Last night my buddy Aaron Aradillas convened a little group to debate the merits of Synecdoche New York, a film that apparently you just can’t run out of arguments about. On the pro side: Myself and FIlmbrain Andrew Grant. On the anti, Mr. Aradillas and the estimable Keith Uhlich, of The House Next Door and now, as you’ll see, Time Out New York. I am proud to say that as far as I can recollect, nobody stoops to using the word “pretentious” during the entire hour-plus conversation. You can confirm that here if you’re so inclined.
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Here’s your explanation. Which I understood after only about 15 minutes of watching movie and was subsequently confirmed to me by somebody close to the picture.
There is no temporal reality in the movie. None. No objective reality. All of the characters and situations are representatives, symbols, of the thoughts and experiences of the creator, his self-centered view and his creative process, hence: SYNECDOCHE.
It’s like Eyes Wide Shut or Mulholland Drive, in that the narrative is functional only in that it’s a series of scenes or moments one after another – yet it’s not really a narrative in the true sense, because there’s no literal sense to it. It’s a series of compiled images put together in a specific order to create an emotional reaction from the viewer, but these images don’t actually fit together in any outward logical manner. You either go with it or you don’t.
Love how Kenny makes up words, like miserablist and Warshovian, and how he mocks Kevin Buist at the end; he’s a man after my own pure heart.