Synecdoche, New York

Caden Cotard (Hoffman), a New York theatre director, is hot off the back of his latest successful production. But everything is far from peachy: his painter wife Adele (Keener) leaves him to flourish in Berlin, taking their young daughter with her; his therapist (Williams) is more concerned with plugging her latest book than lending a sympathetic ear. And, to top it all off, he is diagnosed with a degenerative condition that systematically shuts down his autonomic functions, one by one.

Rather than embracing apathy, however, Caden makes it his mission to create the ultimate theatrical masterpiece: an honest, if somewhat surreal, reproduction of his Manhattan neighbourhood – complete with people from his life, including a stage version of himself (Noonan) who is eerily accurate. As the years speed by, the set expands into an immense city-within-a-city, yet Caden remains dissatisfied, contemplating the tragic transience of human existence.

The concept is hard to get your head around, there’s no doubt about it. Unsurprising, given writer-director Charlie Kaufman’s previous writing credits include the dizzying Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and bizarre Being John Malkovich. But Synecdoche marks his directorial debut, making the penman himself responsible for transferring his convoluted ideas from script to screen for the first time. And to say that he’s pulled it off is an understatement.

The movie is poignant and contemplative; an emotional exploration into mundane life: ours hopes, strife, successes and fears, all overshadowed by the morbid inevitability of death. Yet thankfully it’s not all melancholy: turned on its head, Synecdoche is a celebration of what really matters in life: our relationships, our experiences, and what we leave behind. It is Kaufman’s mastery to portray these polar opposites in parallel, matched with the magnificent acting talent, that cement Synecdoche as intelligent and provocative cinema.

Owen Rye