A man who has received a large sum of money hires people to re-enact scenes from his own life, staged on the actual locations and on sets he has constructed for the purpose.
That's a selective synopsis of the premise of "Remainder," a 2005 novel by Tom McCarthy. As I was sitting through "Synecdoche, New York," I couldn't help feeling that I'd somehow seen this done before (yeah, I know -- the movie is in part about that feeling)... and then I remembered "Remainder." The first-person narrator, who has suffered brain damage in an accident, becomes obsessed with meticulously reconstructing the events surrounding it. Having turned his apartment building, and the blocks around it, into a living set -- available round the clock for command performances, he stages a run-through of one sequence in a warehouse at Heathrow:
I'd had a raised viewing platform built, a little like an opera box, because I'd enjoyed watching the action in my building from above and wanted a similar option here. I'd established that I might roam around the re-enactment area itself, and that the re-enactors shouldn't be put off by this. I chose to begin watching the re-enactment from the platform, though.
Later, he describes his living role as actor, director and audience, revising and perfecting the re-enactment, which becomes a more-or-less permanent project:
I spent a long time there, watching. I also spent a lot of time sitting in my living room staring at the sketches and prints, or lying in my bath thinking about the re-enactment, knowing that it was continuing, constantly, on a loop. Sometimes I concentrated on each movement, each maneuver; but sometimes I thought of other matters altogether. For a couple of days I returned to the study of my building, keeping the whole place in on mode for two ten-hour stretches with only two hours' break between them. Then I drove back to Heathrow and watched the tyre sequence through fifteen times.
"Synecdoche"'s literally self-absorbed playwright is a hack suburban-theater director whose magnum opus endlessly recapitulates his lack of talent and imagination. (Or, if you prefer a slightly different reading, the project reflects his doubts about his talent and imagination after he receives a "genius grant" and desperately strives to conceive something worthy of the label.) Or maybe the film is just about Charlie Kauffman looking so deeply into his navel that he can see his poop come out his own butt, one of the movie's favorite images.) "Remainder"'s brain-damaged re-creator exhibits no artistic ambitions, just a desire to pursue the authentic, after he becomes convinced that the post-accident life he's living is not. He desires the realness of a movie... of De Niro in "Mean Streets."
Every move he made, each gesture was perfect, seamless. Whether it was lighting up a cigarette or opening a fridge door or just walking down the street: he seemed to execute the action perfectly, to live it, to merge with it until he was it and it was him and there was nothing in between....[...]
I'd always been inauthentic. Even before the accident, if I'd been walking down the street just like De Niro, smoking a cigarette like him, and even if it had lit first try, I'd still be thinking: Here I am, walking down the street, smoking a cigarette, like someone in a film. See? Second-hand. The people in the films aren't thinking that. They're just doing their thing, real, not thinking anything. Recovering from the accident, learning how to move and walk, understanding before I could act -- all this just made me become even more what I'd always been anyway, added another layer of distance between me and the things I did.... I wasn't unusual: I was more usual than most.
As a member of the Eternally Self-Conscious, I'll second that. The perfection of movies is rooted in their repeatability (yes, time can be recaptured!), and their susceptibility to study. You can stare at them, and the people in them, and it's OK! You can study people's behavior. You can (with repeat viewings) savor the anticipation of things that you know have already happened -- an expression, a shadow, a camera movement... (Yes, putting a frame around something adds a dimension to the original, even as it removes the original from its context.)
And, of course, great movie acting isn't necessarily about being, or even appearing, authentic at all. It's about presenting something to the camera (and the audience) for scrutiny. New Yorker television critic Nancy Franklin puts it very nicely when she writes of Toni Collette as a performer who, "like Meryl Streep, has the ability to both disappear into a role and to persuade us that, whatever character she's playing, she's showing us her core."
That doesn't mean incessant soul-baring; it also means withholding and creating mystery. One of my favorite acting stories (I'm sure I've mentioned it before) is from Kathleen Turner, who once described trying to do a crying scene by accessing the "authentic" emotion and making herself really cry on camera. She said the result was terrible, utterly phony-looking, even though, for the actor, it was the "real" thing. Acting is not re-experiencing emotion; it's conveying it to the audience as if it were being experienced first-hand.
The notion that we are all stars, writers and directors -- or, at least, featured players, uncredited polishers and assistant directors -- of our own lives isn't anything novel, but it's hardly surprising artists feel compelled to revisit (or re-enact) the concept from various angles...
Thanks, Jim - I was looking forward to having a conversation about Synecdoche, which was my own favorite film of the year.
First, I think you and Kaufman are actually more in agreement than not on the issues you've laid out here, but to get there we have to separate the writer/director from the main character, who he is most definitely not. Cotard is a bit of a hack, but the problem he faces is the one that really prompts a lot of modern art: how to create a discrete work of art that somehow captures the very non-discrete nature of life and living. Cotard fails, but Kaufman succeeds: the former creates a regressive monster that crumbles as it expands; the latter accomplished what Cotard wanted to in a single 2 hour film. The former tried to be "authentic" and the latter embraces the artifice. But it's important to remember that Cotard's experiment is not Kaufman's experiment, and criticisms of the former don't necessarily extend to the latter.
In other words, the critique that you're making about the nature of authenticity in art isn't too far from what Kaufman's doing in the film. Kaufman has Cotard sputtering out the reasons for his project as a series of banalities (e.g. "it's about life!") - but part of what makes the film some wonderful is that Kaufman genuinely succeeds at realizing the clichés effectively while Cotard never manages to delineate his world. Kaufman's artistic world is well-restricted and defined.
Brad,
I think your statements might be true except for the fact that Kaufman takes this subject so damn seriously. Unlike most of the other films that he's written, this film had virtually no sense of humor. I believe that the humor in "Adaptation" is what keeps it from falling into the same category as "Synecdoche".
JE: That's the way I felt, Nathan. Kaufman has been clever and funny before, but "Synecdoche" was like drowning in a sea of lugubriousness.
This is interesting to me, because I found it laugh-out-loud funny (especially in the first half), and I didn't mind that the humor slowly dissipated as the movie got more serious: for me at least, the seriousness felt earned rather than forced, and the disjointed narrative kept my attention.
Although I can see where you both are coming from, because the way you describe Synecdoche is pretty much how I felt about (*runs and hides*) Inland Empire: humorless, ponderous, and ultimately not worth the time to analyze despite what appears to be a wealth of intelligence on display. I think at some point we just have to recognize the role that taste plays in our reactions, given that I think I can mount a defense of Synecdoche as sturdy as Jim's defense of Inland Empire, a film I can (possibly, eventually) appreciate but still don't (at all) enjoy. It might be too reductive to say that we have to be entertained by a movie if we're going to invest ourselves in unpacking it, but that's kinda the discussion we're having here.
JE: Roger Ebert says "Synecdoche" needs to be seen a second time. I definitely understand what you're saying. To me, right now, that seems as unendurable a prospect as "Inland Empire" must seem to you! Maybe someday I'll have the strength to re-approach it...
Well, Jim, it looks like you were right a while back when you defended your TDK posts by saying that you thought it might be harder to drum up conversation about "Synecdoche, New York". It's sort of sad to think that people have more to say about White's silly list than about Kaufmann's grand failure.
Well, folks discussed Synecdoche at length on Mr. Ebert's blog.
Personally, I'd rather see the film a second time (on DVD) before getting into a conversation about it. Perhaps some people feel the same way...that they haven't "mastered" it yet...or perhaps those who post on Jim's blog haven't even seen it yet, or don't care to. There's also the possibility that some of its supporters are burnt out after discussing TDK at length, particularly given Jim's frequent ammnesia with regards to their positive, detailed comments in support of that film.
JE: I'm sorry if you felt I'd forgotten them. In fact, I went out of my way to write a post soliciting and encouraging them. And I published 'em for all to read. I feel I would need to see "Synecdoche" again, too, before discussing it in more detail. Maybe the prospect won't seem so daunting on DVD.
Well, Jim, when you offer up responses like this...
"Jim, I have an interesting query: Considering how so much of the Dark Knight, as you have pointed out, is cinematically flawed, why have so many people reacted to it positively and viscerally?
JE: Really good question. I'm hoping they'll tell us."
...whether you intended it or not, it suggests that detailed, thoughtful posts from people like Stephen and Karlos aren't really being considered, or at the very least are being looked upon with condescension. And as pointed out earlier (I've read every comment on every thread, Jim), it's always much easier to point out (what one perceives to be) negative qualities in a film than elements that you found to be impressive. And when you go about praising something in a film, you end up sounding like a sycophant, and will inevitably be shot down by the glib, overbearing cynicism of the Internet. Truth be told, though I'm often intellectually engaged by what some of the more evenhanded commentators have to say here, my (emotional) enthusiasm for films (in general) right now is practically nil. I'm trying to ride that, and this annoyingly hostile Awards season, out, and get back to, you know, "enjoying" films again. As it stands, my level of indifference to pretty much every film out there (in theatres or on DVD), is at an all-time high.
Maybe I'll have to spend a bit more time over at Roger's blog for a while. I admire his enthusiasm and (seemingly) upbeat nature, even if I think he rates a lot of mainstream fare a little too generously.
JE: There's a case where my tone didn't come across the way I intended at all, and I had no idea it would be taken that way. What I meant was, simply: "I can't answer that question, or speak for other people. All are invited to address it for themselves." I made that comment in haste, seriously hoping to hear from more "TDK" enthusiasts (including Stephen and Karlos) about what got them excited about the movie. At the point I wrote that, though, I admit I hadn't read most of the comments. I was overwhelmed. My fault.
Meanwhile, I've been pretty disappointed (and feeling pretty jaded) about most of the "awards season" movies this year. The last-minute December releases are often over-hyped, but almost everybody I know has felt similarly about the late-2008 crop. Meanwhile, "Happy-Go-Lucky" has been gone from Seattle theaters for weeks and (because of our long December snowstorm) I still haven't been able to see it!
nathan m: If it had received Oscar nominations I'm sure more folks would have chimed in. It's just going under the pop-culture radar right now -- although it's being revived at a suburban Seattle discount house now, whereas (as I mentioned above) "Happy-Go-Lucky" has been gone for weeks.
"There's a case where my tone didn't come across the way I intended at all, and I had no idea it would be taken that way."
Fair enough. Either way, none of the negative comments (wide and varied as they may be) have really affected my original opinion of TDK in any significant way. Everyone views the world and, naturally, movies through their own individual lens, based somewhat on their own personal background and emotional landscape. It's 2009, I still remain extremely fond of the film, but I'm moving on.
As for Happy-Go-Lucky, you might think it's well-structured and whatnot, but I wouldn't set your expectations too high. When I attended a screening back in November, most of the audience (many of them falling firmly into your demographic) responded, "Yeah, it was pretty good, but 4 Stars?" It really depends on whether you're thoroughly charmed, or annoyed, by Hawkins and Marsaan (sp?)...I fell somewhere in the middle ground, as did many folks I've spoken to online.
Cheers.
I've read several reviews that referred to Synecdoche as a "failure" or a "failed experiment". I've learned that when critics describe a film as a "failure", it is often a film I would like. People seem to use the term to describe intelligent, ambitious films that fall short in their opinion for one reason or another, while a trivial or conventional film that has few surprises is often referred to as a success.
So I went to see Synecdoche, and I thought it was marvelous, with all its flaws.
JE: In the case of "Synecdoche," I wouldn't be surprised if some critics called it a folly or a failure as a term of honor. As Charlie Kaufman has said, the movie itself is about the inevitable failure: death.
For your next assignment, compare and contrast The Wrestler with Synecoche, NY, and the movies approach to those who have failed to achieve what they want most, greatness, and yet pursue it.
I think that I "got" the film. I even respect it. I think that the cast was totally on their game and good for them. I also think that Kaufman made exactly the film he wanted to make; this is an achievement, especially in crass times. The film haunts me all these months later.
However, I hated it. I found it tedious and depressing. And more than a little revolting. I can't get past the visual representations of feces (not once but twice), blood in the urine (excreted into a sink no less), and that revolting accusation of sexual degeneracy by the main character's daughter. I don't understand why all this obsessive personal paranoia and morbidity was needed. It was revolting.