You know that feeling when you finish a movie of overwhelming emotion washing over you? It might be when Rick tilts Isla’s head up and tells her “Here’s looking at you, kid”, when Deakins cranes out to a wide shot of Andy and Red finally embracing as free men on a beach, when a Sufjan Stevens song plays while Elio regretfully stares into a fireplace, when Hans Zimmer holds out his last F# for just a little longer while we impatiently wait for a top to fall, or when two lost souls in Tokyo hug one final time before they must inevitably depart each other.
It’s these kinds of moments that remind us of why we love movies so much. And it’s been so so so so long since I’ve gotten this reminder — until Anomalisa.
In 90 minutes, Kaufman delivers such tragic truths about human nature I’ve rarely ever felt portrayed so depressingly on film: the inherent hypocritical self-obsession we all have some degree of, the desperation of being special and the measures we would take to be so, yet also the ironic regularity of being another cog in the machine and blending into the rest of society. Like Inside Llewyn Davis, Kaufman is criticizing both sides — but I think more so the measures we take to be special, or more accurately, to have a Lost in Translation type experience that makes you feel special.
Michael craves this experience. After a long and boring life calling and meeting people that sound and look exactly the same, Michael finally meets the one. Her voice is like an angel’s, although ironically singing a feminist song that Michael might object to if he actually listened to the lyrics. Lisa tells him about her last relationship with a 60-year-old man that used her just because he thought he’d have a better chance with her; isn’t that what Michael is, but can’t accept? Lisa’s vulnerability is what makes her so attractive to him, like a doll he can fine tune.
Their relationship is intimate, but brief. After his egotistical dream with everyone in love with him and Lisa as the escape, reality unfortunately hits: nothing can last forever. Lisa’s face and voice becomes just like everyone else’s, and despite her willingness to remain loyal, Michael leaves her. He can’t accept the fact that Before Midnight’s “If you want true love, then this is it. This is real life. It’s not perfect, but it’s real,” rings true for everyone, no matter how successful or “special” you are. When Michael returns back home, he brings back a souvenir, a sex doll, a metaphorical representation of what he wished Lisa could be (the doll’s voice is like Lisa’s). As he stares at it, although we feel his lie is being challenged, we slowly realize that he’ll never change. After all, he, just like everyone else, is a robot with moving parts.
But that’s not “it”. What makes Anomalisa greater than the rest of the doomed romances, or as I like to call it, the “love isn’t perfect” movies, is how double-sided the coin he presents is. Who is he really criticizing? Michael’s character is much more complicated than I presented him. He’s actually quite sympathetic throughout the film; he gives money to the porter (who he clearly dislikes, and thinks of him as another cog in the machine), is gentle with Lisa during sex, and is generally kind to everyone he interacts with. Perhaps that’s just his persona, whereas his inner desires are a lot darker.
The key is that we can empathize with him. And whenever we empathize with a character in a film, it’s because we share many of the same feelings as them. In truth, Anomalisa is so depressing because we can see ourselves easily become Michael. Kaufman has created a character so real and authentic that we’re immediately drawn to his failures. We might like to think he’s a despicable person, but we’re actually all Michaels in some form or another. If Michael was truly despicable, we wouldn’t be scared. But since he feels real, it doesn’t matter if he’s despicable or not. What makes the film so scary is that his actions reflect the capabilities of all human beings, letting us see ourselves from an outside lens and realize how perverted we can be at our most desperate.
Anomalisa is an anomaly — it might not do for you what it did for me. That’s fine. Audiences will say Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is Kaufman’s best. Critics will argue Synecdoche, New York takes his vision to a whole new level, as well as being one of the greatest films of the past twenty years. But for me, Anomalisa hits hardest. And I’m standing by that.
A
It’s these kinds of moments that remind us of why we love movies so much. And it’s been so so so so long since I’ve gotten this reminder — until Anomalisa.
In 90 minutes, Kaufman delivers such tragic truths about human nature I’ve rarely ever felt portrayed so depressingly on film: the inherent hypocritical self-obsession we all have some degree of, the desperation of being special and the measures we would take to be so, yet also the ironic regularity of being another cog in the machine and blending into the rest of society. Like Inside Llewyn Davis, Kaufman is criticizing both sides — but I think more so the measures we take to be special, or more accurately, to have a Lost in Translation type experience that makes you feel special.
Michael craves this experience. After a long and boring life calling and meeting people that sound and look exactly the same, Michael finally meets the one. Her voice is like an angel’s, although ironically singing a feminist song that Michael might object to if he actually listened to the lyrics. Lisa tells him about her last relationship with a 60-year-old man that used her just because he thought he’d have a better chance with her; isn’t that what Michael is, but can’t accept? Lisa’s vulnerability is what makes her so attractive to him, like a doll he can fine tune.
Their relationship is intimate, but brief. After his egotistical dream with everyone in love with him and Lisa as the escape, reality unfortunately hits: nothing can last forever. Lisa’s face and voice becomes just like everyone else’s, and despite her willingness to remain loyal, Michael leaves her. He can’t accept the fact that Before Midnight’s “If you want true love, then this is it. This is real life. It’s not perfect, but it’s real,” rings true for everyone, no matter how successful or “special” you are. When Michael returns back home, he brings back a souvenir, a sex doll, a metaphorical representation of what he wished Lisa could be (the doll’s voice is like Lisa’s). As he stares at it, although we feel his lie is being challenged, we slowly realize that he’ll never change. After all, he, just like everyone else, is a robot with moving parts.
But that’s not “it”. What makes Anomalisa greater than the rest of the doomed romances, or as I like to call it, the “love isn’t perfect” movies, is how double-sided the coin he presents is. Who is he really criticizing? Michael’s character is much more complicated than I presented him. He’s actually quite sympathetic throughout the film; he gives money to the porter (who he clearly dislikes, and thinks of him as another cog in the machine), is gentle with Lisa during sex, and is generally kind to everyone he interacts with. Perhaps that’s just his persona, whereas his inner desires are a lot darker.
The key is that we can empathize with him. And whenever we empathize with a character in a film, it’s because we share many of the same feelings as them. In truth, Anomalisa is so depressing because we can see ourselves easily become Michael. Kaufman has created a character so real and authentic that we’re immediately drawn to his failures. We might like to think he’s a despicable person, but we’re actually all Michaels in some form or another. If Michael was truly despicable, we wouldn’t be scared. But since he feels real, it doesn’t matter if he’s despicable or not. What makes the film so scary is that his actions reflect the capabilities of all human beings, letting us see ourselves from an outside lens and realize how perverted we can be at our most desperate.
Anomalisa is an anomaly — it might not do for you what it did for me. That’s fine. Audiences will say Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind is Kaufman’s best. Critics will argue Synecdoche, New York takes his vision to a whole new level, as well as being one of the greatest films of the past twenty years. But for me, Anomalisa hits hardest. And I’m standing by that.
A