Synecdoche, New York (Dir: Charlie Kaufman)

Navel gazing. Self-indulgent. One is tempted to level both criticisms at Charlie Kaufman's directorial debut. But the film doesn't end its gaze at the navel--it keeps burrowing in deeper, past the lint, through the dermis, and into the bowels of the writer/director. And faulting him for self-indulgence is redundant since the film is clearly a journey into the fevered psyche of Kaufman where we are asked to sort out the details. We are invited to Be John Malko--I mean Charlie Kaufman. We have been let off at the 7 1/2th floor and entered the Kaufman door.

Kaufman, of course, scripted "Being John Malkovich" and with "Synecdoche" he revisits some of the same ontological and phenomenological territory. What is the self? How do I perceive myself, others, and the universe? "Malkovich," however, was buoyant, playful, and wacky and closed with a hopeful coda while "Synecdoche" makes a beeline straight for the pain. We will wallow in it with playwright Caden Cotard (Philip Seymour Hoffman), Kaufman's doppleganger, and live through a lifetime of regret in two hours. The different tones of the two films has to do in part with directors. Spike Jonze brought a light, inventive touch while Kaufman is just as content to let images sit still for contemplation. Even the visual inventiveness, and this film is not in short supply, does not pop and delight. It causes dread and unease.

But this is surely the point. The film begins in a relatively straightforward manner. Cotard is depressed and having difficulties in his marriage to Adele (Catherine Keener). He is anxious about his staging of "Death of a Salesman" and has begun a flirtation with the theater's ticket seller (Emily Mortimer). The film appears to be a normal domestic drama, but as the minutes pass we know something is slightly off. By the time we visit the house that's always on fire, the film has become completely unmoored from reality as we know it and we have to begun to experience the director's existential dread right alongside of him.

The film is endlessly creative but too self-involved to stir most audiences. As with Woody Allen, Kaufman's films appear to be therapy where he works out his issues and neuroses on screen. It has been said that you are everyone in your dreams and Kaufman teases this out in his films to the point where you are also everyone in your waking life and a god as well. It's a solipsistic existence that's finally intensely lonely. The commercial prospects for this were clearly limited. Kaufman breaks free of typical narrative convention and lets his ideas take the lead.

"Synecdoche" is filled with ideas and strong female performers. Catherine Keener, Dianne Weist, Emily Watson, Jennifer Jason Leigh, Samantha Morton, Hope Davis, and Michelle Williams all give fascinating performances. It's exciting to see so many accomplished actresses in challenging roles all in one film. The film follows no predictable pattern and continually surprises. It's a fully realized depiction of dread and longing, but not completely convincing in its convictions.