SYNECDOCHE, NEW YORK : Official Trailer — HD

everythinginthesky:

I’m never sure whether it’s okay to like anything until the Internet has told me whether it’s not worthy of comment or too popular to be hip.

“I used to be a baby.”
“…I’m sorry.”

Synecdoche, New York is not for everyone. In fact, it’s just for me.

Stipulated for the record: I (intellectually) understand people not liking this film. I (technically) understand people hating how slow the toooooo loonnnnnnnng middle part is. I (bleakly) accept that some find it willfully weird and confusing. I (eye-rollingly) hear how “pretentious” people think it is. Whatever.

This is my freebie. This is one of those handful of movies I’m allowed to love 500 times more than you do and not feel the tiniest bit bad about it.

Ala Wilde’s observations, Synecdoche, New York makes me see things differently.

Things I realize I hadn’t noticed for a long time. The rapid and disorienting passage of time. Seeing your kid look a year older over the course of a day. Fucking index cards.

You won’t like this movie as much as me, because you can’t. It wasn’t made for you. It was made for me.

And, when we make these sorts of connections through art — and we each have at least a couple, even when we’re not willing to admit it — we mustn’t apologize or back-pedal. Because, you can’t think your way out of how you feel, and it would be pointlessly damaging to try.

Related. Excellent reserve reading from Chairman Ebert:

“Synecdoche, New York” is not a film about the theater, although it looks like one. A theater director is an ideal character for representing the role Kaufman thinks we all play. The magnificent sets, which stack independent rooms on top of one another, are the compartments we assign to our life’s enterprises. The actors are the people in roles we cast from our point of view. Some of them play doubles assigned to do what there’s not world enough and time for. They have a way of acting independently, in violation of instructions. They try to control their own projections. Meanwhile, the source of all this activity grows older and tired, sick and despairing. Is this real or a dream? The world is but a stage, and we are mere actors upon it. It’s all a play. The play is real.

“Synecdoche, New York is not for everyone. In fact, it’s just for me.”

And me.

(via:tightgrip:merlin)