creative feelings, worries about obsession, navel-gazing, paralysis by analysis, mortality, and probably a whole host of things which flew right over my head, and milking it for all the perverse pleasure imaginable.

I know ’Synecdoche' is not for everyone. It’s esoteric, like a metaphor for metaphors. It’s slowly paced, heartbreakingly melancholy, and filled with humor that's dryer than Arizona in the summer. People call it self-obsessed and self-indulgent, because that’s exactly what it is. That’s the whole point –- revealing just how deep some artists can live within their own minds. It's like Charlie Kaufman lifting up the hood to his idling brain and allowing us to peer in for a moment, to see the machinery at work. I, for one, can’t look away.

What a beautiful post:pregnant,shimmering,dazzling,....I swear,Roger, you ARE alive......your time for poetry has come !....I think of the soul shaking four-note motif--supposedly,as per the composer,signifying fate knocking at the door---which startlingly opens Amadeus and Living Beethoven(94)....

"One day, a fire broke out in the house of a wealthy man who had many children. The wealthy man shouted at his children inside the burning house to flee. But, the children were absorbed in their games and did not heed his warning, though the house was being consumed by flames.

Then, the wealthy man devised a practical way to lure the children from the burning house. Knowing that the children were fond of interesting playthings, he called out to them, "Listen! Outside the gate are the carts that you have always wanted: carts pulled by goats, carts pulled by deer, and carts pulled by oxen. Why don't you come out and play with them?" The wealthy man knew that these things would be irresistible to his children.

The children, eager to play with these new toys rushed out of the house but, instead of the carts that he had promised, the father gave them a cart much better than any he has described - a cart draped with precious stones and pulled by white bullocks. The important thing being that the children were saved from the dangers of the house on fire.

In this parable the father, of course, is the Buddha and sentient beings are the children trapped in the burning house. The Burning House represents the world burning with the fires of old age, sickness and death. The teachings of the Buddha are like the father getting the boys to leave their pleasures for a greater pleasure, Nirvana."......whatever that is.

There is a divinity that shapes our ends....providence in the fall of a sparrow.....

Life is mysterious,no less than death....a work of "art" must hit below the guts....Marienbad has etched sharp unforgettable impressions in the mind,Wings of desire which I saw day before yesterday,admittedly not a cakewalk like Silence/Lambs,Psycho or Repulsion is no more forgettable.....one looks forward to seeing the movie "reviewed" if possible...

Two notes:

1) The painting of the woman in the wall in Caden's house at the beginning of "Synecdoche." It reminded me of a short story I read in Writer's Craft in high school (can't remember the name of it) about a woman sick in bed and alone in her room who slowly starts to imagine there's a similar woman locked in the patterns of her yellow wallpaper. Eventually she tries to "free" the woman. You think Kaufman's read this story? Perhaps the woman represents Ellen, the maid - the role Caden wants to play. Or maybe not.

2) I'm surprised you mentioned "The Dark Knight" in that context, as I thought of all the superhero movies, this is the one that turned that formula on its head. Batman doesn't need to slip on a puddle and die - the movie already shows his code is futile, his choices useless and his morals only a means of maintaining his own sanity.

"Sweet are the uses of adversity
Which like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in the stones, and good in every thing"

Sickness is the mother of health."Regard your sickness as the Buddha's compassion." These are the golden words of a great sage.Adversity makes one deep.

I think you are at the threshold of a period of greater literary creativity.

At any rate,such shall be my prayer.

Hate to nitpick, but there's no apostrophe in "Finnegans Wake"

I very much enjoy reading your blog. Thank you.

Screeplays make up 80% of a truly great film? I always thought images were the key.

Your article is itself a synedoche,just as the "pot" is an appropriate metaphor for the "vessal" of the human body----which,with its inrunning streams,swamps, engines and medicine manufacturing facilities yada is another universe----infinity in a grain,heaven in a flower(or why not a chinese rice cooker)-----the drop contains the ocean just as vice-versa....

Mr. Ebert, you seem to be one of the few film critics who enjoys Harold Bloom as much as I do. I recall your description of the Vogons in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (Jabba the Hut crossed with Harold Bloom).

I know this is tangential to your post's topic, but I can't pass up any chance to get someone's view on Shakespeare criticism. If I understand Bloom correctly, he didn't think Shakespeare was the absolute first to create true human personalities in his work. Bloom mentions Chaucer, and in particular the Wife of Bath, as a forerunner. Bloom's view is that Shakespeare created people better than Chaucer (or anyone else since), and created a lot more of them. I'm inclined to agree. I think Shakespeare dropped the first, second, and thirty-five thousandth shoes four hundred years ago, and no one has yet mastered him, though lifetimes have been spent in the attempt. I'm not certain of this, because I haven't been around that long. I'm sure you have a much better handle on it than I do.

It seems to me you think Kaufman has a similar kind of gift for people. I don't necessarily disagree. My question is, do you think Kaufman is taking all his cues from the Bard in some way, or has he found a different way of holding up a mirror to us?

Ebert: You remember Bloom correctly. I know his book about the novels you must read is sort of a corny idea, but I finally read Don Quixote because of it.

Oh my goodness. That film, that movie... made me thank the Goddess for making the brilliant mind who created all of that!! It was a gift just to see it. I have had one film-filled week: ballast, soul man, religulous, happy go lucky, rachel getting married and tonight - Synecdoche, NY!! I love the movies!!

And thank you so much for saying that Lawrence (in Ballast) was not so poor. I was gonna scream if I had to read another review going on about the film depicting black poverty. Come on! Lawrence had a fully stocked store and he obviously paid his bills 'cause he had a backlog of voice messages from vendors wanting to make deliveries!!! OY!

How do you like our new President? I finally stopped crying yesterday. I woke up on 11/5 in a panic because I thought I'd dreamt the whole thing!

Ebert: Those six movies AND election night! Maybe you were dreaming. Not many people are so lucky. Your taste in movies is so flawless, I visited your blog. I knew you were a great jazz-blues-rock singer, but the blog...I think it's a combination of honest, funny, and high-energy writing. I used to feel the same way in a locker room. Then I lost 120 pounds, but I don't recommend how I did it.

The short story Andrew read (above, 10:27 pm) is "The Yellow Wallpaper" by American writer Charlotte Perkins Gilman.

Doesn't Woody Allen cough in the non-diegetic voice-over at the top of Manhattan?

Great review!

Thank you for the blog-great writing as always. I can't wait to see this film if for no other reason than the divided critical reaction to it. I have found in my experience that these films where critics are so starkly divided is ususally where the great movies are found.

Please allow me to chase a tangent now: I live in middle America, in the third biggest city of Missouir and I can only hope that I get the opportunity to see this film on the big screen. So many times I have had to make the three hour drive to St. Louis to see a brilliant art film (yes, I have actually done this). This is really an excuse to vent that studios and theaters seem to think if you live in a smaller city you are too dumb to want to see art. I can be ssubjected to 5 screens at one theater showing Saw V, but you can't spare just one for something like this? It is a frustration I have dealt with my entire life; thanks for letting me vent.

yo y u be dissin academic film theory? ru jealous? truffault et al r teh SHIT!!!!!

Ebert: Peace, dude. The acaDme is (+-) bull&#!t. When they dice a flik N2 dead tiny pe-cuz, they Ελληνικός to me. I peep a mooV 4 fun. I want 2 learn, I go 2 школа.

@GB

"Screeplays make up 80% of a truly great film? I always thought images were the key."

Of course images matter. It is, after all, a visual medium we are talking about. What I was referring to was the importance of a good screenplay, and at which percentage it influences everything else, from the tone of the film to the actual casting choices. I am sure you know that everything starts with a few written words on a piece of paper, and that those words create a structure which allows on screen actors to make their characters what they truly are. I have seen many beautifully shot films which were a complete mess because there were no clear plot structures and characters motifs were illogical to say the least. Yet, if you look at any Woody Allen's films, or any film written by Kaufman, you will see that the large part of why they are good comes from the fact that their screenplays are something extraordinary. That is why I said what I said. There are but a few actors who can read a telephone directory on screen and still appear great and meaningful, the rest has to read something great in order not to appear meaningless.

Your style delights by it's very spontaniety,which I am sure is the outcome of prolonged brewing.....in my brief encounter thru your blog which in a way is practically my first time wielding of the inky weapon,I have experienced a process of change....thanks for sharing your "secrets" here and there....I am sure it must be heady when a stage comes when the words soar....

Roger,
I've always enjoyed your writing, the quality of which has brought me to your reviews time and time again. I must say I agree with you that it has improved markedly over the past year or so, and who among us could have expected room for improvement? Fantastic.

Just as Bloom brought you to Cervantes, he's been calling me towards the Wake, the "book everyone buys but nobody reads," as you've said. I'll have to answer, eventually, and your brief synopsis is encouraging. Bloom's Western Canon is a bit absurd in concept, but some of his essays within are quite perceptive.

I'm going to see Synechdoche as soon as I can. Tomorrow, if possible. We can, and should, draw a line from Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Joyce, and on - I'm so pleased to see you connect it to film and other media. Thank you. Perhaps this is just an historically constructed, socially negotiated tradition, but it's a damn good one, and we should be proud. For those who would dismiss your willingness to recognize "genius," since all "legitimate" critics avoid that word, I can only say: give these works a try. They have much to teach those persistent enough to learn.

Ebert: Hey, I never said I finished "Finegans Wake."

Roger, your voice is as expressive as ever. Thank you for championing this beautiful film. Synechdoche seems to have really divided the critic community. To wit, one of my favorite film podcasts based out of Chicago had the same take on Synecdoche as you and felt compelled to review the "At The Movies" review of the film, at one point, exasperatingly imploring the "Ben's" to display some intellectual curiosity.

I don't "get" a lot of the nuance behind Bergman's films, doesn't stop me from challenging myself by watching them.

I need your help, Roger. I saw SNY at the Austin Film Festival, and I of course loved it. But little did I know that Mr. Kaufman would be answering questions. So of course I had to ask one, but I...messed up in my wording. And he said, gasp, "I don't understand what you mean". I had such a weird feeling of regret, because I think of someone who really had a good, sensible question who didn't get the chance to ask. Should I be proud that I confused the writer of SNY? The question I really wanted to ask is whether his writing is carefully planed or if he lets the writing take him wherever it wants to (I hadn't seen "Adaptation" before that night, unfortunately, which would have helped me out).

Anyway, I knew the minute I left the theater that it would get a good 4 star review. I'm glad it has struck such a cord, and I hope I can see it three times as you suggest.

Ebert: As a serious writer, he would no doubt refuse to answer that question. But you have asked me, not Kaufman, and so I will answer. He starts with the need to work. About "SNY," he has revealed, "originally, Spike Jonze and I were approached to do a horror movie." He stares into space. He solves a Rubik's cube with one hand behind his back. That inspires a plot. He visualizes some characters swooping in circles around that plot, wearing Jet Packs. They all look like Philip Seymour Hoffman or Catherine Keener. Then Kaufman starts writing hard as hell with no idea about where he is going, like an American man who won't use a map in Calcutta. He arrives somewhere. He parks his computer and strolls around a little to see where he is. He discovers some intriguing curiosities. He abandons the computer and takes a taxi back to where he started from. He drives his wife Denise and their kids crazy by complaining that he is a failure, he is almost 50, his hair isn't as curly as it used to be, he doesn't know what the hell he is doing, and he thinks he should barbeque a chilled shrimp with his screenplay. Denise says, "Charlie, if you don't know what you're doing, I certainly don't know what you're doing. Why don't you go bother your twin brother, Donald? You're good at that." Charlie flies off to a film festival. This festival could be in hell and it would be an improvement. When he returns home he gets back into the computer, and tries to retrace his steps, knowing what he knows now. He fills up the tank with the curiosities, and starts writing like hell again, arranging and changing, placing carefully there a strange thing and a known thing here. He crashes into a wall. When he regains consciousness, he is amazed to find there have been no injuries and during the blackout he has discovered a miraculous somewhere he has never traveled, gladly beyond any experience, "where your eyes," he tells Denise, "have their silence." Then he sends the screenplay in to Harold Ramis' agent.

I'm glad to label myself as an "egghead" as you mentioned early in your entry. I've always seemed to drift to movies that, once done with the first viewing, almost beg of you to instantly repeat the process. Whenever I stumble upon the opportunity to discover another such film, I jump at the chance. I remember vividly the first time I saw 'Eternal Sunshine.' I had a similar feeling to what I imagine you had from your description of this movie. I felt, at the same time, that I comprehended absolutely nothing I had just seen, but in a weird way had understood everything. With a film like this, each viewing almost adds more to the overall experience of viewing the film. Sadly, 'Synecdoche' is not yet playing in my area, but I'll be eagerly awaiting its arrival.

On a side note, upon reading this entry, I rushed to add 'Last Year at Marienbad' to my Queue on Blockbuster. Alas, it turns out they have no copy. The link at the bottom of your review for it, Facets, has it available for $69.95, but no copies. What's a guy to do? I've seen many a movie in my short 23 years so far, but I'd like to think I've seen a number of good ones. I just wish films from this time-period were a bit more accessible.

Also, in reference to a previous comment: "Ebert: Peace, dude. The acaDme is (+-) bull&#!t. When they dice a flik N2 dead tiny pe-cuz, they Ελληνικός to me. I peep a mooV 4 fun. I want 2 learn, I go 2 школа." --Very nicely done. I needed a good laugh.

P.S., Sorry if you got this twice...I sent it a while ago, but it didn't seem to get through.

Ebert: If Facets did have it at $69.95, it would be a bargain. Amazon lists one new copy at $289.95, and 12 used copies from $125 to $229.95. Says "Sales Rank: #17,056 in Movies." Uh, huh. Came out in 1999 from Fox Lorber. I reviewed from the DVD for the Great Movies. "Rare and put of print," it's said. Ripe for Criterionizing.

"You start it and start it and start it, and you shore up in uncertainty and dismay."

I'm glad I'm not the only one

Something about this thread reminds me of Melville's book Billy Budd, which we had to read as second-year secondary students for American Literature. It took forever to finish a paragraph, eternity to get to the end of a page. I could read the same sentence over and over and still not know for sure what it meant. I think it was a 99-page novel and it took longer to finish than a 500-page book.

I saw this film yesterday, Veteran's day, my 37th birthday. If there is a film more perfect for seeing Veteran's day, on your birthday, and that you should have seen yesterday (what are you waiting for?) I can't think of it.

I can't answer the question "So, did you like it?" because liking seems to be a very--small word. I like candy bars, I like my wooly slippers, I like the delicious sour cream apple pie I had for my birthday dessert. I liked the rainy weather yesterday, the gray skies somehow highlighting the colors of the trees and buildings. If I was to present a play of my life, how would I recreate these things? This film says more about how memory works--the way some things leap out at you, sealed in amber, and how others fade to mist, and how you can't seem to keep them in the order they happened--than just about any other I've ever seen. I have to see it again, I think, but not for a little while--you have to let it sink into your mind, and then the next time, be surprised at all the little things that faded into mist, and are being presented again.

If you indeed meant to write "Leonard Bloom" above, Roger, I can't for the life of me figure out why, so I'll go ahead and assume it's a typo -- your highly sharpened mind working too quick for your fingers. Ulysses central character is of course "Leopold Bloom".

And in regards to the comparison of Shakespeare to every other dramatic and literary artist who came after (mostly arisen in the comments section): I think Shakespeare had the working advantage of not knowing he was William Shakespeare. "Anxiety of influence," and all that...

Ebert: Leopold Bloom. I knew that! What makes you think I didn't know that? As for Shakespeare, are you seriously trying to tell me he never asked himself, "Now how would I write this?"

Another head-scratcher from Mr. Gleiberman as of late is his "C" review for the film "Let The Right One In".

Mr. Ebert, please demand this this film be sent to you or be shown in your city! It is one of the best movies I've seen in years and it is a shame that it has not received a wide release. It is very unfortunate that most will only be exposed to this film through and completely pointless Hollywood re-make.

Hope you enjoy it as well! :)

Not to be a nitpicker, but it's Leopold Bloom (being a Joyce fanatic I had to say something). Anyway, as usual you've written an excellent response. My first viewing of Synecdoche, New York left me in an unusual state; I knew I liked the movie, but I wasn't completely sure to what extent. After giving the movie some thought over the following days, my opinion of it increased to the point where I was convinced it was not only one of the best movies of this year, but destined to become more significant with each passing day.

I've now watched Synecdoche twice (and I will probably give it another go on my next day off), and with the second viewing my opinions were solidified. Honestly, I'm quite surprised it's garnering the mixed reviews it is. How can people not relate emotionally to this film? I've heard the criticism (though worded differently) that Owen said, that this is a film for eggheads, but I don't see how they can ignore the genuine emotional content of the film. Simply put, this film examines an individual's inevitable progression towards death and his attempts at finding meaning in that progression. This basic theme seems like it'd have universal significance, except for all those darned immortals (like Zeus, Apollo, and don't forget Hades).

Ebert: Leopold Bloom. I knew that! What makes you think I didn't know that?

I have to admit I was disappointed in this film. I desperately wanted to love this movie, but it failed to really move me.

The first half of the movie was very proimsing, but it fell apart for me with the anthemion structure of the play within the play within the play. For me, this play was nothing more than the translation/traduction of Caden's life experience onto the stage, a postmodern soap opera. It was too melodramatic and pat for my taste, offering trite generalizations like "every person is a lead actor in their own story" and "everyone is everyone else." Not since "Magnolia" has a movie's second half so disappointed me.

One problem I had was the film's lack of originality. "Synecdoche" seems to simply combine the Bunuelian atmosphere of "Phantom of Liberty" and "Discreet Charm" with Bergman's "Scenes From a Marriage," adding in a tired metaficitional conceit, that has already been done to death in literature and film. The epic feel of the film is also strained. I think the film would have been improved if it just stuck to one era in the artist's life. At some point, Caden just seems to start aging rather rapidly, and the story starts to go all over the place - chasing cats if you will.

I don't think it is really comparable to either "Ulysses" or "Finnegans Wake," which is a book that is above all other things, humorous. Humor is almost completely lacking from this film, which fails to present life in all its facets, the depressing and the sublimating, the hilarious and the humdrum. Joyce encompassess all of life - his writing is the world. "Synecdoche" only presents a sliver, and that is why I think it left me cold. Unlike say "Fanny and Alexander," this film is epic only in its life-spanning chronology and not in its imaginative and emotional spectrum. In fact, I felt the film was rather claustrophobic, the life of a man radically foreclosed from the real.

The audience that I saw the film with did laugh at parts, but these were the laughs of the bemused at some of the more absurd sequences, such as the house on fire and the daughter-tattoo sequence. But these laughs are not shared by the characters, who seem unaware of the humor of many of the situations they find themselves in. The audience's laughs seemed to stem from the enjoyment of absurdity. In fact the biggest laughs from the audience came at the end, believe it or not, perhaps at its stupidity.

Perhaps I am wrong, and ironic hunmor is intended. But it is dark humor (nothing wrong with that), and the pleasure of the joke is wholly lacking.

Still, "Synecdoche" is an interesting film, although it probably takes itself too seriously. I would recommend it, because it is a unique cinematic experience despite its reliance on its filmic forebears, and it will stay in your mind afterward. But I think it is somewhat of a failure, if only because Kaufman aims so high.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YIT6p2adnsA&feature=related

Ebert: I peep a mooV 4 fun. I want 2 learn, I go 2 школа.

How do you get regular keyboards to type Russian? I have always wanted to say things in Russian on a blog but it usually looks stupid with the English letters. Ya goveroo po-ruskie medlano. Cstrasvitya!

I will be seeing Skadooshe, New Jersey or whatever it is called at the AFI tonight in Silver Spring. I shall keep watch for Buck Mulligan, John Doe, Orchid Thieves and the riverrun that Adam and Eve keep recirculating to Howth Castle. Why can't those biblical naked folk leave the commodious vicus alone!

Harold Bloom rocks my face on Sammy Beckett...I voted Harold for my districts school board. Write-In Ballot biotchas!

Ebert: просто use the паутина to находить a слово in an английский-русский словарь, and then all you have to do is копия and паста!

Kaufman throws everything at the audience and cast including the bathroom sink. Although I wish he would have thrown a kitchen sink at Caden during the opening scene of the movie, I would have come off a little wittier in my first comment on the only blog I have time to read. Darn.

Ebert: Hey, you got me breakin' up!

Roger, what would we do without you! You gave away the whole movie without appearing to. The alusion to Groundhog Day and the cross-sectional image of stacked up rooms occupied by characters central to the protagonist made it come to me in flash. Now you make me want to see the film, so bad. Hopefully, the readers of this blog will get out of their first viewing of Synecdoche what you did in your second.

Re: Last Year at Marienbad, I recently (Oct. 1) e-mailed Criterion to see if they were releasing it. Here is their response:

"Yes, we have plans to release it but a specific date hasn't yet been scheduled. Please check back!"

Even with no release date yet, I can't contain my excitement.

The two "It's Leopold Bloom!" people, I surmise, are confused because you mention Harold Bloom shortly after mentioning Leopold Bloom, and they, forgetting or not knowing who Harold Bloom is, think you're suddenly mis-remembering the first name of the Ulysses character (even though you had just typed it "correctly" in the previous paragraph). There are more Blooms in this blog post than are dreamt of in their philosophies.

Ebert: all you have to do is копия and паста!

Copy and paste eh? Blood. I thought you spoke Russian. I will now put you on my "People who alls opinion I respect yet do not speak Russian" list. You can be between Farley Granger and Lisa Simpson.

Roger,

> Leopold Bloom. I knew that! What makes you think I didn't know that?

This is either a total coincidence, or I am gratified to know that I am not the only one still cribbing Martin Short's hilarious line as the lawyer for the corrupt plastic-schnozz makers on SNL 25 years ago. His persona in that little skit is still the ne plus ultra of hyperdefensive weaselness!

On a more serious note, because I know you actually read these comments, and because I may not have a chance otherwise, let me also say thank you for being a friend (although I've never met you).

I am 35 and remember watching you on PBS with my dad in what must have been the early 80s. Since then, your familiar voice, particularly in written form, has always been hale and reassuring. And you have given me a lot of good, commonsense advice like, "Among the lessons every young man should learn is this one: All women who like you because you make them laugh sooner or later stop laughing, and then why do they like you?" (from your review of Igby Goes Down). I saved that, because as soon as I read it I realized that I needed to learn that lesson. Anyway, thanks for everything (the invaluable guidance on movie matters goes without saying).

Ben

PS- By the way, given your recently expressed love of trains and good country music, you should check out Passing of the Train by Rhonda Vincent (from her 2000 album Back Home Again). My favorite train song of the last 10 years!

I also was fortunate enough to see "Synedoche NY" at TIFF this year and was bowled over by the experience. Though it's easier to explain why "Still Walking", "Country Wedding" or "C'est Pas Moi Je Le Jure" are favourites from the fest, this was indeed the most remarkable experience I've had, well, in a long time...

Admittedly, I'm already biased towards Kaufman (I even named my blog partially after one of his films), but it was just plain exciting to see this film spool out in front of me. I love how many people have described how you don't necessarily need to understand every single element or require that everything remain perfectly consistent - it's about taking you from one place to another and using film in all its capacity to get emotions and ideas across. It reminded me several times of a Seijun Suzuki film.

And yet I couldn't help but also try to put structure around it all...At some point I decided that the entire film from first to last frame was actually the play that he wrote with the grant money (which explained for me some of the odd illnesses he managed to contract early in the film). I expect a second viewing will demolish this perspective, but that's OK. It's so rich that I'm sure I'll build up another one. And hopefully soak up more of Kaufman's ideas.

Thanks for a terrific review Roger. Well, OK, not a review per se...But thanks for a great piece of writing.

This film certainly has people divided. I was hoping you would address it in your blog, I sort of knew you would, and I’m glad you did. The people that love it are screaming about it on mountain tops (though they’re not really saying anything. Apparently it’s so good that it’s can’t possibly be articulated upon, much less explained. It can only be compared to James Joyce’s greatest work). The people who hate it have resigned to never see it again. There’s a middle ground, I’m sure, but it seems that generally people either love it or hate it.

The friend I saw it with loved it, wholly; I hated it, completely. I thought it was pretentious, ugly, unfunny, meaningless, lost. It was depressing beyond belief, giant, sweeping depressing, look-at-me depressing, on stage, on a pedestal. The fantastical elements seemed forced and out of place, and a re-tread. The whole picture annoyed me and bored me. I feel bad saying this, because I admire Kaufman greatly and loved “Adaptation”, “Being John Malkovich” and “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” and beyond that, it’s clear that this film means a lot to him. It’s emotional for him, just not for me. It felt sluggish to me, wallowing, so full of on-the-verge-of-suicide depression that it was no fun. It started to lose me with the burning house, which seemed out of place here, where it would have seemed fascinating in the earlier films. Obviously Kaufman is a great talent, but he doesn’t seem to have harnessed his ideas here. It means nothing to me.

Also, there was a real human element I felt lacking here. I cared about the central characters in those three triumphs – all had self-esteem problems and experienced depression and social anxiety, but they hadn’t given up– they were trying to live, they still loved life. I didn’t get that from the new film: the central character was unlikable and seemed to have given up on life. Also, the focus on the decaying body and it’s functions was tired, boring, low brow. ‘We’re all dying—that’s the problem of life!’ – yeah, yeah, I know, but give me a break. There was no joy in the lead’s life. No reflection, no moments of real emotion other than severe depression.

There’s a term my friends and I have for deeming something so terrible that we resolve to never waste a moment of our time on it again: Kravitzed. This is after Lenny Kravitz, that awful musician. A few years back, I decided to never pay attention to him again, except to deem something ‘Kravitzed’ or explain the term to someone. So the rule is, whenever Kravitz’s music is on the radio, switch. Whenever he’s on TV, switch. If there’s an article about him in a magazine, turn the page. Life is too short to waste it on Lenny Kravitz. Never pay any attention to anyone or anything that has been Kravitzed, no matter what. If you’re Kravitzed, you’re out of my life as much as you can be. Also Kravitzed: Motley Crue, Eli Roth movies, Celine Dion, Mel Gibson. It’s prestigious and there are few members.

Kaufman’s not Kravitzed – far from it – but I’m not planning on watching the film anytime soon. Sometimes it takes a few times for a film to fully resonate, but very rarely have I hated a film and then come around to like it. “Natural Born Killers” is the only one I can think of. I tried three times with “Fight Club” before it was… Kravitzed. My friend suggested that I was too happy of a person to empathize with the lead in “Synecdoche, New York”. I was a little hurt by that comment. I don’t like people snobbishly saying ‘If you didn’t get it, that’s your problem.’ Everyone’s an elitist. “Fight Club” fans said the same thing. I’m moved by films all the time. Ozu and Bergman are my favorites. It’s true that I wish the film moved me like it has others. But it didn’t. Oh well, I’ll be dead soon anyway… The horror…

Thanks for the blog, though. Whatever people’s takes on the movie, it has sparked conversation, though not really with each other. It's inspired louder praise and sharper criticism. Not really to others, but to ourselves. Somehow that seems appropriate.

I have an interesting story about the title of the film, though I'm worried I may be recounting it with some degree of inaccuracy. I had the chance to attend a screening of Synecdoche, N.Y. the Wednesday before it came out and what's more, Charlie Kaufman was there to answer questions about the film afterward. Most of what he spoke about seemed to be the conscious construction of his films to mean different things to different people. So, I asked the question of whether or not, when Kaufman's works are all said an done, they begin to mean anything different to him. The most concrete example he gave for this phenomenon was the fact that when he wrote the screenplay he had only intended the title to refer to the actual location of Synecdoche, New York, and that he didn't realize the second, and quite relevant, meaning behind the title until he had finished the film.

Ebert: Or maybe he did know. That Charlie, what a cut-up. Maybe he realized that Synecdoche is pronounced a whole lot like Schenectady, and vice versa. He once had me believing that his brother Donald had taken out a fatwa on him for writing "Adaptation." Asked me if I had seen Donald's fucking Bruce Willis movie.

Matt wrote:

The two "It's Leopold Bloom!" people, I surmise, are confused because you mention Harold Bloom shortly after mentioning Leopold Bloom, and they, forgetting or not knowing who Harold Bloom is, think you're suddenly mis-remembering the first name of the Ulysses character (even though you had just typed it "correctly" in the previous paragraph). There are more Blooms in this blog post than are dreamt of in their philosophies.

You surmise incorrectly. On both counts. One of the advantages of writing online (rather than in print) is the almost limitless freedom afforded the author to edit his or her work. The text is never in "hard copy" online. Our gracious blog host has simply made use of this convenient feature after the fact. Also, if you look carefully, you'll find a rather glaring reference to one of Bloom's (Harold, this time) other books in my comment above. Thanks for condescending though.

Our gracious host wrote:

As for Shakespeare, are you seriously trying to tell me he never asked himself, "Now how would I write this?"

This made me laugh.

I do think there's something profound, though, in this notion that Shakespeare had a wonderful advantage never having to live up to his (now 400-year-old) reputation. His insights came from a fresh place, an uncompromised inner voice, and he expressed himself without fear of treading the same old artistic ground as so many who'd come before. Few of us have this same freedom, following in his wake as we do.

Orson Welles spoke of something similar when discussing Citizen Kane. The only reason he "broke all the rules," he said, was that nobody ever told him what they were. "The gift of ignorance," he called it. Or something to that effect.

"That is why 90% of academic film theory is bullshit."

Sweet! I'm gonna have to use that quote on an essay I'm writing for Japanese Cinema right now. My Professor won't like it, but he's %90 bullshit, so I can deal.

Amusing Anecdote:

I saw "Last Year" in a Film Theory almost 20 years ago at Indiana. The next day, the class voiced their concerns about the "art picture" to the professor, saying it was slow and boring and pretentious and all the other things you expect to hear in a film theory class. And when the professor asked the class to provide an example of a "good" "art film," someone responded "Barton Fink," which the professor proceeded to then mock and say how silly the student(s) were for thinking that.

All these years later, I can appreciate "Last Year" as a piece of filmmaking, but still think, as I did then, that it looks like one long Calvin Klein Obsession commercial.

"This dynamic radiates out into every other life on earth and down through time, shading gradually into other religious or irreligious value systems. Every other life relates to those encounters in the same way, depending on local conditions. Life's a stage, and we bit players upon it. Charlie Kaufman's "Synecdoche, New York" is a film that boldly tries to illustrate this universal process by using a director immersed in a production of indefinite duration on a stage representing his mind."

In like vein:

"The following parable from the Buddhist canon provides a beautiful visual metaphor for the interdependence and interpenetration of all phenomena.
Suspended above the palace of Indra, the Buddhist god who symbolizes the natural forces that protect and nurture life, is an enormous net. A brilliant jewel is attached to each of the knots of the net. Each jewel contains and reflects the image of all the other jewels in the net, which sparkles in the magnificence of its totality.

When we learn to recognize what Thoreau refers to as "the infinite extent of our relations," we can trace the strands of mutually supportive life, and discover there the glittering jewels of our global neighbors. Buddhism seeks to cultivate wisdom grounded in this kind of empathetic resonance with all forms of life."

- from "Thoughts on Education for Global Citizenship", a lecture given by SGI President Daisaku Ikeda at Columbia University on June 13, 1996.

After seeing your review of the film I had a feeling, or maybe just hoped, that you would then also write a blog about it. Maybe it was because I wanted to read more about the film, your thoughts and others. Or just thought I had a feeling that this was one of those films that has stuck with you, just as it has with me. I saw it a few days ago and it's stayed in my thoughts ever since. Maybe because it can be confusing, and I'm still trying to figure it out, like you said in your review that you needed a second viewing to fully grasp it. For whatever the reason I'm looking forward to seeing it again, but may wait a little while like someone else who said they would let it sink into their mind before another viewing.

It's definitely polarized critics and just about everyone else like others said. I can understand that. Like Lynch, Kaufman seems to be unapologetic as a director. Not taking the time to explain things or make sure the audience is following along. Some of the criticisms I've read is that some parts are random for the sake of being random, with little to no explanation for that. I can see that but I take it in another direction and believe that everything that happens was carefully plotted and that if something doesn't seem to make sense, maybe it's on purpose. Meaning, life isn't easily understood or figured out, and takes a lot of thought to even begin to try. The film is similar in that regard. One day you wake up and years have passed you by and you barely notice it, which obviously happens occassionally in the film.

8 1/2 is an obvious comparison, but I can also see some resemblance to Woody Allen films, like Manhattan or Annie Hall. An artist struggling to create and dealing with the pressure to create and hoping his life doesn't collapse under that pressure, and also a cynical New Yorker struggling with relationships and looking for love. The quotes of "the unexamined life is not worth living" and "most people live lives of quiet desparation" quickly came to mind while watching the film. Seeing the size of the project Caden is attempting compared with the individuals that are working on the project illustrates how many lives can be and should be examined on each scale.

I thought the first 20-25 were funny and quirky. The next hour or so somewhat muddled and slow paced. But the last 40-45 minutes everything really came together for me. Things started to make sense as I started to figure out the pacing and Kaufmanesque would we were in. The house perpetually on fire was difficult to figure out, and I think Mr Ebert had a good explanation for it. One thing I noticed was the day after Caden and Hazel finally admit their love for each other she dies of apparent smoke inhalation. I thought that was ironic and funny. It made me immediately think of Kafka and how Hazel mentioned earlier she was reading The Trial. And someone dying on smoke inhalation after living in a house perpetually on fire for about 20-30 years the day after she finally admitted to the true love she had always had for someone is very Kafkaesque. It sends the message that life can be meaningless and just when we think we found meaning something like that happens. That made sense to me but it could just be me. I don't think the house was on fire for so long just to prove the point that life can be pointless at times, but I think it's a convenient coincidence the way it happened.

Years from now this could be looked at as Kaufman's masterpiece, which is rarely said of a director's first film. I'm guessing the reception to this film isn't much different than 8 1/2. Not to compare Kaufman to Fellini but the two films in how they divided critics. 8 1/2 was released 15 years before I was born so I can only speculate on its critical reaction. But I can guess like a lot of great films they aren't recognized as the masterpieces they are until some time has passed. Right now some are championing this film and some are dismissing it. Only time will tell where it's placed among Kaufman's work or the best films of the year or decade.

I saw this film at the Gala presentation along with Charlie Kaufman's Q&A during the Chicago Film Festival and like most of the audience did not react towards the end. We were left with are thoughts and mild applause. As I began filling out my comment card, I made my way to rating the film. As my pencil began to slide between a two and a three, I could feel someone standing behind me looking over my shoulder. As I looked up at the end of my aisle seat, there was Charlie. I quickly moved my pencil towards a solid four as he walked away for the Q&A. However, in the past few weeks the film has left an impression on me. I cannot decide if I love it or hate it. The style and tone of the film feels like "Being John Malkovich." Unlike "Adaptation" and "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind," his characters are not likeable or relatable to me in any way. It seems more or less that as voyeur I find myself screaming at Caden "what the hell are you doing?!" How can any father let his daughter be taken away from him, and then become a sexual idol without going "Taxi Driver" on his ex? How can so many beautiful, kind, and smart women be casted aside for Caden to float aimlessly through life? What's with the zeppelin gliding through the New York skyline witnessing a society collapse? Why is his friend and lover's house constantly on fire? There is so much to take in upon one viewing, that it is absolutely necessary to watch again. I think the film has accomplished a rare feat of filmmaking. It forces the viewer to take an extreme stand on the film and falls into the love/hate category. Perhaps if I wake up this side of the bed this morning I might love it. And perhaps if I wake up on the other side with a discolored stool I might hate it. Either way the film does not leave your conscious mind.

I saw this film at the Gala presentation along with Charlie Kaufman's Q&A during the Chicago Film Festival and like most of the audience did not react towards the end. We were left with are thoughts and mild applause. As I began filling out my comment card, I made my way to rating the film. As my pencil began to slide between a two and a three, I could feel someone standing behind me looking over my shoulder. As I looked up at the end of my aisle seat, there was Charlie. I quickly moved my pencil towards a solid four as he w

I saw this film at the Gala presentation along with Charlie Kaufman's Q&A during the Chicago Film Festival and like most of the audience did not react towards the end. We were left with are thoughts and mild applause. As I began filling out my comment card, I made my way to rating the film. As my pencil began to slide between a two and a three, I could feel someone standing behind me looking over my shoulder. As I looked up at the end of my aisle seat,

The first comparison I thought of after seeing it was Guy Maddin. Especially Maddin's more recent stuff like "Brand Upon the Brain," "Cowards Bend the Knee" and "My Winnipeg." Like "Synecdoche," many of Maddin's films combine obsessive autobiography with magical realism and a surreal dreamlike structure.

That said, however, while I absolutely love nearly everything Maddin has done, I didn't have the same reaction to "Synecdoche, NY." It worked on an intellectual level at times, but as a whole it ended up leaving me cold.

Which leads me to the second thing I thought of after seeing it, that quote that you once mentioned in one of your reviews (I think it was from Pauline Kael's review of "Time Bandits") about a film suffering from "a surfeit of good ideas." For me, I think that fittingly sums up "Synecdoche, NY" better than anything else I could say about it. I think "Synecdoche, NY" is a mess. A grand, ambitious, and often brilliant mess, yes, but I don't think he ever finds a way to make his many brilliant ideas resonate fully, so it remains a mess all the same.

How Kaufmanesque. It seems you've put the egg before the chicken, saying Last Year at Marienbad is a long version of a Calvin Klein ad. Or should that be "chicken before the egg"? My memory fails...

"....... he would no doubt refuse to answer that question.......He starts with the need to work....... and during the blackout he has discovered a miraculous somewhere he has never traveled, gladly beyond any experience, "where your eyes," .....

An exquisite description of the open-endedness and pain and beauty of life itself.......no gain without pain......isn't artistic creativity a synecdoche for the joyous agony of being alive...."what,a rat has life and you have none?".....ah life,precious life !

Thank you Mr. Ebert for this beautiful paragraph,which will be engraved along with many a "film moment"......there is exultancy in your flow of word....

"....... he would no doubt refuse to answer that question.......He starts with the need to work....... and during the blackout he has discovered a miraculous somewhere he has never traveled, gladly beyond any experience, "where your eyes," .....

An exquisite description of the open-endedness and pain and beauty of life itself.......no gain without pain......isn't artistic creativity a synecdoche for the joyous agony of being alive...."what,a rat has life and you have none?".....ah life,precious life !

Thank you Mr. Ebert for this beautiful paragraph,which will be engraved along with many a "film moment"......there is exultancy in your flow of word.... I'm missing having seen this film......I enjoyed Marienbad......since life is not a neat jigsaw puzzle,it is equally unnecessay for films to be so....I believe the Bard too is creative in a continuous unpredictable flow,bursting dams and conventions .....when his sentence starts,as though he doesn't know how it will end...he is divine because life is divine....

Ebert: The words didn't flow quite by themselves. I had some help.Google "a miraculous somewhere he has never traveled, gladly beyond any experience." You'll by happy you did.

I'm not exactly sure when the world became so small and unambitious that the discussion or contemplation of Big Ideas and Grand Concepts became something to be derided as an "egghead" pursuit.

Probably sometime during the last eight years, I imagine.

I am usually surprised these days to see anyone promote or enjoy Art that challenges us or has a lot on its mind. I am thrilled that "Synecdoche, New York" even got made and would generally much rather watch someone attempt the impossible and fail than sit quietly through another product produced by rote.

I saw it today and enjoyed it immensely. Being the same age and disposition as its central character made for an easy way in, I suppose, and I admit to understanding the fear of living in a world that is gradually pushing you offstage all too well. Overall, though, one leaves the film feeling a tremendous compassion for all of us in our own little rooms, blinking in the dark and awaiting the inevitable.

Bravo to Mr. Kaufman for making it, and bravo to Mr. Ebert for championing it. As the late Philip K. Dick once observed of Jesus Christ, we could use more like them.

RG

"The ample proposition that hope makes
In all designs begun on earth below
Fails in the promised largeness: cheques and disasters
Grow in the veins of actions highest rear'd,
As knots, by the conflux of meeting sap,
Infect the sound pine and divert his grain
Tortive and errant from his course of growth"

Troilus and Cressida

Just curious Roger, have you yourself read The Watchmen?

Do you know what a wordle is?

http://www.wordle.net/gallery/wrdl/310308/RogerEbertBlog

I took each entry in your blog and created the above. I'm not sure what it means, and there probably aren't any particularly surprising words, but I kind of like it.

By the way, a musician whom I adore named Conor Oberst has written some songs I think you'd really enjoy under the moniker of "Bright Eyes." He claims that John Prine was a major influence upon him. This particular song, "I Must Belong Somewhere" really shines:

Leave the bright blue door on the white-washed wall
Leave the death ledger under city hall
Leave the joyful air in that rubber ball today

Just leave the lilac print on the linen sheet
Leave the birds you killed at your father's feet
Let the sideways rain in the crooked street remain

Leave the whimpering dog in his cold kennel
Leave the dead starlet on her pedestal
Leave the acid kids in their green fishbowls today

Leave the sad guitar in its hard-shell case
Leave the worried look on your lover's face
Let the orange embers in the fireplace remain

Cause everything it must belong somewhere
Oh a train off in the distance, bicycle chained to the stairs
Everything it must belong somewhere
I know that now, that's why I'm staying here

Leave the ocean's roar in the turquoise shell
Leave the widower in his private hell
Leave the liberty in that broken bell today

Just leave the epic poem on its yellowed page
Leave the gray macaw in his covered cage
Let the traveling band on the interstate remain

Cause everything it must belong somewhere
Sound-stage in California, televisions in Times Square, yeah
Everything it must belong somewhere
I know that now, that's why I'm staying here
Well I know that now that's why I'm staying here

Leave the secret talks on the trundle bed
Leave the garden tools in the rusted shed
Leave those bad ideas in your troubled head today

Just leave the restless ghost in his old hotel
Leave the homeless man out in that cardboard cell
Let the painted horse on the carousel remain

Cause everything it must belong somewhere
Just like the gold around her finger or the silver in his hair
Yeah, everything it must belong somewhere
I know that now, that's why I'm staying here
Oh, I know that now, that's why I'm staying here

In truth, the forest hears each sound
Each blade of grass as it lies down
The world requires no audience
no witnesses, no witnesses

Leave the old town drunk on his wooden stool
Leave the autumn leaves in their swimming pool
Leave the poor black child in his crumbling school today

Leave the novelist in his daydream tomb
Leave the scientist in her rubic's cube
Let the true genius in the padded room remain

Leave the horse's hair on the slanted bow
Leave the slot machines on the riverboat
Leave the cauliflower in the casserole today

Just leave the hot, bright trash in the shopping malls
Leave the hawks of war in their capitals
Let the organ's moan in the cathedral remain

Cause everything it must belong somewhere
They locked the devil in the basement, threw God up into the air.
Yeah, everything must belong somewhere
You know it's true, I wish you'd leave me here
You know it's true, why don't you leave me here?

Roger, I've always appreciated your reviews.

But I'm having an inverted parallax moment of sorts (cf. 'Ulysses').

I really appreciate your review of 'SNY' and for your explicit warnings that it does not adhere to convention; and I also appreciate your review of 'Quantum Solace,' and your distaste that it does not adhere to the 'Bond Universe' conventions; but what I do not understand (and yet I beg to appreciate all the same) how these two reviews could originate from the same pen.

Ebert: I only have the one.

"I doubt that James Joyce's Ulysses had a big opening weekend. You start it and start it and start it, and you shore up in uncertainty and dismay. Then someone tells you, 'It's an attempt to record one day in the life of some people in Dublin, mostly focusing on Leopold Bloom. It uses or parodies many literary styles and introduces a new one, the stream of consciousness, which defines itself. Try finding somebody Irish to read the tricky bits aloud.' Voila!"

This brings back a fond memory: As an undergrad English major at St. Joe's in Philadelphia in the mid-'70s, I found myself in a Joyce seminar, "starting and starting" Ulysses (and "start" is a good word here, in the sense of something sudden giving one a "start"). I was rescued by my professor, Joe Feeney, S.J., he of the red hair and twinkly eyes (and still at St. Joe's). He clued us into the day-in-the-life structure and pointed out some of the literary parodies--but most of all, he read passages aloud, his Irish voice clarifying the murk. While he spoke, Ulysses made perfect, beautiful sense. Afterward, the spell would fade--but not altogether. Twenty-something years later, and I am still ready--eager--to allow a difficult text to do what it will. Thanks to you, Roger, I look forward to Synecdoche. (How lucky can I get? Two Joe Feeneys in one lifetime!)

I think you may be mistaken about the vampire's gender being male in "Let the Right One In." Eli doesn't say, "I'm a boy." Eli says, "I'm not a girl." Given the circumstances of this story, there is a difference between the two declarations.

On the other hand, I'm not absolutely certain Eli is female either, since, in the brief nether-region shot, it looked like (s)he had long ago suffered some kind of injury. Is there a back-story, perhaps in the novel, which explains what we see in that shot?

At one point in Finneagans Wake, the reader is told that the story is of life. That you can stop and come back to it, pick it up where you want and continue. (I will never find the passage to quote it directly, but it impressed me at the time.)
It is a simpler process for the reader with literature. One can turn the page back and review, or as with Anais Nin, start the book over. A DVD (or tape for those with patience) allows similar study.
The theater-goer has to perform the magic of realization and re-organization in real-time. For the audience, the initial hope that this movie being viewed could be like that, then the understanding that it is, then actually digging into it and 'getting it' parallel William Blake's artistic model. It becomes the art of the audience.

I suppose I need to swerve from the pack here (not my usual routine) in saying I'm simply not a fan of Charlie Kaufman's work, and I can boil it down to exactly one reason: the scripts (and, mostly therefore, the ensuing films) are not as funny as they could be or seem to desire to be.

They seem to set the stage, every time, for laughter - perhaps evil little self-knowing egghead chuckles, but humor none-the-less. SIDEWAYS-style laughs. STRANGELOVE-style laughs. CRUMB-style laughs.

But the laughs never come. Not in BEING JOHN MALKOVICH, not in ADAPTATION, and on and on...

Whether Kaufman is intentionally stifling the instinct to add humor for some sadomasochistic reason, I don't know. But ADAPTATION - at least the lesser Nicolas Cage scenes - is simply painful and unpleasant. None of that squirm-inducing honesty would be lessened in the least by bold humor. And yet, again, it seems to me that Kaufman's work is depleted of actual yuks, like oxygen sucked out of a souffle.

Which is, of course, my opinion. But it is also my opinion that there is no film ever (EVER!) that did not or would not benefit from the addition of levity, even dark levity.

My proof? SCHINDLER'S LIST. Possibly the most "serious film ever", if you polled people walking by in their winter coats. And yet, it's got at least 15 laughs in it. Watch it again. A lot are directed at the frailties of Schindler, or his appetites, but they're there. And they don't lessen the darkness or the weight.

I think I'd like to ask other on the board if they can name a single film that would not or does not benefit from humor. It's certainly an element we breathe in real life, comedy.

But back again to Kaufman: Why no laughs?

Esteemed Mr. Ebert,

So I believe I comprehend the idea that most people hold that film is, at times, simply a "movie," however, I could not control a sense of inner unease when reading your review of Quantum of Solace, for I sensed an almost sarcastic tone when it was mentioned that the "tragedy" Bond was bound to prevent was the overtake of Bolivia's water supply. A much minor one than the destruction/domination of the world indeed, but also a true and painful memory for me and my fellow Bolivians.

For we actually had a "water war," ridiculously simplified in the film the Corporation in order to advance their own absurd agenda. Perhaps the film that better, not well but better, conveys the nature of our own "minor" third world problems is Our Brand is Crisis, where liberal darling James Carville comes to aid one of our most corrupt and senseless right-wing politians get elected, again, as our president, to promote the demise of the state in our economy and bow down to the wisdom and kindness of our American and European brethern, thus prompting the protest and demise of more people tired of the ravage and insult that such "First world love" has brought to our motherland. And now our "tragedy" is a source of their entertainment. A minor one, of course.

Should Bond go after the World Bank for obliguing us to privatize our water companies to european corporations that set fares higher than most common man's salary? Or how about set him to assassinate/ arrest George Soros for funding the protests and marches of our rebels as an "anti-globalization experiment" so they get killed by the police of the miitary or they would murder the soldiers and policemen. We could have a dramatic scene where Mr. Soros would meet Bond in a wonderful New York party, or would it be in Paris? I am more inclined to London myself. How about let us have 007 brake into the world bank offices and find M having lunch with Wolfowitz? I know he wasnt the president then, nor is he now, but at the time he looks at Bond he could be combing his hair a la Fah 9/11, that would be priceless.

To paraphrase another Shakespearian tragic line, Are we fortune's fools? Or simply the buffoons of the first world? 'Tis a mystery.

Pardon me for digressing in excess, as a fan that attempts to preserve and improve his English reading your reviews, I actually know you possess a human conscience and you condemn both right and left wing oppression on the people. However, I can not help being depressed when our reality is absurdly simplified and employed merely as plot to promote the sheer entertainment of millions. How would Americans feel if in its sequel Borat was to accidentally enable the 9/11 terrorist? Nice? I hardly believe so.

Perhaps that is part of the true power of movies, good movies, they get us to show our pain, disgust, ease, love and passion all in two hours or less. They elicit our true feelings and evoke thought and analysis at times protest. Others will poke an open wound to cash in it, as gods laughing at the trials of "minor mortals." I could err, sir, but my heart does not guide me to such deduction yet. Take good care and God Bless.

Ebert: I had no idea the scheme was in any way based on fact, or I wouldn't have made light of it. Scary thought: I wonder if they didn't know? Which would reinforce your view of we Northerners. I wonder how the film will play in Bolivia. They'll probably dub in the name of another country. Hollow laugh. Third world? Not when it produces writers like you.

You're slipping Mister Ebert. You used that same labyrinth/gumball story in your review of "$1,000,000 Duck," a Disney movie from 1971. Only then you said it was a "chlorophyll gumball."

Ebert: It was. Forgot. I stole it from Stan Freberg.

Charlie Kaufman (no relation) says people keep asking him what the Burning House means. It seems obvious to me: It's our mortal body. We, all of us, move into a burning house from the moment of conception. We wrangle over viability of the fetus, forgetting that viability is a short-term concept. As one of the characters (The same one who moves into the house?) says, "The end is built into the beginning."

It's comical to see Hazel walk around the burning house with her realtor, and buy it and move in. Why would someone do that? It seems crazy. Charlie is reminding us we all do that, and asking how do we forget that? How do we carry on with our lives when we're standing in a burning building?

I think this is the big challenge of our age. As we evolve to the point that religious faith becomes untenable, what do we replace it with? How do we now comfort ourselves against mortality? So far it’s been hedonism, but I hope we can do better.

Now can someone tell me what the Zeppelin meant??

Gee, one might think that "egghead" is a pejorative term. I for one embrace the label, no matter what was meant by it. It means a smart person, and there's nothing wrong with that. Why didn't Owen Gleibermann use the term "snob" when that's what he's really meant?

What a moving experience that was. Tricia Olszewski from the Washington City Paper writes that Synecdoche boils down to a cliche: life sucks and then you die.

Kaufman has the balls to ask whether that's actually true, and the only way to deal with that is by realizing what a ridiculous, hilarious question it is.

Okay, I thought of one movie where the absence of all humor is a benefit: Bergman's WINTER LIGHT. If someone popped their head in the church and cracked a joke, the mood would be ruined.

But even throughout other Bergman, there is plentiful humor. His most famous movie, THE SEVENTH SEAL, is chock full of at least a certain kind of mirth.

So that's it: WINTER LIGHT. Every other movie ever made could use more laughs. Even the funniest movies ever made, by Mel Brooks or Woody Allen or Buster Keaton or Luis Bunuel, could use more laughs. How would it hurt? If ten laughs are good, why not a hundred?

Laughter holds as much truth in it as pain, as many revelations, etc. (Is that a good place to use "etc"? Perhaps the point was not clear enough to warrant it... but here's hoping this disclaimer allows me to move right along.)

Goth kids who wander malls, enjoying their dislike of things, are missing the point, but are certainly providing a nice joke for the rest of us. Not a joke on them, necessarily, but a gag on that particular facet of humanity, itself a single enterprise of enough facets to allow for both the guy who looks a fool AND the guy who laughs at him. Same guy, different angles.

Am I getting through to anyone here? Or have I finally crossed over into madness? I know that the new Charlie Kaufman movie probably will make other people laugh, and I know some people who think BEING JOHN MALKOVICH is hilarious (the hatred of all humanity inherent in the picture, while neither here nor there in my philosophy, makes it such a dour enterprise for me...)... The IDEAS behind Kaufman's scripts are always enticing, but the executions always leave me unsatisfied.

This whole laughter business is why my most prized possession is a business card signed by Billy Wilder just a few years before his death. HIs film THE APARTMENT has often flirted with the top spot on my "all-time faves" list. And there's a movie that has a foundation of tragedy, sadness, frustration, ennui, modern lack of morality... all the stuff that might make for a real mope-fest...

And yet it rises to the rafters on the strength of humor, on the acknowledgment that underneath all that heavy-life stuff remains an even truer sediment of warmth, wit, and humanity. The kind of things that make our mouths curl up and our teeth show in good will, in spite of ourselves even.

Are the sad points made by Wilder and Diamond in THE APARTMENT lessened by the one-liners or the tennis-racket spaghetti session?

Come to think of it, would WINTER LIGHT truly be lessened if Gunnar Bjornstrand broke up one of his sullen reveries with a pun? Not one of those 99-cent puns, but a good one.

Also, I think, to get back to the source of this, it bothers me that Charlie Kaufman - at least for the initial part of his serious career - refused to be photographed. I think refusing to be photographed reeks of major self-importance, and it ranks just below "comedians who think they need to work on their bodies" on my uber-subjective list of things that will get you axed from my next dinner party.

Jared,Nov.13,3.14 pm:I agree egghead should be a complement.Life is too short for anything but the very best.People who value their own life value time,that being the stuff which constitutes life.Young people in particular need to remember to value their time,and,as Longfellow said in his great poem,"Be not like dumb and driven cattle!Be a hero in the strife!"

Roger;Thanks for the Cummings link.Apart from the joy of a response from you,which fills me with gratitude,that inspite of your irreplaceable time ,you are lending your ear to one's amateurish scribbles,it is a pleasure to re-encounter this (! ! !) poem after 30 years.Blogs are making the world and closer better place.It is a great privelege to be with this forum.

The first difficult novel I read was Malcolm Lowry's Under the Volcano. I was twenty years old and working nightshift at a slaughterhouse, as part of the clean up crew. I would go to work several hours early, smoke cigarettes in the lunchroom, and read as much of Volcano as possible before each shift. I was in awe of Lowry's long, lush sentences and vivid characters. The structure of the book was Joycean -- an epic story compressed into a single day. But, of course, I didn't realize that at the time. I didn't really understand much about the book except the most basic plot points. But understanding wasn't really important. Rather, I was mesmerized by the beautiful descriptions of a dangerous Mexico, the tragic descriptions of a hopeless marriage, and the nightmarish descriptions of severe alcoholism. The book was intoxicating and I would think about it all through my shift, as I swept up pig guts and dumped them down the rendering shoot. An exotic text for a grim, tedious job.

Since then, I have read Under the Volcano several more times, and always with great pleasure. But I have never enjoyed it as much as that first time when I was confused and overawed by it. Why? Because the first time was an intense experience, not an intellectual one. I didn't catch the many literary references in the text. I didn't know a thing about Mexican politics. I'd never heard of the Day of the Dead festival. But what I did understand -- or sensed -- was the frenzy with which Lowry wrote his novel. It was like being pulled into somebody's most personal and wildest mystery. Maybe the pieces fit together; maybe they didn't. I didn't care. I was ready to pour another mescal, turn another page, and allow myself to get knocked out by an unlimited imagination.

There aren't many novels that have made me feel this way, and there are even fewer films. But I can only hope that I respond to Synecdoche, New York, in the same way you did, because it would mean that I'd get to read Under the Volcano again for the first time.

Reading through this entry again, as well as some of the other comments, I'm reminded of a quote by director Robert Bresson (I believe from the Criterion DVD of the movie, but not 100% sure), about his film "Pickpocket":

"I'd rather people feel a film before understanding it. I'd rather feelings arise before intellect."

I think this quote is a good description of why I've enjoyed all of Kauffman's films so far. I think understanding is something that people tend to over-rate...or at least take for granted. I don't always demand that I understand every movie that I see, but I do request that a film is able to evoke an emotion from inside. Ideally, an emotion that I didn't know was there. If, in the end, I am able to also learn something from the movie, then that is just icing on the cake. In a world where audiences require to be spoon-fed a film with the same cookie-cutter mold (see Saw I-V), it is refreshing to see an artist willing to go out on a limb.

In days gone by, I used to have William Safire's books on language (I lost them in a move, but that, as Mr. Kipling says, is another story). In one of his entries, Mr. Safire explains what a synecdoche is: let's say you're at City Hall, and you overhear one city functionary say to another, "The Fifth Floor won't like that." The Fifth Floor refers, of course, to the Mayor's office, possibly to the Mayor himself: that's a synecdoche. In the entry, Mr. Safire tells how the term came up while he was interviewing a Washington politician, who pronounced it SY-neck-doash. Being an old-school gentleman, Mr. Safire waited a bit, then casually steered the talk back, pronouncing the word correctly. The politician smiled and said, "Is that how you say it? I've seen the word in print but I've never heard it spoken before." The two men shared a laugh, and agreed that Schenectady NY was the most convenient way to remember the pronunciation. It was about ten years ago that I read this story, and I've waited all this time to annoy you all with it now. Who knows, I might even give the picture a try (kidding, kidding). By the way, do you think Popeye Doyle's still picking his feet in Poughkeepsie?

Last Year in Marienbad is available for £5.98 from Amazon UK, plus £3.08 for shipping to the U.S. by air mail, for a total of less than $15.

If you are interested in European cinema, a region-free DVD player is much cheaper than an addiction to Criterion releases, well-made as they certainly are.

"You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout
Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks!
You sulphurous and thought-executing fires,
Vaunt-couriers to oak-cleaving thunderbolts,
Singe my white head! And thou, all-shaking thunder,
Smite flat the thick rotundity o' the world!
Crack nature's moulds, an germens spill at once"

Dear Roger,

I followed your advice in viewing “Little Dorrit," and suffice it to say, the eager anticipation that I exhibited earlier prior to the DVD's release was not unjustified. Having just recently finished reading "A Tale of Two Cities," I was struck by the strong character resemblance of Lucie Manette and Amy Dorrit. Yes, both belong to that fold of Victorian literature's women who " ..... remain constant throughout the movie (or book), behave as they can and must, and win at the end." Although, I did find Lucie Manette overbearingly cloy, it felt like I was swimming in a pool of honey every time she huddled in her father’s breast, or touched it. Clearly, even though Dickens is one of English literature’s great writers, he wasn't immune to kitschiness.

Or maybe I suppose wrongly. Further essential readings reveal that “Tale” works in allegorical circles and should be explicated in such way. Here we have the inimical Madame Defarge, whose cognomen must surely be The Exterminator. Look what she did to the grim old officer’s head (guv’nor); and listen to that retort she gave when asked when to stop. "To extermination," she says. We also have her cronies: Vengeance, The Juryman and the mob of women as The Furies. Amidst these Bastille anomalies, there is, of course, Dickens’ angel Lucie Manette as The Golden-Haired Doll. How sweet! England is considered Darnay’s Refuge; while France represents The (Spreading) Revolution with its grim executioner La Guillotine.

Now where do we put Sidney Carton? Shall we call him The Profligate Martyr?

Another curious thing that I found is shared by “Tale” and “Dorrit” is the theme of Inevitability. It has prophetical truthfulness for those who do not take heed. Consider that during and after the Revolution, the revolutionaries themselves become the new oppressors, as evidenced by the innocent seamstress who was “expiated” at La Guillotine. Consider, too, that when William Dorrit (played to perfection by Sir Alec Guiness) sensed impending doom, he started to lose his bearings in "high" society and entered into a semi-soliloquy about the fresh air of Marshalsea that “blows over the Surrey hills.” Deranged? Yes, but these are all very relevant in today’s world, for there is strong need to break the vicious cycle and it is everybody's fault.

Anyway, Roger, you have your “Synecdoche” and I have my “Little Dorrit.” I have seen it twice already, and within the space of a few days only. Right now, I'm thinking of an apt review for it. I can't quite place it, and have never seen any movie quite like it. Of course, I'm not saying this as a cineaste, for I am not one, as I have lately discovered, but as an anglomaniac who is impressible for films such as Christine Edzard's "Little Dorrit." I love the way it was divided into two separate movies, both referring to each other. Talk about hypertexting!

So enough of my ramblings. I close with Mrs. Merdle's words, "Bird, be quiet." And go read "David Copperfield" next, if I might add.

Ebert: D'you think Dickens' best woman character was Mrs. Havisham?

Was Caden actually a woman? A lesbian even? I thought a lot details and comments hinted at that. Did anyone else notice this?

Ebert: I am posting this and eagerly awaiting the responses! Of course if his life is all lives, he must incorporate a little of everyone.

Mrs. Havisham? Now let's see. Where did I come across Mrs. Havisham? Ah yes.

I have seen two Great Expectations. One being the esteemed film of Sir David Lean, and the other being the 1981 BBC serialisation for television. Roger, I hope you forgive me for this, but I love the TV production better. The character of Magwitch there really tugged at my heartstrings, and by the time of the deathbed scene, I was really in tears. But then again, one can’t really blame the BBC version: it was over 6 hours long and divided into 12 episodes. It had the chance to really dry-squeeze, a la Casby and Pancks, the essence of Dickens’ characters and put it on the small screen.

For sure, Miss Havisham is interesting. I think she’s the gloomiest eccentric ever. You know what? Great Expectations was the first thing that came to mind whilst watching Little Dorrit. It had the same old house as Miss Havisham’s, with its creaky floorboards and dark wooden panels, the surface of which had become irregular after three generations. Of course, there was none of the cobwebs, petrified food and dried-up cake of Great Ex, but a different kind of feast had been undergoing beneath the floorboards for a long while, where termites eventually caused a part of Mrs. Clennam’s house to fall upon itself, in the most auspicious time.

Great Ex and Dorrit also share the presence of a dominatrix. Both women had been wronged by some act of perfidy, and thus, had turned vindictive. One justified her misery by manipulating Estella and Pip; while the other, a Bible-thumping puritan, her vengeance by not handing down much-needed money owed to the Dorrits. (Btw, I was thoroughly impressed by Joan Greenwood, I think she’s a great actress.)

I realise that we may be coming from two different directions here. No doubt you had read Great Expectations. I have not. There is a keen substance in books which turn mute when transferred to film. In books, we have more access to the characters’ inner workings, taking part in their musings and despairs. There is much more room to feed our imaginations. We begin to know that characters do not really exist in black and white, but are shades in between. I think it is in this province that you have come to empahtise with Miss Havisham and regard her as Dickens’ best female character. (That is, if I interpreted your statement correctly.)

Personally, I pick Lady Dedlock from the lot of Dickens’ female characters. And no, not from the book, which I have yet to read, but from Dame Diana Rigg and the more recent Gillian Anderson. For sure, Lady Dedlock is not the best creature to walk in the realm of literature, but she has depth as a forlorn mother and as a lady in the throes of Victorian intrigue, blackmail and scandal. Utimately, though fond memories of her will live on, she is a victim who must give up a noble position: to languish herself into oblivion just like Nemo, who is really inconsequential and nobody.

Ebert: And not to miss Alfonso Cuarón's modern 1998 version, starring Ethan Hawke, Gwyneth Paltrow and Anne Bancroft in the Mrs. Havisham-like role.

Caden had more female than male energy, and I thought he was happiest as Ellen the cleaning lady. Cleaning up has traditionally been a female task, and he did tend to cry before/during sex, and he was obsessed with his body - not that men aren't!
The film this most reminded me of is Bunuel's "That Obscure Object of Desire" - the Fernando Rey character becomes obsessed by a woman played by 2 non-similar actresses (he never seems to notice). There's plenty of surrealism (Rey goes into a room and as he sits down to eat, the curtain (4th wall) parts to reveal he is onstage) and constant imminent death (repeated assassination attempts against him), etc.
The major difference is Bunuel dealt confidently with his story while Kaufman hedges and fudges and is finally diffident. He starts out with a series of language jokes/confusions, and uses the curiosity of young Olive to make us think about plumbing as a species of horror (see Terry Gilliam's "Brazil" for a take on all that stuff inside the walls) - but then he sort of fizzles on that while he gets caught up in his meta-story about his life, with actors playing actors. It got too abstracted from the point. I thought the burning house was a straightforward piece of surrealism, one thread Kaufman could've taken further, to good effect. The fact that the house evidently belonged to the realtor, whose grown son lived in the basement, seems to have escaped mention but I found it hilarious. Perhaps she set it on fire to get her son to move out, but that didn't work so she is just selling it and he conveys with the property.
The first half to two-thirds of the movie was quite funny - after that it got tedious.
The whole Caden/ Hazel confusion on the set got tiresome since it didn't develop. Why was it Hazel he finally loved?
Kaufman must've had some terrible experiences with the medical profession - he has no sympathy for their POV.

Uhm, that's not what Last Year at Marienbad is about. Close, but not quite.

I suddenly recall the moment late in the film in which Caden-as-Ellen is given a small microphone he inserts in his ear. From then to the end, he receives instructions via this device, and follows them. The director at last speaks directly (sorry) to his character, who in acting out his instructions reaches a satisfactory conclusion, making peace with himself and those around him. Is Caden listening to his "god" finally?
In classic male/female divisions of characteristics, male is drawn as active, and female receptive/passive - that's Caden! Caden, an unusual name, is an anagram of Dance, and Caden + Dance = Cadence, or rhythm. Perhaps this character is in search of a rhythm in his life, hence his attraction to the theater where rhythm is overt (Shakespeare's iambic pentameter etc).
Cleaning is a metaphor for creating order, for putting the past in perspective, for revealing the original nature of things.
The order Adele created (her paintings) was so small as to require special glasses to observe, while at life size she was an agent of chaos, while she lived with Caden.
And yet, when he becomes her cleaning lady, there's not that much to clean - her toilet, her sheets - her apartment looks pretty good. Perhaps her sloppiness was intended to torment him (she confesses to Dr. Gravis & Caden her dream that he would sicken and die so she could start afresh guilt-free) - to weaken his attachment?

I just saw the film, and towards the end someone in the audience exclaimed "What the?" And that is exactly where you will find yourself at the end if you are looking for a story instead of allowing the experience that is this film to happen to you. The narrative here is not an end in itself. It is the launch point. It is meant, I believe, to work on you viscerally as well as intellectually. How can you not have empathy for Caden, and how can you not ponder the nature of existence as you make your way home from the theatre? While it would be interesting to know exactly why the house is on fire all the time (provided such an explanation exists), I could actually care less. I don't think I've seen a movie that better portrays our existential angst. And any movie that makes me feel and think a lot like I did after the first time I saw the build up to the Star Child scene in Kubrick's 2001 is doing something right. I mean Kaufman is stirring up the Jungian muck here, and that's no mean feat.

Hi Roger, I believe I missed Cuaron's version. I'll look into it.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Roger wrote, "Imagine that "The Dark Knight" was exactly similar, frame by frame, from beginning to end, but has a brief extra scene at the end where Batman slips on a wet floor in the Batcave, hits his head on the floor, and is killed."

I'm sure you're aware that the porn industry has, throughout the years, been debauching respectable films to suit their less-than-respectable means. Just the other day, I came across "Gladiator" at a friend's house. Was surprised to find that amidst all the efforts to bear even the slightest semblance to the Oscar winner in terms of caliber, they actually wore nothing underneath their tunics.

(Cackle, cackle, cough)

First, a shared experience:

After viewing the film today, my roommate and I sat in silence as the credits rolled, right to the Sony Classics logo at the end. It has been a while since I've stayed fully through credits that didn't promise an extra scene afterwards. I did so because I felt a need to absorb what I had just seen. When we stood up, I saw that over half the crowd had stayed through the credits, too. When is the last time you saw THAT happen with a general audience (one without critics or other film industry employees)? For me, the last time I truly felt rooted to my seat after a film was for "Requiem For A Dream".

Now a developing theory on the burning house:

***Spoiler Alert***

It felt, in part, like a comment on the nature of Hazel (The box-office woman who became Caden's Production Manager and the primary love of his life). She accepted everything as-is. She bought the house, even though it was on fire, she married Derek (the realtor's son who lived downstairs) despite him being presented as a bit of a schmuck, and she desired Caden despite all of his issues and oddities. It could be argued this was her tragic flaw -Derek was a temporary filler, Caden was a mess, and the house, as she herself predicted, eventually killed her. But all of us do this to ourselves -whether by staying in toxic relationships or unsatisfying jobs, etc... It's human nature.

I also thought it interesting to note that while Hazel's house was perpetually on fire, Adele's apartment had water running. When Caden first enters, the shower is running even through no-one's home. I sense some sort of elemental theme at play here.

Ebert: There are so many insightful eureka! moments like yours in these comments. "Synedoche" is becoming one of those intensely-analyzed movies like (no artistic comparison necessarily implied) "Fight Club," "Pulp Fiction" or "Mulholland Drive."

So...

"In other words, the playwright's life refers to all lives, and all lives refer to his life. So Kaufman gives the whole thing away right there in his title. Talk about your spoilers."

But... my life is not a great masterpiece, neither is yours, or yours, or yours, or yours. So why is a film about it a masterpiece?

So...

"In other words, the playwright's life refers to all lives, and all lives refer to his life. So Kaufman gives the whole thing away right there in his title. Talk about your spoilers."

But... my life is not a great masterpiece, neither is yours, or yours, or yours, or yours. So why is a film about it a masterpiece?

Ebert: King Lear had Alzheimers, lost the only daughter he loved, and wandered in a storm, and look what he inspired.

Roger,

I am one of those people who struggled through the first 100 pages of Ulysses and always wanted to get back to it when I had a weekend to blow and a friend to explain it to me. But I still seem to find myself among the "cadre of eggheads" who loves Synecdoche, New York. I think the egghead label, though, tells you more about the people who dislike the movie than those of us who love it. I don't think Synecdoche is simply an exercise in intellectual showmanship--although that is certainly part of what it is about--but a real, human story.

I am sure that one could spend many years analyzing and rethinking the various meanings and subtleties of the film in shot-by-shot film analysis classes like you have done with Citizen Kane and I am sure it would be a worthwhile endeavor. But like Kane, Synecdoche works because it works, not because the hat on the table is shaking. With all of its obscure tricks and diversions that will keep us engaged for years to come, it is a story that uses all of this confusion to relate genuine feelings about anxiety and failure.

The burning house may very well symbolize the human body and its frailty, like Caden's constant anxiety about blood in his urine and his impending death. But with today's disastrous real estate market, you can't help but see that it is also about the anxiety of buying a house and having it burn down! I bought my first new car a couple of years ago and having it sit outside of my apartment on the streets of Oakland before the alarm was installed gave me a very sleepless night, to say the least. An analysis of the symbolism may tell us more about how all of this works, but the feelings the image imparts are visceral, not intellectual.

My point is, there are many depths to probe and subtleties to grapple with in the film. But in the end, it works on an emotional level. The human story is genuine and the feelings of anxiety are real. A great work of art isn't necessarily great because it requires us to think about it for a long time. It's great because it allows us to think about it for long time and still find a greater appreciation than the first time we encountered it.

There were lots of little thematic connections that link various parts of the film to others, but one moment that made me feel rather smart was when Caden goes to Adele's apartment, there is a name on the board outside. The name is "Capgras". Capgras Syndrome is a neurological condition in which the sufferer believes that his or her loved ones have been replaced by actors or robots.

Does recognizing neuropychology references qualify me for membership in the egghead cadre?

Once again, thanks Roger, for reminding me that I no longer live in a town with art houses for movie theaters. We will never get this picture in Quincy IL, nor will it ever grace our Blockbuster. Having neither the time nor the inclination to subscribe to an online movie ordering service, how can one figure out which are the really important movies to see? I try to keep up with the ones you review with more than 4 stars but can't. Please help.

Ebert: I can't help you. I suppose you're not ready to move? How about cable TV. Movies stream on the Web, but trust me, you don't want to see this one that way.

Saw this movie today, and I'm with Owen on this one. Over the last few years, I've seen more movies of unconventional narrative form -- as efficient a description as I can possibly come up with for "Synecdoche." Some are better than others, but this one drove me nuts. The problem for me was impenetrability. I couldn't access it or engage with it. It didn't have an emotional connection to it. I couldn't even properly think about it because its thought process seems to have no beginning or end. My review is just under 800 words; I think 8 words or 8000 would have made about as much sense out of it.

I know I have not mastered it. But I probably will not see it again because I don't really want to master it. I'd rather master other things.

Speaking of boldly ambitious masterpieces...I was wondering what is your opinion of O Lucky Man, the second of the Mick Travis trilogy. I find it a GREAT piece of social satire. For whatever reason you have no original review. Is it hovering to land in the great movies section? Is it even a charted flight? Or according to you is this just a busted engine (I hope not)?

It is very difficult to conceive of a movie much more complex than synecdoche. Yet, oddly, I have no desire to see it again just so that I might resolve something. Not because I disliked it, but because so many scenes were indelibly imprinted within my mind such that I “get it”. That is, I “get it” as much as can be expected. My first impression as the movie started was that “dialogue” was the entertainment. Actually, for this reason (i.e., dialogue), I would see this movie again. However, because the dialogue heightened my awareness of the same, it became easily perceptible when dialogue began to yield its place to various “prop devices” as the centerpiece of entertainment. I’m not necessarily using the phrase “prop devices” as disapproval because we sometimes present ourselves as silly when we, for example, indicate that such and such should not exist or should be replaced by such and such. In many cases, we would have then simply created “another movie”. In this case, maybe we should make our own movie. That’s when some of us would realize just how difficult it is to actually make one of these things. Some of the devices (literary or cinematographic) used by Kaufman were stunning or spectacular! For example, the “voice” of Adele’s (Cotard’s wife played by Catherine Keener) miniature paintings, and the paintings themselves, were used to great effect. The creation of a “New York within New York” presents very interesting and creative cinematography. The work (make-up, costume, and lighting) performed to create the illusion of aging characters is also very well done. And while the seemingly non-stop, nested twists and turns might make one dizzy, it is just this unexpected variety that provided a journey instead of just another movie. Philip Seymour Hoffman continues to deliver. I found his performance to be communicative and almost accessible to the touch, as one is almost unaware that he is acting. This gives us the feeling that we know him. We then become comfortable with him, and finally empathetic.

This movie comes at you in layers of interwoven humanness. Every message invited the audience to think about themselves, their families, their lives, their legacy, their meaning, and their relationships. Caden Cotard (main character played by Philip Seymour Hoffman) was chronically, and strangely ill. There was a scene where Cotard, after receiving permission from his wife Adele, urinated in a sink while his wife and young daughter were both present in the room (present, but not watching). His urine appeared to be mostly blood yet he offered no reaction at all and simply carried on as if the absurd had become the expected. His sickness seemed to symbolize the loneliness that is concomitant with the very individuality necessary in order to qualify as an autonomous human being. If we die alone, are we in fact alone? Of course, this movie is about much more than that. No doubt, most of the criticism of this movie will be that it is far too ambitious. But what do we want? Do we want movies that only fit within our conventional range of pace, dialogue, boundaries, and cinematography? It seems that conventional movies will continue to appear with great frequency so, they will be readily available, but movies like Synecdoche are rare. Nevertheless, there were quite a few things that I did not like. While Phillip Seymour Hoffman very convincingly depicted the kind of leg tremors that might be caused by neuropathy, I found his enactment of a seizure to be so unconvincing that I actually laughed aloud. Interestingly enough, there was a gentleman one row up and about 10 seats to my right, who clearly did not like my idea of “funny”. – Although one got the strong impression that the gentleman expected everyone within 200 feet of him to “synchronize” with his idea of good comedic timing, as he outscored us all with his use of laughter aloud -- And that is one of the effects of the complexity of this film; that is, though this film might be easily regarded as “despairing”, there were many funny moments where laughter erupted even while surrounded by loss and brokenness; just like real life. Sometimes, though, brilliance might not be brilliance; sometimes it just might be simple depravity disguised as something intellectual and modern. For example, while I love Tom Noonan’s work in most everything he does, I did not like Kaufman’s wording of his character’s pitch to play Cotard. – Obviously, this “play” is not a real play, but a montage of a construct that represents the mind, fears, and philosophies of Cotard. While I would prefer dialogue that allows for the existence of things like intellectualism, the intelligentsia, modernity, and the avant-garde without requirement for homosexual references, don’t mistake my preference for a suggestion that anything should be changed in this movie. Since Cotard was not homosexual, parts of the movie seem to suggest it par for the course that all men somehow contend with homosexuality. This is not true. This is the movie that Charlie Kaufman wanted to make. No one can say that it should be anything other than what it is. I doubt that any of us will agree on much regarding this movie, as we don’t agree on much regarding life.

I think this is one of the best supplements you have ever given to a film review of yours. You exactly illustrate further what the point of your original review was and where you were coming from in reviewing it. The original review was interesting and talked in a meta-fashion about the film, but I still felt a bit bewildered. However, here you have driven the point home. Thanks.

I loved SNY, I saw it for the second time last night, and it's now official - I am completely obsessed with it.

I've read about a million reviews, and I'm surprised that none of them have discussed the potential theme of Caden as a closeted gay man. I can't quite commit to this theory myself - SNY strikes me as less any one identifiable story than strand after strand of life's emotions, sewn together as wonderfully, confusingly, and fleetingly as life itself. But after two viewings, I've noticed so many hints of latent homosexuality that, if someone had told me on the way into the theater that this was a movie about a gay man coming to grips with a lifetime in the closet, I think the film would live up to that description:

--there is zero sexual tension between Caden and his wife, who is frustrated enough to eventually leave him
--each time his wife begins a discussion about their relationship, he flees
--when he's finally in bed with Hazel, he can't seal the deal, and he apologizes by saying "I had a nice time...I think you're a great person...", nothing about the fact that she's babe-a-licious
--he is uninterested in the sexy marriage counselor's advances
-when he's about to get it on with Claire, the one woman he seems able to screw, he leads into it with the odd line "you're so pretty, I have to f* you..." like he is forcing himself
--when the actress who plays Hazel offers herself to him, he is unenthusiastic and almost dutiful in his acceptance, and she repeatedly asks if or implies that he is gay
--in the same scene, he tells the actress that he always wanted to be pretty, and when she calls him "pretty Caden," he says "thank you"
--toward the end of the movie, when Caden allows Millicent Weems - a woman - to step in and play Caden The Director, the previously languishing play instantly finds its message
--Caden then assumes the Ellen character and releases control of his actions to the woman's voice in his ear
--at about this time, the film repeatedly flashes an Adele painting from her collection "Women I Love", and the painting is of Millicent Weems, the woman who ended up playing Caden - suggesting that Adele, whose artistic skills stem from her ability to "see truth", saw the woman inside Caden

Of course, it could be that Caden's clumsiness with sex is just a caricature of how we all tend to stumble and experience frustration in that department. And perhaps he dissolves so easily into Ellen as an illustration of how his issues are universal and transcend gender.

Indeed, I'd be surprised if Kaufman did have the latent homosexual theme near the top of his agenda - I think he had much broader messages in mind. Nonetheless, I can't stop thinking about this flick, and I can't stop trying to figure it out. With that in mind, thanks for Mr. Ebert and to everyone else on this thread...I'm delighted to see that I'm not the only one with Synechdoche on the brain!

It is interesting that Rich surmises that the reception received by 8 1/2 may have been similar to Synecdoche. In fact, it was very similar. Most reviewers referred to it as a self-indulgent exercise. Ironically, Fellini pre-empted the the critics, as he used similar terms within the movie to describe Guido's work as a director.

There is just no way to competently analyze or hope to completely understand this film after a single viewing. Interested moviegoers must be patient and unfold the film's layers over time. Certainly the most thought provoking movie in a long time.

Dear Roger,

I saw "Synecdoche, New York" yesterday, and as you might imagine, am not entirely sure what it was that I saw. To date, my exposure to Kaufman has been somewhat limited, having only seen "Adaptation," which I admired a lot. SNY, however, left me in the dust. I am fairly confused about what happens in the film. I've done some reading around the net and have gotten some input on the what actually happened, but I still have some big holes.

A lot of things in the film seem to imply that it (or, at least, a lot of it) does not take place in the real world. The most obvious example, of course, is the burning house. Some of these centered around the character of Maria. I noticed that she starts the film having with a slightly Southern accent, and, once Cadon meets her again, she has a thick German accent. Also, when the film starts, I got the impression that she might be having an affair with Adele, however, it's later revealed that she's involved with Olive, and has led Olive to believe that it's Cadon who was involved in a homosexual affair with someone named Eric. This is confounded by the fact that Ellen's husband's name is revealed, at the end, to be Eric.

I'm also highly curious as to why Cadon is unable to see Adele once he finds out where she lives. I was really anticipating a chance to see their reunion take place, and then, of course, it didn't. He always seems to go to her house when she's not there. It seemed that he'd want to see her. It's nagging at me in the back of my brain that he did see try to see her once during the film, but I can't quite remember. It is a much harder film than usual to try to keep everything tagged neatly, after all.

I know that you read a lot of comments, but I have a few specific questions for you that I'm hoping you can help me with. I feel that SNY has some sort of master code or something that, if I know what it is, I'll be able to understand it. Maybe I'm being simplistic, and Kaufman deliberately avoided having any "key" to the story, but I would really like to understand.

1. Do you think the film starts in the "real world" and later leaves it entirely? If so, do you think the turning point is when his wife leaves? (the world does seem to get a LOT stranger after that)

2. Do you think that, somehow, Cadon is really Ellen? If so, do you think that the entire film has been a fantasy/dream of hers?

Thanks for your time. I just hope this won't end up like my English professor in college. To the bitter end, she refused to tell us why she thought Eliot referred to Prufrock as a love song. Here's hoping. . .

I saw the film again yesterday, was planning on seeing Slumdog Millionaire but that was unfortunately sold out. I feel I have a somewhat better understanding of it, somewhat being the key word. I also noticed some things I didn't notice the first time and paid closer attention to things I thought were important from the first viewing. Once Millicent Weems, who first played Ellen, agrees to play Caden in the play, it seemed like she became him and he became Ellen. There are shots of reflection from Caden and Ellen and it suggests that Caden's memories and reflections have become Ellen's and vice versa. Like someone else noted, Caden regrettably admits to a homosexual affair with a person named Eric, and that is the same name of the person in Ellen's memories. What Kaufman could be saying is that all of our dreams, memories and reflections are similar. All people. Women and men. That there isn't a big difference between the regrets and reflections of a housekeeper or a theater director or anyone. All of us have longing, all of have regret.

Something I noticed the first time and again this time was that the movie starts and 7:44 and ends at 7:45, which I'm guessing is meaningful in a way. The clock reads 7:44 when Caden wakes up in the beginning and there is a clock shown on a building wall at the end of the film when he is talking with Ellen's mother from her dream. He also apologizes to her from something that happened in that dream which means he must knew about somehow. The film possibly ending 1 minute after it began could mean that nothing that we think happened actually happened. That minute could have been the last minute of Caden's life and everything we see is his life flashing before his eyes. Everything that has happened to him and possibly some of his nightmares coming to fruition.

From one of the first conversations with Hazel Caden always liked the fact that she told him what to think. She tells him to tell her she is pretty and has pretty eyes. When his life is falling apart he parks outside her house looking for advice. And I believe it is her voice that he hears at the end telling him what to say and what to think. Sort of ironic that a director is constantly needing direction from someone else. Also ironic that he was directing Death of a Saleman and this movie could have been called Death of a Theater Director.

I don't intend to write a long note, but I loved this film...I saw it the the day after it opened here in New York. I want to try to see it at the theater at least one more time before it goes to dvd. Anyway, the previous writer, who claims not to have understood the film, asks a penetrating question: "Do you think that, somehow, Cadon is really Ellen?"

The day after I saw it I was letting myself mull over the film in a distracted way and the thought burst into my head in a flash: Cadon is really Ellen, and the story is her dream or fantasy or willed creation. She bears the same relation to Cadon as does Charlie Kaufman to his various protagonists. (Did anyone notice, by the way, that Ellen's husband has the name of the gay lover his daughter accused him of having? I think this little joke of Kaufman's is also a telling point.)

Now, this may be off base, or a minority view, but intuitively, I feel it may correlate somewhat with Kaufman's intentions.

Perhaps I'm hopelessly naive, but I prefer Tati's view of my role in the world in Play Time to Kaufman's in Synecdoche.

So the more I think about it, the more I liked Synecdoche, NY...It's one of those movies that you catch yourself thinking about a lot after you have gone to see it. At first, you think it was ok..then it becomes good, then by day three it becomes great. It has so many things going on and so many sybolisms in it that you can't begin to absorb it all or make all of the connections upon first viewing because it leaves you, initially, feeling like you don't know what you just saw. It is dark..makes you feel uncomfortable ( which most of his movies have parts that do) but it's a masterpiece for film in that it's like reading an excellent, thought-provoking book on philosophy but a film version, which only Charlie Kaufman has done so far as I can tell. It's fun to discuss but is, ultimately, left to each viewers interpretation. The general audience won't get it at all...and none of us could possibly understand Charlie Kaufman's twisted mind
fully...I think it's sort of like how people think of Bob Dylan...genius and everyone is always trying to figure out what he's saying and what he means..but he never feels like he has to justify or explain what he wrote...it's the process of doing it/expressing himself that is why he does it. Plus, how often do you hear of people going to see a movie based on who wrote it..usually it's all about the actors, or who directed it.

Synecdoche is the sort of movie sophomores, and Frenchmen still going to cafes, can discuss until the early morning hours. I am surprised that the title does not call for more interpretation from the people who have commented on the movie. I would think that it means that "the part" (i.e., the roles we play as actors in our own lives) stands for the whole, and that each one of us could only be interpreted by a full cast of characters (as Caden's life is interpreted in the movie). Unfortunately, the movie also reflects the absence of intellectual standards in a post-industrial entitlement society like ours. Caden gets a MacArthur Foundation "genius" award -- money given to people who have not earned it, but are considered to be entitled to it by their extreme virtue -- and the movie also provides no rationale for his having earned it (unless staging a pretentious production of Death of a Salesman qualifies). Most interestingly, the movie shows no evidence of any intellectual activity on the part of anyone, other than making sophomoric pronouncements (e.g., Caden's directives to the actors: do these things and we'll figure out what they mean -- I have seen Fellini and, believe me, he is no Fellini). One signal aspect of any movie with intellectual pretensions is to show characters owning, if not actually reading, books. Not a book in the film! Caden is also admittedly clueless in setting up the play that is his life: he wants everyone to muddle through, to improvise, to enact the life he seems incapable of living. He could not imagine that a play actually has to emerge out of some degree of knowledge and reflection, that drama is generally produced by people who have actually bothered to acquire an education. That life is not a videogame, where all that is needed is the proper play station and a quick thumb. Again, this shows an absence of intelligence that appeals to an audience of entitled savages, as we have become, who cannot conceive of the need to actually produce something, to add some value to the world around you, before you can claim your genius award. In the world according to Synecdoche there is no clue to what Goethe might have meant when he wrote "that which you have inherited from your parents, earn it, so you may possess it." But beyond my lament for the sophomoric qualities of the movie, I think it is cinematographically enormously fetching. It is a huge videogame of a movie, full of plays on the concept of synechdoche: Caden looking for blood in his stool as the part of him that is sick; the loving fixation on Hazel's bountiful cleavage and smile when she starts working her seduction on him; Adele's representations of reality as microscopic stamps (a small mind?); a stage as a representation of reality (all the world's a stage?). Great movie, beautifully filmed, seductive acting. Not art.

I saw this movie today in Seattle, in one of the (only) two theatres showing this amazing work of art.

I may have something useful to say after I see it again. I just wanted to second (or 114th) the view that this is a masterpiece.

What I just wrote is rather unfulfilling and I wish someone would edit it for me to make it better.

Listen, I've read any number of pretentious books, and love any number of pretentious films, so don't pull the whole "You've got to think about it" card on me. This movie is way too obvious. The title, for one, too obviously gives away the film's intentions. There was certainly no need for the "One life is like any other life" lines that throw all this in your face. Then there's the cheap trick of all the titles Caden comes up with for his "play": "Simulacra," "Obscure Moon Lighting an Obscure World," (Wallace Stevens quote), etc., which again too obviously point to the meaning of everything. Next, if you've studied postmodernism for more than 5 minutes, there is absolutely nothing surprising about the structure or metafictional qualities of this film, and if you've read enough postmodern books or watched enough postmodern movies, then you'll see there is even less than ZERO originality going on here. This movie cannot possibly offer anything but those cheap kinds of "oh, the burning house means this, and aw, Caden's last name means that" variety of mental masturbation that pseudo-intellectual people get off on. Choke on THAT, Ebert!

Ebert: Studying postmodernism for more than five minutes would be, by definition, futile, because by that point it would become, by definition, studying studying postmodernism. Concerning what you describe as the "variety of mental masturbation that pseudo-intellectual people get off on," I can only quote Tallulah Bankhead: "I'm still busy down here with my friends. Why don't you go on upstairs and start by yourself?"

Raj,

O Pioneers, My Antonia.

have you read this?

http://moviesintofilm.com/w_synecdoche.htm

Ebert: Willa Cather's prose is like clear running water.

This is the movie David Lynch wishes he knew how to make.

I did not like this movie when I was watching it- I found it boring and self-indulgent (Kaufman's self, not mine)- but the more I am moved away from the film (by time and space), the more it moves me. I think this is a case in which, like life with a capital l- notice I didn't use the device to which I just had reference- the parts only partly construct a whole. It is in the parts that this movie lives for me- perhaps because I am now, at sixty-five, an official if not officious senior citizen, and that is the way my mind moves- an Odysseus of memory, remembering only some of the islands experienced along the way. I remember about Synecdoche, the moment where the actor from Death of a Salesman (Willy? Will he?) asks the director what the director thought of the way in which he, the actor, crashed the car. Of course, the car is propelled slowly across the set by a big machine, but the actor explains that he was trying to crash the car "ambivalently," and the director finds the intention and the execution good. Yes. We are all in some sense not driving the cars we drive, and trying to crash ambivalently, because we know we have no choice but to crash, so we partly welcome our end, and partly seek to avoid it. And the same actor (perhaps) is seen walking across a stage in an elaborately caricatured way and the director says, "No, I want you to walk naturally," and we next see the actor walking the same stretch in a caricature of natural that is quintessentially fake. (A former professor of mine used to say the One Unforgivable Sin was that of impersonating yourself.) I want to see this movie again. I liked the actors lined up on the wall asking when (I think the time lapse has been seven years) they will be allowed to have an audience. (I found the movie reminiscent of my favorite line in Ulysses- A man describing a home devoid of nutriment- "Nothin in the house to eat but bachache pills.") I don't know what that has to do with anything, but Synecdoche emboldens me, assuring that true connections are bizarre- and inescapable.

Synecdoche, New York opens today in the Capital Region of New York, home to the city of Schenectady. It will play on one screen in our one art-house theater and probably have a run of just a few weeks.

I've been patiently waiting for its release for the last month, reading articles on Kaufman and glowing reviews like yours. (Admittedly I avoid reviews that give moves I can't wait to see a 'D plus' ;) While most of the world is out Black Friday shopping, I know what I'll be doing this evening!

Has anyone considered that the choice of Schenectady as the setting may hold a key to understanding the film's genesis?

I, too, need to return to the theater and see this movie again. This may be ironic and maybe it's just me trying to make more out of it than it really requires, but I found myself in the theater overwhelmed by the labyrinth quality of the film, so I paused to try to make some sense of what I had seen thus far and ended up missing snippets of the powerful imagery and quirky plot turns. Is this not also true in life? There was plenty of moving dialog but the line I end up relating to the most is about what's left in life: the minute by minute by minute that we have driving. It's probably not just me but sometimes as I'm driving home from an event that I had looked forward to for many days, sometimes even weeks, I have to think... We look toward the future with a certain amount of naive expectation to fill what the present isn't currently providing us, but when the future comes(even if it IS what we had always hoped it would be) we find that we're just as unfulfilled. It's odd, then, that most people (and I'm no exception) end up looking farther still into the future rather than accepting that this is all we get, minute to minute. On that note, I can't wait to see this film again!

If anyone has taken the time to study "My Dinner with Andre" on multiple viewings then they will see the natural evolution realized in Synedoche, New York. From the concept of the "new" theater being one's actual life to the complexities and unforseen consequences of letting go of convention. My Dinner with Andre proffered a dialogue about what it means to be alive, what it means to be a father, a mother, a sister or a friend. What do these words mean? One day you are your father's son and the next day...Synedoche actually shows us in fiction the realized "theater" form of this eloquent dinner conversation. The movie for me was further embellishment of a theme that I have loved for 27 years since Andre was released. Life to be lived must be felt. And to feel requires imagination,memory, openness, ears and compassion for yourself and those around you.

I saw this movie for the third time tonight and it was still entertaining, and I still saw new connections and had new insights. The film is a triumph in so many ways.

I would like to post my transcription of the priest's moving sermon towards the end of the movie, when Millicent Weems takes over directing. I have seen some critics refer to this speech as itself a synecdoche of the movie's bleakness. But I think it is far too reductive to call the movie bleak. I find the sermon moving because it captures feelings many of us had, have, or will have. But I also feel that these feelings (in the movie and in life) are part of a journey, the end of which is not, "fuck everybody," but love everybody. Most especially, one's own self. Here is the sermon:

"Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make. You can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won't know for twenty years! And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce...

"And they say there's no fate, but there is, it's what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead, or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain wasting years for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right, but it never comes. Or it seems to, but it doesn't really.

"So you spend you time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along, something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel cherished, something to make you feel loved. And the truth is is, I feel so angry! And the truth is, I feel so...fucking..sad. And the truth is, I've felt so..fucking..hurt for so..fucking..long, and for just as long, I've been pretending I'm okay, just to get along!

"I don't know why. Maybe because...no one wants to hear about my misery...because they have their own. Well...fuck everybody. Amen."

Thank you, Charlie, for making this movie.

I finally got to see this today, and couldn't help thinking of Truffaut: A great movie is one that expresses an idea of the cinema and an idea of the world. Films that work on both levels are true works of art.

An early commenter mentioned how, stepping out of the film they still felt they were in it. I shared a similar experience stepping out of the theatre seeing SNY for the first (but not the last) time yesterday. I was on Bloor Street in Toronto, looking at the Royal Ontario Museum and it's (relatively) new crystalline exterior, which, up until now, I thought to be unimpressively gaudy. With next building west, a new, modern structure wrapping around an old, gigantic victorian manor, acting as the ROM's backdrop, and a murky grey sky above, it took on an entirely different aesthetic. Something caught my attention in the corner of my eye. I looked and there was a man scaling down the side of a building. It started to hail. My brain began to narrate everything, as if dictating my actions from the pace of my walk to where my eyes were looking and what I was observing. It went on like this for about 10 minutes, and while surreality doesn't happen often in my life I appreciate when it does. I thank SNY for being the drug that caused the reaction.

As for the film itself, it's a must-see-again. I'm not convinced I liked it, but I was far from bored in viewing it, in fact I found myself so often distracted by the scenery and setting that I missed what was being said. Is it a story about death as Caden so proclaims, or as he revises, is it about love? My mind continues to reel. I've read all the above comments and find much of what's written reflects my thoughts and inquiries about the film (the different interpretations of the Burning House are fascinating, I'm curious as well thoughts on the psychiatrist's increasingly bruised and wart-riddled foot).

I think my resolve at the end of the film was that Caden is Ellen, or at least, Caden's reality isn't real. My current suspicion, subject to change, is Caden is just another actor in the grand play, cast as the central role but trying to resolve his own life outside the role in the process (Sammy's 20 years of observance would make more sense, an extra watching the dynamic lead, dreaming of the part, studying and learning the role). Caden's emotions towards the women in his life seem to be confused.. does he love another actor (Adele, Claire, Hazel) because he's supposed to love them, or does he really love them? The question circulates many times between the characters and their replicants. Does Sammy love Hazel or does Sammy as Caden love Hazel?

There's the strange hint of a violent society, of some sort of unrest throughout SNY... the military vehicles spotted in the background, the sounds of war and freedom that scream near the end... is this "theatrical" world in the midst of civil unrest, are the actors, once so lost in their roles, catching wise to their imprisonment, reclaiming awareness of a larger world outside of the warehouse? The mind still reels.

There are more questions than can ever be answered with this film, and it's something one either accepts or rejects in continuing to pursue answers from it through repeated viewings or by ignoring the film and the questions it poses altogether.

Can someone love a tornado? A train wreck? A snake devouring a mole twice its size? It's possible, I guess. I'm still not sure I love the movie, but it does fascinate me.

Haven't seen the film, definitely want to love all his work, just want to point out a quick something...the link between Synechdoche, NY and Schenectady, NY - i'm sure Synechdoche is a word but this has to be a play of words on that township. I'm sure this comment added nothing to the intelligent discourse going on around it

Very late to this discussion.

One thing that really stuck with me were the names:

Caden
Hazel
Olive
Sammy
Tammy
Ellen
Adele

I don't want to be guilty of over-analyzing anything, but it's striking to me that the women Caden gets along with best are all five-letter trochaic names (just like his own, and his doppelganger Sammy) - Hazel, Tammy, Ellen. The ones he has the most troubles with are not - Adele, Claire, Maria. Madeleine belongs to a whole other universe, both in name and relationship.

But Madeleine is also memory for Proust.

I've rarely seen a movie that makes me WANT to explore different pathways like this, even if my post comes off sounding a bit ridiculous.

(Incidentally, the movie moment that hit me hardest was Ellen's monologue-apology to her mother, which seemed to bring everything together into some kind of impactful emotional sense. Even if it didn't make narrative sense.)

Oh please, Ebert. I've been an acolyte of yours for very long, but this is just too much. Egghead? Don't choose the side you think is more intellectual just because. These lessons are obvious and banal. Your take is wrong!

Saw this film last night. Saw it because of Roger's 4 star review. (A disclaimer regarding my own antipathies: I saw "Magnolia" last week on DVD and thought it a great waste of time and I really cannot stand David Lynch movies.) I immediately thought of JP Sartre's "Nausea" which I don't care to read again. The neurotic images of a Neo-Woody Allen without the humor. An alternate title for this movie might be: "The Over Examined Life." I get a lot of the movie -- just don't care to dwell in this world as it is way-over analyzed and may actually be the product of too much chemical ingestion. I prefer the clarity and simpleness of a Koan. I think the essence of the movie is that our self-perspective, the self-centeredness of the human mind and body, makes up our reality and we all have our own perspectives and therefore separate realities. YET we think that everyone sees the world as we do and are disappointed in the disconnect so we often try to "get along" rather unhappily... and then we die. I agree that the Priest's soliloquy at the funeral is the most cogent explanation in the film. Would I see this again or do I need to see this again? Absolutely not. It does make me want to rise early before the sun and meditate, think of nothing, and then walk outside and see the sun rise once again.

Someone above described the film as one of "M.C. Escher's painting where people ascend a staircase in a continual loop. " Actually, I think it's more like Escher's "Drawing Hands" in which two hands are drawing themselves. Of course, in this case it's more like one hand drawing (and redrawing) itself and never being satisfied with the results...and the time in which to complete the drawing is slowly drifting away because it's being drawn inside a burning house.

I saw this film 2 days ago and it has consumed my mind. I'll be seeing it again today to see if I can get more out of it with a second viewing and if my feelings about it are enhanced or diminished. The priest's sermon was as true and succinct an explanation of the human condition as I've seen in a film. I don't know about the anger, sorrow and "fuck everybody" elements of the speech as reflected in my own life, but all else was dead on. Caden wanted brutal honesty and Kaufman delivered it. Of course the level of brutality felt here is contingent on your level resistance to the realities of life.

Anyway, whatever you want to say about Kaufman, the man makes you think and thank God for a filmmaker like that...as opposed to the typical popcorn flicks that leaves you before you even hit the exit. In fact, those films are only made as an escape from what Kaufman was brave enough to explore in Synecdoche.

PS. The sad and beautiful theme song "Little Person" is a perfect synecdoche of Synecdoche.

Maybe the movie doesn't have a plot. Same as life doesn't have a plot. It's just one event after another and we deal with those with our conditioned minds.
Same as your looking for a plot because you think a book or a movie has to have a plot.
The actor playing a priest (or pastor, or whatever), sums it up:
We just continuously interact with life that isa interacting with us and sometimes we get it back right away and sometimes not in this life.
The problem of this two bit director, and all of us who think we are directing anything, is that he never learned how to let things be including his own life.

Manohla Dargis points out the similarities between this story and Jorge Luis Borges's absurdist story "On Exactitude in Science," in which there is a map that becomes bigger and bigger and more precise to the point where it becomes the entire world. Jean Beaudrillard uses this story as an example in his book Simulacra and Simulation. And, at one point in the movie, Caden proposes to call his play Simulacrum.

I looked up Baudrillard's Simulacra and Simulation in my Norton Anthology of Theory and Criticism. Baudrillard believes that modern society has reversed Borges's story: the map precedes the actual territory. We live in a hyperreality--a simulation that lacks an authentic reality. Disneyland is the example he uses. The editors of the Norton offer the following summarization in their headnote:
"...Baudrillard suggest that we all live our lives as if within quotation marks, as if playing a part in a movie. The student who is starting college, for example, has so many images of college students (from movies or TV) in mind that his or her way of being a student will inevitably be patterned in response to those preexisting images. The patterning may come from an attempt to resist the stereotype, to play against expectations, but the priority of the image still prevails. As 'authentic' experience becomes ever harder to conceive, simulation, willed or not, rules the day.
We sense this loss of the real, according to Baudrillard, and our search for authenticity, often subconscious, has become ever more panicky as a result. He interprets Disneyland as an elaborately artificial land created precisely to convince us that our 'real' lives are real. Caught up in teh 'precession of simulacra' that kills everything real and replaces it with fabricated models, we feel that something is wrong; but we have no satisfactory strategies for overturning the growing dominance of images and signs."

More thoughts:
- The speech by the preacher (or the guy playing the preacher) at the staged funeral of Caden's mother is crucial. One of the other commentators above quotes the speech in its entirety. He talks about how we make the mistake of living our lives in waiting, as if something will come along and it will all make sense, when in fact we should be focusing on the present moment. Caden's play is an allegory of this predicament (in that sense, a synecdoche of life): it will never be performed. Caden is constantly working on this play in anticipation of some glorious moment when it all comes together and reaches a finished form. But, just like life, there is no finality--there is only every individual moment (remember the counting of the minutes at the end?) until we die.
- I believe Hazel's house is on fire as a metaphor for the steady, inevitable decline of love and family. She goes into it knowing that it's on fire, and she explicitly expresses her apprehensions about moving into a house on fire, because there's so much risk involved. But she moves into it anyway, and it does kill her in the end.
- The contrast between the narrowing of focus in Adele's art and the increasing expansion of focus in Caden's art distills the differences in their respective world-views. Adele is focused on the moment, the individual. Her paintings are too small to include more than one person. This is how she lives her life--one person at a time. Unfortunately for Caden, he is not that one person at the time the film opens. He, on the other hand, wants all his women at once. He wants Adele and Hazel and Claire and the woman who plays Hazel. But this expansive and avaricious desire to have them all prevents him from really having anyone. Also, there might be a joke there about the fact that Adele makes it big with really small works of art, while the enormity of Caden's work makes him increasingly small and irrelevant.
- Phillip Seymour Hoffman's character's name is Caden Cotard. Cotard Syndrome is a delusion in which the patient thinks he's dead.
- When Caden goes to Adele's apartment (the one where he is taken for Ellen, the cleaning lady), the name on the buzzer is Capgras. Capgras Delusion is a psychiatric disorder in which a patient is convinced that her family members are imposters.

Ebert: This post comes late in the thread but is invaluable.

Quick thought upon a second viewing:

There has been some speculation in the above posts that Caden is a homosexual or that Caden is really Ellen. I think that both are right and more in that Caden is everyone and everyone is Caden...which is the ultimate synecdoche. I don't have the quote exactly but at the funeral Caden comments about there being 13 billion people in the world and wouldn't it be amazing if they all became part of the performance. At some point in time they would all play Caden. The fact that he is now playing Ellen is irrelevant because if he lived forever, Caden would eventually play everyone as everyone would play him.

You might just as well have been an old cleaning woman as you are yourself. Who we are is arbitrary and inconsequential if we are all just part of the whole. It is only personal ego that keeps us from realizing that, and by the end Caden's ego is stripped away. He gives up the power of his role as director, becomes a lowly cleaning woman and in that more humble state finally learns how to do his play. May we all learn the same before our plays come to an end.

Notice by the end of the film, Caden looks exactly like Sammy, the man who came to become Caden. There are many ways they could have done Hoffman's age make-up but they chose to make him look exactly like Sammy for a reason. In fact "Sammy" sounds an awful like "Same-ey", doesn't it? We are all everyone and everyone is us. Funnily enough P.S. Hoffman plays out in "Synecdoche" what Dustin Hoffman tells us in "I Heart Huckabees"... we are all connected.

Or as the Beatles might put it...Love is all, love is you.

I have just seen the movie at AFI in Silver Spring - me, my son, and only two others in the audience for the 4 o'clock show.

I feel mute - the way I felt when I saw the Grand Tetons, and when my father died.

I am not confused by the movie - it felt familiar, true, made sense completely. But I couldn't explain it. It's got me in the gut, in the non-verbal, middle-of-the-night part of my brain.

I think this is the saddest movie I've ever seen.

About the house on fire: I just figured she was at a turning-point at the time she bought the house, making a choice (giving up on Caden and moving into a burning house (conveniently pre-installed with a basement husband). To me this story felt simple and clear, having myself chosen burning houses, knowing even at the time that I'll probably die from the smoke.

Olive states “you left for anal sex with your homosexual lover “Eric”

Players:
Caden= focus. Focused on self. Failed marriage
Eric= Ellen’s husband. Failed marriage
Ellen as a little girl= promised mother to have child to take on picnic in twenty years. Felt remorsed when never had a child. Disappointed mother.

“everybody is disappointing… once you get to know them”

Ellen’s mother.= when she heard daughters promise “that was the most beautiful thing I have ever heard.”

Theory:
By Caden having Homosexual intercourse with Eric, his own marriage failed, destroying his own life and lives of those he touched. He would never be able to have those relationships with women, that he was forcing himself to take part in. In addition, he destroyed the life and family of Eric- whose wife, Ellen, made that promise to her mother but was never able to have a child- due to her partner's homosexuality.
In the End, all that is left is Caden… and Ellen’s mother. Ellen prompts Caden to “apologize”.- for taking the joy, and fulfillment of the picnic away from Ellen and her mother. Caden regrets not having his own picnic with his child and realizes that his actions have led to consequences beyond his selfish existence.

Caden:
“I know how the play should end now”

Ellen commands his death.

*just a quick theory.

My favorite movie of the year is a figure of speech. It hasn’t been to our small university town yet; I saw it while traveling. They will ask, as usual, what’s it about and why did you like it? They are members of a couples’ book club, a bit younger than you, Roger, and although not all university people we probably are all certifiable eggheads. We celebrate winter solstice and impending holidays over dinner and wine with round-robin reminiscences of each other’s favorite book, movie, and music of the year. We’ll drink to your health.

It’s about life; as Roger puts it, every day of our lives. It’s about one life and all lives (Roger’s 11/15 response to PT). That’s a synecdoche, and this one relies on a very theatrical setting, the theater arts. It’s about things we all deal with: family, love and loneliness; self-worth, wellness of body and mind, and mortality.

I liked the terrific cast and superb acting, but that’s never enough. A good film needs a good script. Charlie Kaufman provides it, with his usual tricks. Surreal—earthy like the swamp in “Adaptation”; spacy like the wormholes (tunnels) in “Being John Malkovich”; cerebral like “Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind.” This time he does a proper time travel movie and more, directs it. My wife will say, you hate time travel. Indeed, but “Back to the Future” this is not.

In this MacArthur Fellow’s mind (played by Philip Seymour Hoffman)—his genius grant from directing his college students in “Death of a Salesman” in Schenectady, N.Y., he fabricates New York City in an airplane hangar, after 17 years rehearsing without an audience, the inevitable—time creeps around, not backwards like “Memento,” but unpredictably firing like brain synapses in a dream, confined within the span of one lifetime, juxtaposing bliss with horror—for example his daughter in childhood, lost through divorce then found in degradation, followed by the ultimate unsatisfactory reunion.

Hazel’s burning house? A provocative visual metaphor, like a French impressionist painting, enjoyable without analysis, just more Dali-esque. I analyze complicated stuff all day long. I need art. “Synecdoche, New York” is art. It needs no explanation. It is what it is. Before seeing it again, I have a new list of must see movies off the blog. Thanks, Roger

Just saw SNY. (Makes me want to make a movie with CK.) But I have two niggling questions. What was the poem that the radio voice-over quotes at the start of the movie about "those who do not have a home..." to which the radio announcer says "heartless" and is rejoined with "but true" And my 2d question: Is Emmanuel Beart the receptionist at the art gallery when our hero goes to Berlin seeking Olive?

Hazel
Adele
Caden
Late in the game.
Is the burning house refering to a humanity living in a Jeronymus
Bosch inferno of passions? I think Hazel experiences the eternal fire. She is blessed with a perfect death in her house in her bed in the arms of her lover. What defines Hazel is the christlike unselfish quality of her love. She keeps offering herself. At the moment where she becomes fullfilled as she and Caden sleep in each other arms this ying and yang of opposites fuses as her love nourishes him his love kills her. The house keeps burning. The magma at the core of the earth keeps us alive but it also kills some of us from time to time.

Is Caden the artist whose art becomes his life and ultimately consumes him? He is the oposite of Adele whose ultimate goal is not art but fame. She is always in control of her art miniaturizng and isolating her subjects. Her modern home is attractive but cold the chaos and messiness of life are carefully wiped out.

It is possible that the Hinderburg is a reference to Adele in
Germany but also a reminder that we are invited in the artist's dream where the rules are made by the artist? To me the Hinderberg is used as a symbol of the fragility of Western Civilation.

Ia Caden everyman? He is most certainly doomed. Consumed by anxiety and sickness he is struggling to the end. The horror the horror our own bodies fall apart. He cannot live at the moment. He is creating without joy. His frenetic attempts to replace life with art fail. But Caden achieves something. He discovers that he is androgenous. He moves beyond male and female.He is both.

tha

I feel that there is an underlying theme of identity crisis with gender role and sexual orientation (and that the 'male' image of Caden is what is expressed to represent a character that Ellen is trying to play). With the opening shot of the clock and the voice over mentioning the same time at the end, I think an Ellen suicide is possible - and this is her minds review of life during that last minute. Ellen has acted heterosexual after Adele and her split, and there are tears of confusion when her natural impulses to be sexual with other women in the movie are challenged.

Some observations concerning Caden is Ellen theory (or at least a woman) -
- Months before this movie came out I noticed that Philip Seymour Hoffman was the only male actor in this all female cast.

- Adele asks if it is Ellen on the phone when he calls her in Germany (she sounds like she is at a party)

- When plumber is at house, he pees in front of daughter 'in the sink'... the urine is red in color, possibly meant to be the urine of someone menstruating

- Caden is told he smells like he is menstruating

- All interactions with older neighbors of Adele: "Are you Ellen?" in final scenes he finally says yes

- Daughter mentions homosexuality. The audience pictures Caden leaving a woman for a man and beginning a homosexual relationship. I feel that the implication is that the homosexual relationship was with Adele, and that there is dishonest heterosexual relationship with Eric.

- Caden is referred to as Sweetie, Pretty, Darling, etc. by women in the movie (not typical terms used towards a man).

Well, all we need now is the docudrama of the making of Synecdoche, New York. Perhaps titled "Synecdoche Stripped Bare, Even." I'd even watch a ytube mashup from some knowing soothsayer.

Thought this might be interesting - another in an incredible amount of subtle references in the movie - one of Caden's suggestions for the play's title is "The obscure moon lighting an obscure world." This is a direct quote from a poem by Wallace Stevens called "The Motive for Metaphor."

-----
The Motive for Metaphor
by Wallace Stevens

You like it under the trees in autumn,
Because everything is half dead.
The wind moves like a cripple among the leaves
And repeats words without meaning.

In the same way, you were happy in spring,
With the half colors of quarter-things,
The slightly brighter sky, the melting clouds,
The single bird, the obscure moon--

The obscure moon lighting an obscure world
Of things that would never be quite expressed,
Where you yourself were not quite yourself,
And did not want nor have to be,

Desiring the exhilarations of changes:
The motive for metaphor, shrinking from
The weight of primary noon,
The A B C of being,

The ruddy temper, the hammer
Of red and blue, the hard sound--
Steel against intimation--the sharp flash,
The vital, arrogant, fatal, dominant X.
----

In retrospect, it seems like that unwieldy title was actually the most fitting after all.

Just my interpretation of some parts of the film:

Caden is a lesbian woman. She sees herself as a man. Throughout the whole movie we are not seeing people in their physical bodies, but as they appear to be, whether from Caden's point of view, or from their own, I would have to see the movie again. Many clues throughout the film point to this. Like whe smells like he is menstruating. Caden replies, "I don't menstruate", but not because he is a man, but because she is a menopausal woman.

The burning house is a reference to the Burning House Parable in the Lotus Sutra:
"Now, Sariputra, that man, on seeing the house from every side wrapt in a blaze by a great mass of fire, got afraid, and...calls to the boys: "Come, my children; the house is burning with a mass of fire; come, lest you be burnt in the mass fire, and come to grief and disaster," But the ignorant boys do not heed the words of him who is their well-wisher; they are not afraid nor know the purport of the word "burning"; they run hither and thither, walk about, and repeatedly look at their father; all, because they are so ignorant."

As are the goats in the cartoon that Caden watches with his "child" in the beginning of the film:
" The man, knowing the disposition of the boys, says to them: "My children, your toys, which you are so loath to miss, which are so various and multifarious, [such as] bullock-carts, goat-carts, deer-carts, which are so pretty, nice, dear, and precious to you, have all been put by me outside the house-door for you to play with. Come, run our, leave the house; to each of you I shall give what he wants. Come soon, come out for the sake of these toys." And the boys, on hearing the names mentioned of such playthings as they like and desire, quickly rush out from the burning house, with eager effort and great alacrity, one having no time to wait for the other, and pushing each other on the cry of "Who shall arrive first, the very first?'"

Calden's "child" Olive ( the little girl with black hair) is her. She is reading her own diary. She wrote "Little Winky". She was molested as a child. Olive never existed.

When Caden's wife (girlfriend) leaves she does not literally take the child, but takes away Caden's sense of safety, or something. :^)

This movie is about the spiritual path, which is why most reviews do not get it. Caden's death at the end is a spiritual death. Through the movie we are seeing Caden grow spiritually older, not physically older. Caden's final death is a spiritual death. As I tell my friends; You have to die before you die so when you die you don't die."

Just saw it. Couldn't leave the theater for sobbing, and yet it filled me with soaring hope and optimism and a yearning to Live, like no film I've seen before. Kaufman had to realize that the outrageous scope of his ambition with the film (All human experience? coming right up, in 124 minutes) was another layer, a meta-version, of Caden's. What an enormous gamble (or as I thought on the way out, about both of them: "What absolutely huge cojones"). How gratifying that Kaufman, at least, triumphs.

Aside from the last name Cotard - the given name Caden means either "round" (which to me speaks of a complete life-cycle, the traditional symbol of the femaleness that Caden [sometimes?] embraces/lives through, the traditional symbol of the wholeness that Caden finally achieves, our planet) or "fighter" ("I know how to do the play" being his repeated battle cry; how poignant that, as with all of us, he always believes he's right when he says it, but it's always untrue [though it does become ever less so in geometric proportion to the amount of time he/we have left to do it in]).

Of the artists of whom this work reminds people, I'm surprised Magritte has escaped mention so far here. I kept thinking of him every time the film indicated the warehouse set. Like his works, this film (1) is one that we see, that is (partly) about a person seeing (whom, what and how he sees), and how he is seen in turn; (2) is also (partly) about the truth or falsity (those judgments not necessarily being morally charged) of those sights within the world of the film; and (3) is itself a false/fictive representation (we're not watching 'real' action- we're watching bits of film) of a false reality, viz., the life of the 'real' Caden (who of course doesn't exist, being merely a character), who in turn lives ever less in that 'real' life (such as it is) in favor of what is - at last overtly - the false reality of the theater piece. Ceci n'est pas une vie.

Ebert: Magritte is a perfect citation.

Harold Pinter passed away on 12/24/08. Near the beginning of the film, Caden reads from the paper/tells Adele that Pinter has passed away. I realize this question will sound crazy and clearly I am still drunk from the experience & alterna-/sub-/super-reality of the film, but I have to ask: those of you who saw the film before 12/24/08 -- did this also appear in the versions you saw?

Ebert: I believe so. Hmmm.

Last post - something just occurred to me. Is it possible that there's a political statement being made in the later parts of the film? - the "real" New York (outside of the warehouse) is experiencing war, destruction, widespread death, and desolation, but the subset "reality" of Caden's theater piece - seemingly oblivious to, ignorant of and/or uncaring about that fact - narcissistically continues on its unmerry way? i.e., the US vs the entire world? One wonders.

Hey shmal,

Not political to me. As one becomes more aware on the spiritual path things that looked normal suddenly become disgusting. Go outside right now and you will see "war, destruction, widespread death, and desolation" if your eyes are open.

His theater is his monastery, and his workers are his monks and followers.

Is he uncaring? Yes and no. How can you save people from themselves?

Did the zeppelin remind anyone of the tank in Bergman's THE SILENCE?

SYNECDOCHE, NEW YORK is such a terrific film. Cotard's little 'improvements' on his own reality were fascinating. I wonder if this film has a target audience, or if there is a certain kind of personality that will pull more from it. Most of the hostility I've come across, even on this board, seems to come from those willing to dismiss it as either pretentious (a qualifier I personally find less meaningful than it sounds) or overly-analytical. But for many people, these kinds of questions -- questions of identity, function, and control -- are themselves a kind of entertainment.

Let's say another, less ambitious filmmaker decided to make a movie about a self-centered person. We would see in the opening moments demonstrations of how that person was self-centered, he would go on his journey, and by the end he would prove that he had learned that being self-centered is wrong. The end of that movie is guaranteed by its own beginning. I appreciate Kaufman's attempt to make a film about self-centeredness not as a vice but as a fact of life, and presented in a way that (I hope) we come to understand our own identical self-centeredness.

Anyway, thanks for this discussion. These boards have a much higher level of discourse than those at imdb. Geez, that place is terrifying.

Ebert: Agreed. If Kaufman had pulled everything together at the end, it would have been cheating.

I just watched this last night. For me, I felt I was the wrong person to watch it. I'm 36 never had cancer or severe problems with my teeth so I felt I could not relate. I don't have have any children, yet and/or don't expect them to force me to give them false confessions before they die. It did however, make me think about my future and not make the mistakes he did in this film. Perhaps his only mistakes were in his personality which was he didn't open up to others. (I've been called on that)

First of all I loved reading all the comments on the film and I was given a complete new perspective on the SNY with the interpretation that Caden might be a woman. Stunning me. So Caden "decides" to chose Hazel as his lasting love, maybe because she seems to love him unconditional, the way that only parents love their childs. Hazel looks like the girl from next door, doesn't seem to be that intellectual and always loves talking and listening to Caden. She is on fire all the years just like her house while at Adeles appartement the shower is running and running and running. Maybe sometimes in life we forget that loving someone meens to accept someone, not loving someone for what he or she stands for. The film just made me sure about that: You love someone because he or she simply excists and let you into your life. You are able to chose and mostly you shouldn't be that much scared of your ways in lfe that you wanted to go and will go. The women in SNY seemed to me not more selfconfident but they are aware of the things they want in life and push for that, Caden does not. After all life is wonderful, not in its summary but with every second that we experience.

Simple-minded people like to dismiss things as being "pretentious". The root of that word is related to "pretend". Something that is "pretentious" is posing as something it actually is not. Hard to see how that could possibly apply to this film. Impenetrable may be fair (assuming one's mental powers of penetration have atrophied), but to accuse it of being pretentious accuses Kaufmen of being disingenuous. From what I know of him, this film is utterly honest.