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I am not going to recommend Synecdoche, New York [pronounce it like si-nek-duh-kee].

A few people watched it, such as my friend Keltie, and let me know it was an awful, pretentious, boring movie — the kind of movie that hipster art-whores profess to love (but only because it’s cool to do so) while everyone else rolls their eyes. Think: gay cowboys and pudding. Candice and I watched it last night and she agreed that it was complicated for no good reason and generally pointless. These friends have genuinely good taste in movies so that really does say something. And besides, it’s not just my friends and acquaintances; many film critics dislike it. Rotten Tomatoes scores the Hangover as 11 points better. Up is a whopping 30 points better. So yes, I will not recommend it.

But I will admit I loved it. Absolutely loved it. Oh man, did I ever love it. I would even go so far as to say it’s the best movie I’ve seen in a long while, and that it would probably find its way into a personal Top 20. Top 10? I know! But movies don’t often affect me to this degree. Movies aren’t always so perfectly tailored to my taste.

So where do I start?

I guess I should start by saying my tastes obviously don’t always run to norms — hey, I recently saw Mister Lonely and enjoyed it. That says enough right there. You want more? I went to David Lynch’s three-hour Inland Empire (sadly, I never posted about it!) not once but twice in one weekend (most people would say once is not only a testament to patience but also an indictment on good sense and, well, time forever lost). Again, my taste in movies isn’t always normal. And I feel like I have to say that to justify my love for Synecdoche, New York.

While Lynch is my favorite director and I love his take on surrealism, Kaufman is catching my eye more and more. He’s got a take on surrealism, too — but it’s not the creepy/scary Lynch perspective. If you’ve seen Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind or Adaptation or Being John Malkovich, then you sort of know what you’re getting with Synecdoche, New York. The theme is pretty similar across Kaufman’s movies and this one is no exception. (My favorite critic, Ebert, touches on that in his review.) In fact, if you can say you have seen more than a couple Kaufman movies, especially if Adaptation (another of my favorites) is one of those movies, you probably already whether or not you’ll like this one.

So what did I like so much about Synecdoche, New York?

Well, at the surface level, it’s a dense movie. There is a ton going on. I don’t think you can really get everything on a single viewing. I went to IMDb to read over the message-board discussions and picked up on a lot of things I missed. For example, the character who says he’s followed theater director Caden Cotard (Philip Seymour Hoffman) and his plays/life literally means it. A second viewing shows us that he’s in many of the movie’s early scenes, as a background character. By the way, that’s not an “I see dead people” kind of revelation; it’s an example of the attention to detail that you can expect from this movie.

The density is also built up with the film’s focus on symbolism that works on multiple levels and adds to the experience. Here’s a quote from the IMDb forums highlighting one example of that with two juxtaposed characters:

The fact that Hazel moved into a burning house also shows the difference between her and Caden. Caden is constantly worrying about his health problems and is certain that he is going to die soon. Hazel doesn’t focus on the negativity of living in a burning house. It is ironic that she carries on with her life in a burning house and dies of smoke inhalation before any of Caden’s ailments kill him.

And the experience of the story itself was symbolic, to me, on the whole, of the exploration on the meaning of life. Another forum quote elaborates:

Kaufman’s not saying that life is meaningless or meaningful. The film emphasizes the polarity of both views to establish the truth as something in the middle. On one hand, there is the funeral scene in which the minister explains, “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… Even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born.” On the other hand, there are the directorial cues at the end of the movie that explain, “You realize you are not special. You have struggled into existence, and are now slipping silently out of it. This is everyone’s experience. Every single one. The specifics hardly matter. Everyone’s everyone.” I think Kaufman wanted to express that it is true that life is meaningful and meaningless for different reasons.

I think it’s important to describe the movie as “an experience” or “an exploration” because it’s confusing and difficult to follow as a linear story when you’re focusing on every scene, line, and action — and how they connect (like David Lynch’s movies).

To be honest, I don’t think I could go scene-by-scene to explain this story, as you can with any normal movie; I also don’t know how worthwhile that would be to you if I tried — because, like a piece of art at a museum, which this movie certainly more closely approximates, you sort of engage it as a whole or maybe focus on some small elements and see how it makes you feel (or if it even does). Again, like a David Lynch movie.

There were lots of little moments that I really appreciated in Synecdoche, New York. The little stick-it notes he writes. How they connect to real life. The way he directs his counterparts in their portrayal of his life. The way those counterparts take over directing his life. The way actors swap out roles but the scenes re-play. The daughter’s first diary which quickly became her life story. Caden’s obsession with his failing body. The psychiatrist who sits next to him on the plane as he reads her book. The honesty that the movie harps on while simultaneously being honest and sincere, talking about our fears and worries and insecurities and expectations and hopes and desires.

I like that the movie explored these issues. I like the idea of appraising one’s life and contrasting it against your own deluded fantasies. What did I expect out of life? Where am I now? How did I get here? It’s not good or bad. It’s reflection. And amazement. And… mundanity. I wrote a story called floating that, for me, was my own attempt at an exploration of moving through life, aging, and going through patterns and routines; so maybe that’s something shared which explains partly why I like Kaufman.

So what’s left?

I suppose I will end by saying that there were moments where I felt overwhelmed by Kaufman’s artistry, where I felt equal parts entertained and inspired. The way he manages the story — and the story-within-a-story — is something I can only appreciate with stunned silence. This movie is going to haunt me for the next few days and I’m sure I will watch it again in the future. What an accomplishment. I may not have articulated my appreciation well, but I’m grateful to have experienced this movie.