DVD Review: Synecdoche, New York

Published on Thursday 8 October 2009 19:06

SYNECDOCHE, NEW YORK REVOLVER, £17.60

WITH his directorial debut, Charlie Kaufman may just have created the perfect movie for our miserable times. That's not the same thing as saying Synecdoche, New York is a film you should necessarily seek out if the state of the world is getting you down. Notwithstanding those who get their kicks from schadenfreude, it's the type of film that can't help but drag viewers into the gloomy milieu of its protagonist, a tortured playwright on an epic, lifelong quest to transform his existence into a deep, truth-essaying work of art. Played by Philip Seymour Hoffman, he's basically a cipher for Kaufman, whose brain-melting, self-reflexive screenplays for the likes of Being John Malkovich and Adaptation suggested he might be the kind of artist frequently crippled by self-doubt and insecurity.

Left to his own devices, it's probably no surprising, then, that it's these neuroses that he gives full expression. That he does so in an artistically bold and audacious way ensures that Synecdoche, New York remains endlessly fascinating. As Caden (Hoffman) mounts an epic piece of theatre designed to recreate his decidedly non-epic life, Kaufman piles on layer upon layer of obfuscation, ensuring that, like life itself, there's always going to be something left to unravel. The problem is that, after a while – and especially after a couple of viewings – despite the way Kaufman's script thoughtfully and inventively grapples with issues of mortality, creativity and existence, all the intellectual parlour tricks start to seem like a sly defence mechanism, a way to inoculate it against any criticism.

Caden's frustrations function as a critique of Kaufman's own creative process, thus whether you want to marvel at his genius or quibble over his self-indulgence, he provides plenty of ammunition for both. Indeed, it becomes impossible to watch Synecdoche, New York without feeling that Kaufman has deliberated over every possible interpretation of every scene. He probably has, of course, and while there's nothing really wrong with such meticulousness, in making a film that ultimately serves as a warning about the dangers of obsessively pursuing an unobtainable truth if it means your life passes you by in the process, the film often feels like a cruel joke at our expense. Attempting to unravel it may well leave you feeling as paralysed and depressed as Caden. The more you examine it, the bleaker you'll feel. As I said, the perfect movie for our miserable times.

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