SYNECDOCHE, NEW YORK (2008)
Caden Cotard believes that he is dying. In a way, he is right. This is as true of him as it is of anyone who's ever drawn breath. Time slips away in a very special way for Cotard, though. He awakes one morning in September, but by the time he gets coffee, there's kids in Halloween masks running around. His wife takes his daughter to Europe for a short trip. His crush is flirting with him later, trying to get him to come home with her. He can't, he says, his wife is only gone for a week. "Caden, it's been a year!," she tells him. Some around him age at a startling rate, while others never seem to get a day older. Time is cheating Cotard. It's hard to describe how slippery time is in this movie, because it's utterly different than any other movie I can recall. I sat breathlessly waiting for the movie to start for a good hour, not realizing that this anticipation is itself the point. Life slips away while you focus on the future or the past. You are in a race against time - we all are - but how can a person get his or her head in the race when there are so many issues that need handling elsewhere? Dylan sang that he not busy being born is busy dying. Cotard is in a constant state of trying, and failing, to be born anew. With a grant from the MacArthur Foundation, he sets out to prove that he's worthy of the money and prestige, launching an enormous production that seeks to mirror life itself. But time pulls away at him here, too. Years pass with startling swiftness while we watch the production grow. Cotard keeps suggesting new names, new ways to launch his play. But the future he looks towards is always holding hands with the past, as his life is constantly popping up in his production, actors speaking his inner thoughts to each other, and Cotard no closer to understanding that his life is happening now, right there, not in front of his eyes, but in him. The play he is staging at the beginning of the movie is Death Of A Salesman, the great 20th century play about a man who cannot live his life because of his dreams. Synecdoche, New York is the 21st century answer, a retelling of Death Of A Salesman with the classic Charlie Kaufman Borgesian mindfuck. But it's also one of the most nakedly emotional movies of his - or anyone's - career. I thought he would have trouble again scaling the heights of Eternal Sunshine Of The Spotless Mind, but Synecdoche, New York goes right over the top, taking Eternal Sunshine's bittersweet mix of love and frailty and adding the sure knowledge that time is the enemy, indifferent to heart and soul and fair gamesmanship. Time will win in the end, and all that will be left of us are the structures we build, real and metaphorical. Leave something worthwhile. (HC)
THE FRENCH CONNECTION (1971)
The car chase scene in The French Connection is less a race against time than a race against a hijacked train. But let's not be nit-picky. You find yourself egging Doyle, Gene Hackman's obsessed cop on as he drives like the wind under the elevated tracks in Brooklyn, subway train speeding on above him. Why doesn't he just blast right through that mom and her stroller? Just put the pedal to the metal and out-drive all those damn squares for crying out loud. Who cares about regular folk when there is a mission to accomplish? But folks: Don't try this at home. In real life the subway always beats a car in New York City. (SCS)
VANISHING POINT (1971)
1971 was a good year for crazed lonely guys indulging in car chases. Vanishing Point is sort of like a porno. It does away with any extraneous exposition or dialogue, all that remains is a race against time for the pettiest of reasons. Footing the bill for a handful of amphetamines. Long stretches of open road and a car to propel the protagonist forward. The only way to beat this arm-rest clutching experience would be to actually race your own car across the continent. (SCS)
DEAD MAN (1995)
Being a fan of Two-Lane Blacktop, I like my races against time like I like my own race towards death: molasses-slow, meandering, and hallucinatory. Dead Man excels at these criteria. Many Westerns are morality tales, stories about people addressing conflicting ethical concerns out where the law doesn't apply, but Jim Jarmusch's Western is about learning to find your own soul before death takes you. Johnny Depp plays an accountant named William Blake. His parents are dead and he has nothing but the clothes on his back as he crosses out of civilization into the wild frontier town of Machine, somewhere in the Dakotas. The job promised him has dried up, and, despondent, he takes up with a beautiful woman. But her lover shows up and shoots her, and then waits, almost dispassionately, for Blake to do the expected thing and finish him off. Blake heads out into the woods, gut-shot and dying. This is where we begin. The first person to find Blake is an outcast Native American who calls himself Nobody (which he prefers to He Who Talks Loud, Saying Nothing). Nobody has been educated in Europe and believes Blake to be his namesake, the 18th century poet and painter. The two travel towards the sea, sowing death and destruction along the way. Rarely, however, do they encounter or kill someone who doesn't deserve it in some way. Out there beyond the grasp of civilization, all men are in a race towards death. Only Blake knows how close death hovers at his shoulder, and only Blake knows the preciousness of time. (HC)
Five seconds to Click Part One, Two, Three, Four & Five, McGruber!!!!!
Contributors: Hayden Childs, Sarah Clyne Sundberg