A four word review of Synecdoche, New York, auteur writer Charlie Kaufman's difficult-to-pronounce directorial debut and quite possibly magnum opus, an utterly bizarre story of a lonely genius played by Philip Seymour Hoffman who mounts a play about his life that takes place in a life-sized replica of New York, which creates worlds within worlds, infinitely looping inwards, and seems to be about life, death, love, the endless enormity yet meaningless minisculity of existence, which, coincidentally, the movie in which this is all taking place is also about, that is a film I was totally not in the right emotional state to watch, though maybe I was, and which has the librarian from Ghostbusters in it, which is awesome:
I didn't get it.
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