much like my constant battle to make sense of life, I sit here wrestling with my scrambling thoughts about a movie that seemingly eludes me, yet continues to crystallize as I steep and question and make sense—so let us indulge
Synecdoche, New York is a movie where seemingly every surreal moment is a commentary on life, is part of a larger conversation on how we choose to live. But does that conversation ever build? Does it take shape and build new layers? Does it morph into something ethereal, something that we the viewers can reflect back onto ourselves and our existence?
For instance, the repeated phrase “the end is built into the beginning” refers to the preciousness of life, of how little space there is between our birth and death, how insignificant our time here on earth can feel. Yet, where does that conversation go? How does Caden’s story ever evolve beyond exactly what it is? Caden is simply a man who cannot move on from his anxieties, cannot accept that we truly are insignificant and must therefore make the most of the time we have here on earth.
Or is that too simple of a reading? Is Caden’s immense struggle with this single truth of life enough? In a sense, the movie builds and builds and builds within that anxiety, as Caden attempts to construct a play he believes will provide him some sort of catharsis. I’ve spent so much time trying to define what that catharsis could be…but perhaps the movie is saying there is no catharsis to be found in such a venture. That if our projects become a means to an end, if we believe our work will provide a path from what is a simple ugly truth of life, then we will be forever stuck in that hell, in that inability to grasp that the real play is right here, in this very moment, amongst the people that love us and care about us and our well-being.
Perhaps the biggest takeaway here is that the movie doesn’t move in a linear fashion, isn’t constructed in a traditional sense that puts us at ease. The film does indeed take shape and morph, but instead of treading a linear path, this path spirals and expands and fluctuates rapidly, and is filled with repeated motifs and unresolved tensions, and makes life feel fleeting and disorganized as opposed to transient and harmonic. This exact struggle is what gives the film depth, is what allows its existential commentary to feel beyond what we typically see from film, to become a surreal visualization of life’s banalities and our inability to move beyond what we identify as personal failures. Even a gigantic project like Caden’s play cannot provide the catharsis we seek—again, it’s nothing more than a means to an end. This desperation to find meaning or resolution is for naught and keeps him in a cycle of anxiety and dissatisfaction, because…there is no meaning, and there is no resolution. When life has meaning, then we chase that meaning. But when we allow life to be meaningless, then we can exist within that lack of meaning and indulge in the beautiful transience of the “now,” of that otherworldly space that’s, actually, the most real force there is. We’re scared of the moment because the “meaning” seems more tangible, but it’s actually quite the opposite. The meaning is what we make it. But when we chase it, it becomes something beyond our comprehension and grasp. Which can make life feel uncontrollable and chaotic and just-out-of-reach. The “play” Caden wishes to construct distracts him from the fact that he’s living that play every day of his life, that the real power won’t come from the accolades the play receives but instead from the relationships he fosters each and every day.
So if Synecdoche, New York feels indulgent, feels outside of the nicely constructed stories that populate most movies…it’s because it’s supposed to. The movie is meant to amplify life’s most profound struggle. We are meant to be consumed by these questions just like Caden is. We are immersed in his struggle because it is the inherent struggle we must all inevitably face. And if we let that struggle consume us and dictate our direction in life, then we’ll end up just like Caden: stuck in a perpetual loop, constantly chasing meaning, constantly coming up short, constantly agonizing over our failures, constantly searching for answers—before, inevitably, we’re back to square one. The movie ends with Caden disappearing into a slate of empty grayness, exiting the world just as he came in, without any real impact. Bizarrely, we feel the weight of that lack of impact because Caden was so consumed by what he perceived as a lack. Which provides a profound lesson to the audience: meaning isn’t inherent, but constructed. Meaning is sitting right there in front of you, and the only thing that prevents you from recognizing it is your inability, your absolute fear of embracing it. Caden’s endless preparations and revisions are nothing more than fear, apprehension, doubt, uneasiness, panic, suspicion, angst. As Ellen says, “Caden Cotard is a man already dead, living in a half-world between stasis and antistasis. Time is concentrated and chronology confused for him. Up until recently he has strived valiantly to make sense of his situation, but now he has turned to stone.” Ironically, the chase for meaning doesn’t enliven us, but stalls us, cements us, fastens us to an unwinnable fight. This isn’t a movie about someone’s journey to realizing this, but somebody’s eternal inability to realize it. This becomes the movie’s grand statement: embrace life’s inherent chaos. Accept the lack of clear meaning. Find depth in the moment, in the things and people and ideas you can see right here, right now.
