Synecdoche (pronounced /sɪˈnɛkdəkiː/; from Greek synekdoche (συνεκδοχή), meaning “simultaneous understanding”) is a figure of speech[1]in which a term is used in one of the following ways:
– From Wikipedia
- Part of something is used to refer to the whole thing (Pars pro toto), or
- A thing (a “whole”) is used to refer to part of it (Totum pro parte), or
- A specific class of thing is used to refer to a larger, more general class, or
- A general class of thing is used to refer to a smaller, more specific class, or
- A material is used to refer to an object composed of that material, or
- A container is used to refer to its contents.
I had the fortune of watching Charlie Kaufman’s Synecdoche, New York over the weekend, a viewing long overdue since its theatrical debut in 2008. Having seen how polarized and divided critics were on Kaufman’s vision – from enthusiastic praise to scathing scorn – I was curious to see why exactly one of my favorite writers could possibly enthrall and enrage critics all around. So after finishing Synecdoche, New York, I definitely saw why Roger Ebert considered it one of the films to be studied in film classes for years to come, simply because it’s that kind of movie.
For those unfamiliar with the film: Caden Cotard (Phillip Seymour Hoffman), a skilled theatre director, realizes he is slowly dying from a mysterious autoimmune disease, and hits rock bottom when his wife Adele (Catherine Keener) takes their daughter Olive and leaves to start a new life in Berlin, away from the sullen and seemingly oppressive atmosphere of their home in New York City. Unexpectedly, Caden receives a MacArthur Fellowship, allotting him money so he can explore and endeavor upon his own artistic ideas. With this, he gathers an ensemble cast into a warehouse in the Manhattan theatre district, directing them to create the greatest, most revolutionary play of all – a look into the cold, unspectacular aspects of real life.
After the credits rolled on in, I sat at my desk for a few moments to take in what I’d just experienced: a maddening tale of one man’s delirium and coping mechanism with death; a look into the obsession of the creative process; the odd, ungainly and inexplicable visual detail that intentionally stuck out like a sore thumb the entire story course; sudden leaps in chronology that could make Kurt Vonnegut pause for a few moments; or perhaps even a sad portrait of the sad life of a genius, and much more. Synecdoche, New York is that kind of movie – the one that takes more than one viewing to see all of its nuances, perhaps faulty editing and all.
Having given the film some adequate (but certainly not enough) musing, I thought of this: in Caden’s obsession to replicate every aspect of his life into the ultimate replica play, he effectively becomes the theatrical master of hindsight – a feat not too dissimilar to documentaries, photojournalism, or even reality television shows.
Hindsight is one of the most dastardly aspects we could ever hope to indulge in. “I should’ve, would’ve, could’ve, why didn’t I, why did I…” – the infinite possibilities could you drive you mad with regret if you don’t learn something from past mistakes to change your course of action for the future. In Caden’s case, his entire life is one of regrets: before Adele leaves him, she comments that he is a disappointment, invariably setting off a chain of events which drive Caden to constantly look at hindsight, to continuously reevaluate his past actions in order to feel worthy in Adele’s shadow – a feat he never personally accomplishes until the very end. By constructing the ultimate reality play – from buildings to people playing people playing people – Caden attempts to explore the mundane aspects of his life that have already happened, almost a therapeutic retrospect project so that he can understand why everything in his life seems to be falling apart slowly and surely.
Caden’s efforts are not so different than the nature of a reality show, albeit on a grander and monumental scale. Like Caden’s magnum opus, reality TV shows are always after the fact, a look into events that have happened only months before. Edited for the sake of marketability, these shows are deeply personal to the players involved, only to be broadcasted hereafter to a greater, wider audience. The only saving grace between the viewer and the person on screen is the television screen itself, and the passage of time between the initial filming and eventual broadcast.
For Caden, however, there is almost no barrier between reality and hindsight, a product of his personal obsession to make his play absolutely perfect and unequivocally unspectacular. This minimalistic (if nonexistent) barrier eventually drives the actors to depression, perhaps madness, and death – a symptom of reality and hindsight becoming broadcasted too close to one another.
The question now is whether or not Caden successfully breaks closer to reality than any other artist before him, or if he simply dropped into the abysmal obsession of recreating and replica crafting – that is, whether or not Caden taps into the reality of human nature with his magnum opus.
Perhaps the first question we must consider is what the nature of human is. For instance, is it so far-fetched to consider that perhaps on some level, documentation dilutes events already past? And to what extent of documentation and publishing/broadcasting/performance does the portrayal become less adherent to the reality that once was? More importantly, through whose lens are we considering the events taking place, and to what extent is this lens subjective?
What we can say about Caden and his synecdoche of New York City is that deep down, he is a man who simply wants to be loved. He has made choices in life that resulted in Adele’s ultimate rejection, and his visionary play becomes almost like his last hope of ever feeling self-worth in Adele’s eyes. The remainder of his life is a constant catch up chase, a mistake-correcting cycle that revolves solely around his desire to create something undeniably perfect from all perspectives, and the inevitability that death and time effectively neuter his last living years of artistic obsession, and that he will never, ever find closure with Adele.
Analysis to be continued…
Recommended Reading
• The best films of the decade - Roger Ebert
• O, Synecdoche, my Synecdoche! – Roger Ebert
• The Chuck Klosterman Interview Part 2: 30 Rock, Mad Men, The Office, Arrested Development, and Why Movies and TV have made us less human – Hunter Stephenson of /Film