Spring Break
Parts embody whole of humanity in 'Synecdoche'
by Justine Root
Arts Editor
Arts | 11/11/08
Posted online at 1:32 AM EST on 11/11/08
The other day, I was complaining to a friend about the decline of cinema, how movies today are notable primarily for how many explosions, sexual encounters and instances of drug use they contain rather than their plot or dialogue. However, upon seeing Synecdoche, New York, I realized why films like Eagle Eye and High School Musical have come to dominate the box office; people go the movies to escape from reality, not to be confronted by it.
Don't mistake my observation for criticism. Synecdoche, New York is a beautiful, ambitious film and is one of the most profound works I have seen in quite some time. However, its observations regarding human nature are incredibly heavy and emotionally draining. Initially, Synecdoche depicts perfectly-by way of a sudden illness that afflicts theater director Caden Cotard (Phillip Seymour Hoffman)-the unexpectedness of misfortune and the unreal way in which the world continues to turn despite the development of personal grievances. For, as Cotard deteriorates, his wife still remains apathetic towards his plays, his daughter still requires comfort after finding that her fecal matter is green and life, in general, goes on mercilessly.
As the film progresses and Cotard undertakes a life-changing personal project, it becomes clear why: Contrary to popular belief, we only play the leading role in our own minds. In those of everyone else, we are but extras, and our hardships are far from unique.
The force and medium (that is, Cotard's project, which involves recreating the everyday lives of thousands of people, including that of Cotard, inside a gigantic warehouse) with which Synecdoche delivers this message is staggering. The characters of Cotard's play bring with them their own trials that make Cotard's problems seem insignificant in comparison, and on a daily basis Cotard hands out assignments to each and every player describing what has happened to his or her character that day (e.g. "Your wife has had a miscarriage"), a moment that demonstrates the all-encompassing scope of grief.
Don't mistake my observation for criticism. Synecdoche, New York is a beautiful, ambitious film and is one of the most profound works I have seen in quite some time. However, its observations regarding human nature are incredibly heavy and emotionally draining. Initially, Synecdoche depicts perfectly-by way of a sudden illness that afflicts theater director Caden Cotard (Phillip Seymour Hoffman)-the unexpectedness of misfortune and the unreal way in which the world continues to turn despite the development of personal grievances. For, as Cotard deteriorates, his wife still remains apathetic towards his plays, his daughter still requires comfort after finding that her fecal matter is green and life, in general, goes on mercilessly.
As the film progresses and Cotard undertakes a life-changing personal project, it becomes clear why: Contrary to popular belief, we only play the leading role in our own minds. In those of everyone else, we are but extras, and our hardships are far from unique.
The force and medium (that is, Cotard's project, which involves recreating the everyday lives of thousands of people, including that of Cotard, inside a gigantic warehouse) with which Synecdoche delivers this message is staggering. The characters of Cotard's play bring with them their own trials that make Cotard's problems seem insignificant in comparison, and on a daily basis Cotard hands out assignments to each and every player describing what has happened to his or her character that day (e.g. "Your wife has had a miscarriage"), a moment that demonstrates the all-encompassing scope of grief.
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