Synecdoche New York

A debilitating, headache inducing sleeping pill

Charlie Kaufman can work miracles for some people. With Being John Malkovich he created a vehicle which Cameron Diaz rode to somewhere just about approaching an actress, and allowed a slovenly, sweaty Nicholas Cage to blunder his way through not one but two forgettable parts in the disappointing Spike Jonze flick Adaptation. A film in which he reveals himself to be an egotistical, self doubting car wreck of a human being, the only type of person who could be so cruel as to bring the pitifully self indulgent mess of Synecdoche to the screen. The ‘film’ constantly begs the question why? Just what the fuck is actually happening? Its suddenly 7 years in the future? Now he’s married? Now he has pustules. Now its been 17 years, but everyone looks the same? Now nothing is going on.

Nothing.

For 2 hours I sat through this neurotic cry for euthanasia, and for that I will forever hate myself. 2 whole hours of this interminable, risible disaster. And after that I drank 2 bottles of wine and got thrown out of a nightclub because that’s what I had to do. It was the only way to deal with what I had done. The shame I had brought upon myself for propagating this man’s dismal career.

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