Review: Synecdoche, New York

SYNECDOCHE, NEW YORK
Directed by Charlie Kaufman
Starring Phillip Seymour Hoffman, Catherine Keener and Michelle Williams

**** Stars

At the very least, Charlie Kaufman can be counted on for provoking a passionate response. The writer of kooky masterpieces Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, Adaptation and Being John Malkovich makes his directorial debut with Synecdoche, New York (pronounced sin-NECK-doe-key), a movie that demands patience and a quiet mind.

Caden Cotard (Hoffman) is a miserable theatre director locked in an unhappy marriage with Adele (Keener), a talented artist. Caden’s successful restaging of Arthur Miller’s Death of a Salesman fails to impress his wife, who doesn’t see the merit in reworking someone else’s art.

Caden’s health is also rapidly deteriorating. His doctor notices his pupils are failing to dilate correctly, sparking a steady neurotic decay. Adele, meanwhile, takes their four-year-old daughter to Berlin, and doesn’t appear to be coming back.

Lonely and desolate, Caden unexpectedly receives a Macarthur Fellowship (also known as a Genius Award), which more or less amounts to unlimited funding towards his next creative endeavour. Still stung from Adele’s criticism, Caden determines to record the “brutal truth,” a play as big and messy as life itself.

Beginning with just a few actors, Caden’s play expands until he is directing a cast of thousands on a set resembling a miniature New York. Caden obsesses over his replica world, allowing art to interrupt life; even casting an actor to play Caden Cotard, a miserable theatre director attempting to create a play as big and messy as life itself.

Synecdoche is going to be divisive, for sure. It’s narcissistic, confusing, bulging with questions and devoid of answers. It’s also frustratingly clever, and some will be put off by what they interpret as Kaufman lording his supreme intellect over others (an argument that has also been put to those who’ve praised the film).

But claiming to understand it is to miss the point. What’s so exciting about Synecdoche is that it represents the closest audiences have yet come to hearing Kaufman’s voice.

For all its philosophical wanderings, jaunts into the nature of consciousness and twisty-turny linearity, this is an intensely personal film. Kaufman is not just exploring identity, mortality and the inadequacy of artistic legacy; he’s exploring his identity, mortality and inadequate artistic legacy.

If you’re willing to brave Synecdoche, try this simple thought experiment: when Caden speaks, imagine it is Kaufman speaking. It’s narcissistic, yes, but also haunting and terribly powerful.

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