Life is looking bleak for theater director Caden Cotard. His wife and daughter have left him, his therapist is not helping him with his problems, and a strange disease is causing his body to shut down. As part of his new play, Caden decides to create a life-size replica of NYC inside a warehouse.
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Another example of the cultural gap existing between America and Europe in matter of movies. 'Synecdoche, New York' was idolised by the most influential critics in the U.S.A. but simply ignored in Europe. Shown at Cannes' Film Festival, it came back with no prizes at all (and they're many). Personally, I found it verbose and vain. Already forgotten.
No one plays with your emotions like Kaufman. He knows how to tell a story about love and loss by going deep into your soul and digging for any piece of relatability. Obviously, he finds it every time. It's draining to the core, hard to handle and to watch until the end, but so necessary and wonderfully played by every single cast member. "This book is over" // PSH ❤
An astonishingly brave and bold film that functions on multiple levels, all at once absurd, hilarious, and tragic, quite like life. To me, this is a film about breaking apart the boundaries of identity, learning to transcend your suffering by seeing yourself in others, sharing pain. Our transience is real but something persists, and perhaps we are more closely related to that hidden wellspring which keeps on going.
“And the truth 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 OK, just to get along, just for, I don't know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen. ”
And the truth 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 OK, just to get along, just for, I don't know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own. Well, fuck everybody. Amen.
A dying director that is not dying navigates exactly the life that he lived inexactly as he attempts to stage a work of evasion through dramaturgical obedience. Not contradiction, but opposition. Not a thesis on the existential project, but a working out of its aporetic structure. Does a single voice raise the clamour of being? Not symbolic or allegorical, but how the world works.
I just remembered this film today and wondered why I hadn't add it to my favorites list. The more I remembered the more I realized what a depressing feeling I had in watching it. That is where its value lies with me.