Me and You and Everyone We Know
This is a very nice movie. It’s one of those independent movies that slip through the cracks and end up being wonderful. It’s got many of the usual suspects: impossibly depthy dialogue, a few unexplainable moments that are either HOT or disturbing, a soundtrack that’s quite pleasant in a 2012 sort of way, and a perplexing ending.
I don’t remember any stars in this movie, which is really the winning formula; either you (as filmmakers) were taking yourself and your content seriously enough that you didn’t bother to crutch it with a famous person, or the actual famous people did a good enough job that I didn’t notice (though I’ll freely admit that I’m less observant than most people, children included).
Me and You� revolves around the lives of an impossibly adorable woman in her thirties (probably) and a man with a perplexing goatee. She, a performance artist and Elder Cab operator, he a rebel intellect department store shoe salesman. The story revolves around them, and, conceivably, everyone they know.
This includes his two kids, her elderly patrons, his co-worker, and the contemporary art folks at the Contemporary Art Center (as well as the two sixteen year old babes that are only connected to them through second generation – Ms. July had the presence of mind to realize that an independent film has no chance of getting off the ground with a little bit of T & A).
Me and You� is a gem of a film, in that it tries to tackle the big picture, the destruction of interpersonal communication a la Robert Putnam or I Heart Huckabees. The remarkable thing about this film is that it achieves a high level of success in pursuing this lofty goal. To trade in such heavy fare is no light task, and to do so in the independent realm borders on the deranged.
To dig into a philosophical investigation of the world around you in a sit-and-talk, stand-and-talk, drive-and-talk style is about as hackneyed and stupid as anything I could think to try in the year 2005 (without the prominent involvement of a Harvard Scholar or Mark Wahlberg). Yet Miranda July knocked it out of the park.
She does so by introducing imperfection to the characters that are sorting out the heavy issues of the modern village and sub-conscious self-mortification (these were among my favorites), a move contrary to nearly every other human that has ever attempted this type of portrayal. Richard (John Hawkes) plays the expected “philosopher in service work” role, but does so in a remarkably believable manner.
Anyone who is brilliant and insightful, kind and considerate, would never be a shoe store salesperson; he’d be a writer (ladies take note: you’re reading the words of a writer, with an email address and penchant for fine dining and long beach-swept walks). Ms. July does a great job of making Richard the type of imperfect soul that sees the brilliant, the insightful, the kind, and the considerate, but can’t muster the strength to be those things.
He has moments where he doesn’t just smile his way through the tough parts of his life; he is affected by them, and responds to them destructively. I applaud this because it is both compelling and grounded in reality (good luck seeing those two in bed again this year).
The same is the case with Christine (Miranda July). She is a performance artist and a cab driver to the elderly, which makes her by default creative and caring. That combination leads to the oft-misused term quirky, and recollections of several different people from both high school and college.
The special part of Ms. July’s interpretation of the quirky girl is that she is occasionally weird in a way that puts you off. No one is perfectly quirky, and it is tricky to allow that weird bit of failure into your movie (especially when you are playing the role of quirky girl yourself).
The film is imperfect, of course. When dealing with something as sneaky as our shared and impending doom, you’re going to miss once in a while. But, until you can do it better yourself, shut up and applaud the effort. That’s my policy, anyway.
I am not sure what to do. I generally like to write incoherent tracts that might be humorous sometimes, depending on how much I drank before and during the movie, and then again during my little bit of typing. I failed big time on this one for two reasons.
First, it was a 5:10 show and I had to go straight from work, so I couldn’t get drunk (and I haven’t had a drink all day – as it’s only 1:30 right now). The second end of it is that I feel a bit odd digging into this movie in such a latently disrespectful way when it is an indie. That’s just me. But I don’t know what to do about such a boring movie review. Maybe close with a knock-knock joke.
Knock. Knock.
Who’s there?
Embattled performance artist
Embattled performance artist who?
Maybe it’s me. Or was it YOU the whole time?
(I’ll try harder on the knock-knock next time) But do I get any points because of the floating Ms. July joke? Or am I the only one who thinks about Playboy all day? See the movie.
