One part "Garden State," one part, "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and one part, "Happiness," the new toast of the independent film world, "Me And You And Everyone We Know," seems to develop one metaphor after the next and, in the end, is strangely satisfying — at least in an oddball sort of way.
"Me And You And Everyone We Know," financed by the Independent Film Channel (IFC), chronicles the lives of several diverse characters living in Los Angeles who all seem to have problems connecting with others. John Hawkes ("Deadwood") plays Richard Swersey, a single dad and philosophical shoe salesman who has been separated from his wife for one month. His two sons, Peter (Miles Thompson) and Robby (Brandon Ratcliff) spend their afternoons either on Internet sex chat rooms or making elaborate pictures out of periods, commas and semicolons. Christine Jesperson (Miranda July) runs an elder taxicab company (appropriately dubbed 'ElderCab') while creating performance art pieces in her spare time. She meets Richard on an ElderCab excursion and their eccentric love slowly blossoms.
Solo performance artist by trade and first time filmmaker Miranda July crafts her film in such a way that it stresses the difficulty of connecting with others in a modern day world. In July's world, almost every character is isolated from direct contact with others and are forced to use some sort of medium to do things as simple as converse. Whether it is leaving notes on windows, talking in chat rooms, creating elaborate fake conversations between lovers or hidden video messages — no character is left unscathed by the ever growing 'relationship divide.' July gives new meaning to "the message is the medium," by having her characters hide behind walls of detachment and loneliness created by modern innovations. July calls into question society's ability to cope with the isolation of a modern technological society.
But that is not to say that her characters are devoid of any desire for relationships. Their loneliness drives them to reach out to others, and it is here that July creates some of the more tender moments in the film. The cornerstone of "Me And You And Everyone We Know," is July's sidewalk metaphor for a life-long relationship. The sidewalk symbolizes a 60-year long relationship with the upcoming road being the afterlife where the two 'fake' lovers must part ways. While on one level this scene is extremely touching, on another level July seems to undermine it by having her character turn down an accompaniment to her car claiming that she, "shouldn't push her luck in the afterlife." No matter how hard two people try to reach out to each other, they seem to be unable to lose the shackles of dissociation.
July's strongest point is her dialogue. Whether comedic, dramatic or existential, July forms intelligent, thought provoking discourse. "Me And You And Everyone We Know," is at times as funny as any movie this year. July's idea of what an Internet sex chat between a 5-year-old and some random (or maybe not so random) person across the void of the Internet gives new meaning to certain sexual symbols.
Her characters are interesting case studies because instead of bottling in their innermost secrets and desires, the characters in "Me And You And Everyone We Know," speak their most intimate details like it is some sort of existential philosophy. And in a way, it is. When Richard first meets Christine, he sees that her ankles are scabbed. She claims she has a low ankle so shoes cut up her feet. Richard replies, "You think you deserve that pain, but you don't." And he's right, she doesn't, but then again, who makes such a bold statement when meeting somebody for the first time, especially in a retail setting?
July also is able to create sexually explicit scenarios with underage kids without stepping into the dreaded realm of perversion. While the situations she creates would be entirely inappropriate in the real world, they seem almost whimsical through her eyes.
Where, "Me And You And Everyone We Know," seems to suffer is that the characters involved are not real enough. No one spouts philosophy like Plato or has intimate conversations with people that they've just met. In a way, this movie suffers from the same thing it preaches. There is a certain disconnect between the characters and the audience which makes it hard to root for July or Hawkes. In the end, it seems they are both a little too eccentric for their own good. Or maybe it was July's modus operandi to create a film about disconnect where the characters are also disconnected from the audience. Like that Alanis Morisette song, "Ironic," July's film is either brilliant or idiotic, depending on her intentions.
Grade: B
