Charlie Kaufman, what are you thinking?

I went to the cinema this afternoon, seeking lightness and glee. A little something superfluous and filled with resolve and happy endings. Something in Central Park in the spring, perhaps. An ending in which the characters find love and closure from the daunting feelings of loneliness and confusion from the first half of the film.

Oh, Charlie, what was I thinking? Instead, I spent over two hours filled with art imitating life, imitating life, imitating art, and on and on...

Do not get me wrong, the film is fantastic. It is moving and thought provoking and takes a toll on the mind trying to put everything in chronological order. Except, I do not think there is a chronological order. Similar to life, the time speeds up, slows down and then seems to go in reverse. There is revelation followed by confusion, followed by more confusion and less and less revelation. I couldn't cry. I thought I would. I tried to cry, but the tears never came. I was Caden, losing the use of my tear ducts. I think I could not cry because it felt so close to where I am, to cry would be to run from the theater, wailing. So I guess I should be grateful for the faulty tear ducts. I was able to stay seated until the last fade out. My head still hurts a little from following every nuance, every hyper-realistic sound effect, every repeated reference, ensuring continuity of every word spoken. To listen this carefully to one's own soundtrack is daunting. No wonder my head hurts.

Synecdoche, New York