Synecdoche, New York (2009)

If you’re thinking about viewing Synecdoche, New York, let me start by giving you a very simple piece of advice: if you enjoyed Being John Malkovich, Adaptation, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, then you’ll probably like this movie. If you hated any of the above, then I would avoid it like the plague. That’s because all the movies I’ve mentioned were written by the surrealist genius known as Charlie Kaufman, and in the case of Synecdoche, New York, he also serves as the film’s director.

Kaufman brings a complex yet unique vision to each of his films, and the casual viewer may find the experience more than a little confusing. The title city, for example, can’t be found on any map. Synecdoche is a figure of speech in which a part of something stands in for the whole, the whole represents a part, or the specific stands for the general.

Are you confused yet? If so, then welcome to the world of Charlie Kaufman.

The central character of the film, one Caden Cotard (Philip Seymour Hoffman), is a successful theatre director plagued by a fear of sickness and death. As he battles various ailments–both real and imagined–he spends his days preparing for the opening of his latest play and flirting with a box office attendant named Hazel (Samantha Morton). Meanwhile, his marriage to artist Adele (Catherine Keener) is falling apart–a fact he fails to fully comprehend until she departs for an art show in Berlin, taking their daughter Olive with her, and never returns.

As he despairs about the future and suffers through seizures, pustules, bloody stool and pupil problems, Caden receives word that he’s been chosen to receive the MacArthur genius grant. Since this gives him almost unlimited funds with which to pursue his artistic passions, he decides to create a massive piece of realistic theatre which will highlight the truth and banality of man‘s existence.

Housed in a cavernous warehouse, the project grows and grows over the decades, eventually becoming a city-within-a-city. No performances are given for the public, and Caden’s grasp on reality becomes increasingly tenuous.

There’s a lot more to Synecdoche, New York than what I’ve mentioned above, but I don’t want to spend the entire review fumbling over the complexities of the plot. Besides, there’s no amount of discussion which could adequately prepare you for Kaufman’s unique look into the soul of a man who may already be dead.

While the film is challenging to watch, it’s also a well-acted and fascinating meditation on life. As Caden remains emotionally crippled by events from his past, we’re reminded that life is always moving forward. If we fail to appreciate what we have, we’re doomed to lose it over and over again.

Despite the film’s overwhelming sense of doom and despair, Kaufman still manages to inject his unique brand of dark humor into the proceedings. Take, for example, the plot of the book Little Winky which is described to Caden by his therapist.

Written by a 4-year-old named Horace Azpiazu, it tells the story of a young boy’s initiation into the Ku Klux Klan, his immersion in the pornographic snuff industry, and his ultimate degradation at the hands of a black ex-con named Eric Washington Jackson Jones Johnson Jefferson. The author, by the way, was said to have committed suicide at age five. Later in the film, we see a movie poster for the Hollywood adaptation of Little Winky.

At another point in the film, Caden receives a call informing him that his father has died. When he tells his wife, he adds, “It was the longest and saddest deathbed speech any of them had ever heard.”

Personally, I can’t think of a better way to sum up Synecdoche, New York.