Synecdoche, New York (2008)

Charlie Kaufmann is a mad comic film genius. In the opening of his mind-blasting epic comic-drama “Synecdoche, New York,” he shows a theater director (Philip Seymour Hoffman) dragging himself out of bed, lumping over to the bathroom then down to the kitchen, and walking by his wife and toddler daughter. It’s a grim, boring morning, and he seems miserable, all self-absorbed about not feeling well and blah-blah-blah. He reads the obits first, maybe waiting to see his own name. The radio, the newspaper’s A section, a milk carton, the B-Section, they all flash-forward dates –September, October, November and December. Caden Cotard is watching his life flash by, and he doesn’t appear to notice.

This essentially is the film. When his crap luck hits bottom, he begins a massive autobiographical play, literally staging his own life, as director and spectator, controlling and watching at the same time. Then he loses control of that, trying to rewrite his own script. This is just a quick snatch of the massive story from the writer of “Being John Malkovich” and “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.” What makes the brain, heart and soul connect and work is a Kaufman obsession, and Hoffman is freakin’ brilliant. (Has he ever not been?) But as the film comes to its end, and Cotard becomes more disconnected from himself -- actors are playing actors playing the actors playing him -- the movie loses steam. But maybe that’s the point. That's how we all die, in old age, is it not?

“Synecdoche” disappears in literal smoke, burned up by Kaufman’s unending, almost self- indulgent imagination. “Being” and “Eternal” are personal favorites. This one goes for the same arena, but comes just short of the mark. The concept is just a bit too far wide. But it’s a glorious, brave, wildly imaginative concept. The cast of supporting players includes Catherine Keener, Diane Weist, Tom Noonan, Michelle Williams, Emily Watson and Samantha Morton.

I loved the little bits, even the teeth-gnashing conversations one has with a toddler – “I have blood! I don’t want blood!” “You don’t have blood, dear.” “Don’t tell her that!” There wasn’t a stranger film I saw released in 2008, but it’s these bits that nail life dead center. For better and worse. It certainly makes one wake up and appreciate now, quickly dumping the end credits to go in and see how your wife is doing down the hallway. And, maybe, that’s really the point. A-