Me and you and everyone we know: First Take
by Jeffrey Koh
Staring blankly, at imaginary seas...
This film geek thinks Me and You and Everyone We Know is unlike the rest of most American independent films out there. That this contemporary masterpiece of human observation is very often compared or mentioned in the same breath as those cinematic swill, well, breaks his heart. He shall attempt to argue why he believes so.
Despite their similar "genre" trappings, I always get this suspicion that most American Independent filmmakers get off making films which show off their understanding of film school references, sardonic witticism or metaphorical ironies. They set out contriving characters and circumstances to encircle such conceits. Though they may not admit to it, these myopic ego-maniacs harbour hopes for critical appreciation. Dependent on their abilities, they will set off on a differing course attempting to achieve this ambition. If they can't win unanimous praise, they hedge their bets making films to reflect their devil-may-care, self-referentially sophomoric tendencies (cough *Kevin Smith* cough). If they can, they fashion deliberate, preferably trademarked styles, and fixate on "cool" aesthetics or pontificating themes just to "corner the market" (cough *Wes Anderson* cough). Either way, they all do what they do in a bid to elevate their products above mediocrity, to achieve a somewhat distancing stylistic/emotional quirkiness which trumpets an overriding pride to swim against the current. It always boils down to an agenda to shout out their "me me me...." intellectuality rather than the genuinely humanistic desire to tell stories about me and you and everyone we know (of which any insights gained are entirely up to the viewers' discretionary contemplation).
Lest I be accused of presumption, Me and You and Everyone We Know may arguably possess the above contentious qualities, but I feel it is ruled less by its idiosyncratic self-awareness and guided more by debut helmer Miranda July's wildly rampaging and deeply intuitive sensibilities. This woman, due in part to her romantic eccentricities and alternative arts background, seems to capture the pulse of normalcy extremely well, perhaps because an outsider tends to see the things we take for granted more clearly. Her willingness to show us her (floating) life and worldviews are thus, illuminating. I argue that Miranda is like a sensitive visionary, bursting to set alight a selected dark spot within the vast cinematic universe. She knows her glow is not for everybody, and she is honestly incapable of spreading herself thin. This concentrated dose of radiating energy may thus be therapeutic to some or highly carcinogenic for others. No prizes for guessing that I beg for her refreshingly healing powers.
If you'd asked me, there are no generic designs from Me and You and Everyone We Know to solicit any specific response, because it understands that our respective closets differ in shapes and sizes. For the purpose of this discussion, I shall solely focus on the film's respective characters and extrapolate any further thoughts from there.
(Spoiler Alert: As this piece is meant more as a post-viewing discussion, plot revelations may be hinted at, but kept to a bare minimum.)
A struggling performance artist toggles between her dream of pursuing her ambition and her harsh realities of under-appreciation and lovelessness. She is sensitive to all living things but may be too quirky to function for her own good. At night, at home, forlorn and alone, the woman is a neurotic mess, which perhaps fuels her angst and propels her art; but by day, she conscientiously goes about her work of ferrying old folks to and fro. This day job is not without its merits, for it allows the woman to gain a clearer perspective on her art and life, via the wisdoms gently imparted by her elderly charges.
As the film's title suggests, this intensely quirky woman is not the sole portrait existing in its suburban landscape. It also harbours a boat of wandering souls, bobbing up and down the currents, staring blankly at imaginary seas. These myriad characters may or may not be connected with one another, but their respective flames faintly flicker, fanned ever so precariously by loneliness, boredom, emotional dystrophy and unquenched desires.
For instance, the performance artist's artwork is rejected by an avant garde curator. This curator in turn doubts her own ability in sifting through an increasingly obtuse set of criteria for the judgement of art. Though the curator wields her condescending power over the struggling artists, she finds herself the subject of ridicule from more established icons in the field. The realisation of the meaningless nature of her professional pursuits exacerbates her insecurities and hopelessness, causing her to begin questioning the worth of her own work and, by extension, the state of her personal life.
Then there is the object of the performance artist's desire, a newly single father of two young sons. The "self-immolating" man has been recently divorced from a wife who badgers him with an alarmingly passive aggressiveness. He works in a department store selling shoes and singing the blues. His sense of inadequacy as a father is balanced by his love for his children. The man is currently lost in transit, his emotional wounds left raw and gaping. Consciously waxing lyrical about his solemn state of being, he is simultaneously pretentious and pitiful. Thankfully, he has the opportunity of starting a whole new relationship with our quirky protagonist. However, once bitten by a failed marriage, will the man overcome his twice-compounded shyness? Is he ready to love again?
Working alongside him is a fellow colleague, a nice enough guy though he is not much to look at. Due to circumstances not entirely contrived by him, this movie shows the man spending his spare time engaging in harmless/mischievous banter (depending on one's perspective) with a pair of bored teenage girls. What is his motivation for indulging in his "hobby"? Will he act on his urges instead of stopping himself in time?
The girls form an interesting specimen of suburban fauna. They are too naive to realise they are baiting their charms at their own risks and too clueless to realise they are being callous to a neighbourhood boy (the single dad's elder son). They are dependent on each other for a mutual approval of their fragile self-image. Their vacuum-like existence in a place of perpetually sanitised inertia not only magnifies their desires to grow up, it also affords them a narrow range of emotional high-lows, framed within a wider spectrum which they are incapable to fathom at this point in time. Ultimately, is this pair of aimless youths capable of empathising with anyone but themselves? Are they vindictive vixens-to-be or just dazed and confused adolescents?
The elder son of the single dad is a more cryptic read. A telling scene of the boy staring blankly at his family portrait during an otherwise unrelated moment reveals the maelstrom of emotions coursing through his red-blooded veins. More self-aware than his younger brother on the impact of his parent's failed marriage on their respective lives, the boy appears moody and confused. Compounded by his sexual awakening, his muffled mind and his burning loin engage in a tug of war, ceaselessly tormenting his impending growth. The angst and the pain of being no longer a boy and not yet a man must be tough on the fella, but nothing and no one can successfully help him navigate the murky depths of adolescence but himself....oh well, good luck.
Living amongst the beings described so far, a next-door neighbour girl silently watches, her gaze often evoking a weary air of sentience and an intuitive urge to soothe. She tells lies and keeps secrets (her own or others) with uncanny ease. This intriguing child is pregnant with a swirling undercurrent of emotions that a girl of her age shouldn't be marooned in. She is intoxicated with the bliss of a future while languishing in the melancholy of her present. Her pensive yearning is so palpable that we can sense it in her logistically fixated behaviour, and understand her odd pragmatism to not openly divulge her vulnerabilities. That said, her equally willing generosity in letting kindred spirits into her world, suggests something astoundingly heartening - that shared pain transforms and heals people. Cliched though it may sound, knowing that one is not alone is not only comforting, it's therapeutic.
Lastly, I shall focus on a little boy (the younger son of the single dad), whom more than any characters in this ensemble, articulates this film's themes well and serves as its best emotional anchor. The things he does are somewhat meaningless but ceaselessly fascinating. This inquisitive boy actively seeks out strangers or strange things without guile. He willingly tackles one mystery after another, searching for answers to anything which may confound his unformed mind. For example, throughout this film, we see him chasing after an unknown chiming that happens everyday at dawn. What could be its source? He also does not fully grasp the hidden meanings adults are so fond of engaging in modern conversations. He communicates without completely understanding the context, hence coming off as refreshingly honest. Being new to a world fraught with hidden dangers, this child surprisingly purifies a world which, unbeknownst to him, may even succumb to his commanding innocence. In the end, we share in the delight of his discoveries, but I wonder why is that so? Is it because we too desire to unravel any past unsolved mysteries gnawing inside our childhood? Do we hope to be as pure as he is and be as impervious to the impurities so keen on sullying our respective lives? Or do we still have misgivings imprisoning our more matured beings, stunting our future growth and are thus heartened that they can be resolved, at least, in fictitious universes? Alas, I don't have all the answers.
To me, this wide-eyed boy sums up the romantic glow that shines on the film's darker corners, urging me and you and everyone we know to stop and enjoy the inherent wonders residing in the stolen seconds and minutes within our lives. He encourages us to stare at the sun and not be afraid to make some noise, to recognise who we are, and be willing to try out how to do what, whenever, instead of fixating on the why, or who we may become. Yes, we are all ignorant of our fates and may fear the worst, but there will never be a silver lining awaiting us if we do not aim for the sky. If we do not let our flight of fancy soar beyond the murky clouds of doubts, our maladies will never be cured. As a result, we may find ourselves increasingly unable to let go of our accumulated defenses. We may forever lose ourselves in the dark waters of our respective misgivings.
(End of spoilers)
The film's oft-criticised quirks and the hotly debated moral ambiguities aside, I think Me and You and Everyone We Know is a film infused with Miranda July's uniquely passionate vision. Its universe may be populated by off-centred characters, but stripped of the candy coating, its expressive core reveals a pure and deep reservoir of transcendental romanticism. Our eyes are opened to the ecstatic truths embracing our randomly meaningless lives, highlighting the beauty of numbing banalities and sublime wonders that co-exist within all our living moments. If we bother to look, we will find welcoming joys in all the unlikely places. Such an endearing motto sure beats just breathing, drinking, eating, shitting, fornicating, sleeping and all around being boring. As the Pet Shop Boys once famously uttered, "We were never being boring, we were never being bored....", and we shouldn't be.
This film geek thinks Me and You and Everyone We Know is unlike the rest of most American independent films out there. That this contemporary masterpiece of human observation is very often compared or mentioned in the same breath as those cinematic swill, well, breaks his heart. He shall attempt to argue why he believes so.
Despite their similar "genre" trappings, I always get this suspicion that most American Independent filmmakers get off making films which show off their understanding of film school references, sardonic witticism or metaphorical ironies. They set out contriving characters and circumstances to encircle such conceits. Though they may not admit to it, these myopic ego-maniacs harbour hopes for critical appreciation. Dependent on their abilities, they will set off on a differing course attempting to achieve this ambition. If they can't win unanimous praise, they hedge their bets making films to reflect their devil-may-care, self-referentially sophomoric tendencies (cough *Kevin Smith* cough). If they can, they fashion deliberate, preferably trademarked styles, and fixate on "cool" aesthetics or pontificating themes just to "corner the market" (cough *Wes Anderson* cough). Either way, they all do what they do in a bid to elevate their products above mediocrity, to achieve a somewhat distancing stylistic/emotional quirkiness which trumpets an overriding pride to swim against the current. It always boils down to an agenda to shout out their "me me me...." intellectuality rather than the genuinely humanistic desire to tell stories about me and you and everyone we know (of which any insights gained are entirely up to the viewers' discretionary contemplation).
Lest I be accused of presumption, Me and You and Everyone We Know may arguably possess the above contentious qualities, but I feel it is ruled less by its idiosyncratic self-awareness and guided more by debut helmer Miranda July's wildly rampaging and deeply intuitive sensibilities. This woman, due in part to her romantic eccentricities and alternative arts background, seems to capture the pulse of normalcy extremely well, perhaps because an outsider tends to see the things we take for granted more clearly. Her willingness to show us her (floating) life and worldviews are thus, illuminating. I argue that Miranda is like a sensitive visionary, bursting to set alight a selected dark spot within the vast cinematic universe. She knows her glow is not for everybody, and she is honestly incapable of spreading herself thin. This concentrated dose of radiating energy may thus be therapeutic to some or highly carcinogenic for others. No prizes for guessing that I beg for her refreshingly healing powers.
If you'd asked me, there are no generic designs from Me and You and Everyone We Know to solicit any specific response, because it understands that our respective closets differ in shapes and sizes. For the purpose of this discussion, I shall solely focus on the film's respective characters and extrapolate any further thoughts from there.
(Spoiler Alert: As this piece is meant more as a post-viewing discussion, plot revelations may be hinted at, but kept to a bare minimum.)
A struggling performance artist toggles between her dream of pursuing her ambition and her harsh realities of under-appreciation and lovelessness. She is sensitive to all living things but may be too quirky to function for her own good. At night, at home, forlorn and alone, the woman is a neurotic mess, which perhaps fuels her angst and propels her art; but by day, she conscientiously goes about her work of ferrying old folks to and fro. This day job is not without its merits, for it allows the woman to gain a clearer perspective on her art and life, via the wisdoms gently imparted by her elderly charges.
As the film's title suggests, this intensely quirky woman is not the sole portrait existing in its suburban landscape. It also harbours a boat of wandering souls, bobbing up and down the currents, staring blankly at imaginary seas. These myriad characters may or may not be connected with one another, but their respective flames faintly flicker, fanned ever so precariously by loneliness, boredom, emotional dystrophy and unquenched desires.
For instance, the performance artist's artwork is rejected by an avant garde curator. This curator in turn doubts her own ability in sifting through an increasingly obtuse set of criteria for the judgement of art. Though the curator wields her condescending power over the struggling artists, she finds herself the subject of ridicule from more established icons in the field. The realisation of the meaningless nature of her professional pursuits exacerbates her insecurities and hopelessness, causing her to begin questioning the worth of her own work and, by extension, the state of her personal life.
Then there is the object of the performance artist's desire, a newly single father of two young sons. The "self-immolating" man has been recently divorced from a wife who badgers him with an alarmingly passive aggressiveness. He works in a department store selling shoes and singing the blues. His sense of inadequacy as a father is balanced by his love for his children. The man is currently lost in transit, his emotional wounds left raw and gaping. Consciously waxing lyrical about his solemn state of being, he is simultaneously pretentious and pitiful. Thankfully, he has the opportunity of starting a whole new relationship with our quirky protagonist. However, once bitten by a failed marriage, will the man overcome his twice-compounded shyness? Is he ready to love again?
Working alongside him is a fellow colleague, a nice enough guy though he is not much to look at. Due to circumstances not entirely contrived by him, this movie shows the man spending his spare time engaging in harmless/mischievous banter (depending on one's perspective) with a pair of bored teenage girls. What is his motivation for indulging in his "hobby"? Will he act on his urges instead of stopping himself in time?
The girls form an interesting specimen of suburban fauna. They are too naive to realise they are baiting their charms at their own risks and too clueless to realise they are being callous to a neighbourhood boy (the single dad's elder son). They are dependent on each other for a mutual approval of their fragile self-image. Their vacuum-like existence in a place of perpetually sanitised inertia not only magnifies their desires to grow up, it also affords them a narrow range of emotional high-lows, framed within a wider spectrum which they are incapable to fathom at this point in time. Ultimately, is this pair of aimless youths capable of empathising with anyone but themselves? Are they vindictive vixens-to-be or just dazed and confused adolescents?
The elder son of the single dad is a more cryptic read. A telling scene of the boy staring blankly at his family portrait during an otherwise unrelated moment reveals the maelstrom of emotions coursing through his red-blooded veins. More self-aware than his younger brother on the impact of his parent's failed marriage on their respective lives, the boy appears moody and confused. Compounded by his sexual awakening, his muffled mind and his burning loin engage in a tug of war, ceaselessly tormenting his impending growth. The angst and the pain of being no longer a boy and not yet a man must be tough on the fella, but nothing and no one can successfully help him navigate the murky depths of adolescence but himself....oh well, good luck.
Living amongst the beings described so far, a next-door neighbour girl silently watches, her gaze often evoking a weary air of sentience and an intuitive urge to soothe. She tells lies and keeps secrets (her own or others) with uncanny ease. This intriguing child is pregnant with a swirling undercurrent of emotions that a girl of her age shouldn't be marooned in. She is intoxicated with the bliss of a future while languishing in the melancholy of her present. Her pensive yearning is so palpable that we can sense it in her logistically fixated behaviour, and understand her odd pragmatism to not openly divulge her vulnerabilities. That said, her equally willing generosity in letting kindred spirits into her world, suggests something astoundingly heartening - that shared pain transforms and heals people. Cliched though it may sound, knowing that one is not alone is not only comforting, it's therapeutic.
Lastly, I shall focus on a little boy (the younger son of the single dad), whom more than any characters in this ensemble, articulates this film's themes well and serves as its best emotional anchor. The things he does are somewhat meaningless but ceaselessly fascinating. This inquisitive boy actively seeks out strangers or strange things without guile. He willingly tackles one mystery after another, searching for answers to anything which may confound his unformed mind. For example, throughout this film, we see him chasing after an unknown chiming that happens everyday at dawn. What could be its source? He also does not fully grasp the hidden meanings adults are so fond of engaging in modern conversations. He communicates without completely understanding the context, hence coming off as refreshingly honest. Being new to a world fraught with hidden dangers, this child surprisingly purifies a world which, unbeknownst to him, may even succumb to his commanding innocence. In the end, we share in the delight of his discoveries, but I wonder why is that so? Is it because we too desire to unravel any past unsolved mysteries gnawing inside our childhood? Do we hope to be as pure as he is and be as impervious to the impurities so keen on sullying our respective lives? Or do we still have misgivings imprisoning our more matured beings, stunting our future growth and are thus heartened that they can be resolved, at least, in fictitious universes? Alas, I don't have all the answers.
To me, this wide-eyed boy sums up the romantic glow that shines on the film's darker corners, urging me and you and everyone we know to stop and enjoy the inherent wonders residing in the stolen seconds and minutes within our lives. He encourages us to stare at the sun and not be afraid to make some noise, to recognise who we are, and be willing to try out how to do what, whenever, instead of fixating on the why, or who we may become. Yes, we are all ignorant of our fates and may fear the worst, but there will never be a silver lining awaiting us if we do not aim for the sky. If we do not let our flight of fancy soar beyond the murky clouds of doubts, our maladies will never be cured. As a result, we may find ourselves increasingly unable to let go of our accumulated defenses. We may forever lose ourselves in the dark waters of our respective misgivings.
(End of spoilers)
The film's oft-criticised quirks and the hotly debated moral ambiguities aside, I think Me and You and Everyone We Know is a film infused with Miranda July's uniquely passionate vision. Its universe may be populated by off-centred characters, but stripped of the candy coating, its expressive core reveals a pure and deep reservoir of transcendental romanticism. Our eyes are opened to the ecstatic truths embracing our randomly meaningless lives, highlighting the beauty of numbing banalities and sublime wonders that co-exist within all our living moments. If we bother to look, we will find welcoming joys in all the unlikely places. Such an endearing motto sure beats just breathing, drinking, eating, shitting, fornicating, sleeping and all around being boring. As the Pet Shop Boys once famously uttered, "We were never being boring, we were never being bored....", and we shouldn't be.
Labels: american indie, miranda july
posted by Jeffrey Koh at 3:40 AM
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