Shrek 2

Me & You & Everyone We Know (2005)

DVD, Somerville, MA

January 28, 2007

1/2 / ****

In his four-star review Roger Ebert described Me and You and Everyone We Know as, “a film that with quiet confidence creates a fragile magic,” a “balancing act.” Well, if you put shit on a teeter totter that could also be a balancing act of quiet confidence that creates a fragile magic. I think the two have something in common.

In other words, Me and You and Everyone We Know is a pretentious pile of steaming dog feces. The writer, director, and star of this movie, performance artist Miranda July, describes on her website her character thusly: “Christine Jesperson is a lonely artist and “Eldercab” driver who uses her fantastical artistic visions to draw her aspirations and objects of desire closer to her.” So is this movie an intentionally quirky (God I hate that word!) pseudo-biography, a picture within a picture within a picture if you will of the artist as a young woman? Does that sound like something you might find interesting? I certainly did not.

Let me describe one scene that I think somewhat encapsulates the film. With that information, you should be able to tell whether Me and You and blah blah blah is your type of picture or not.

Christine ogles a recent divorcee and shoe salesman, Richard, while he is on duty at a department store. They trade words over shoes. She leaves. Outside the store she waits for him. When he gets outside she approaches. The two walk together down a long street toward their respective parked cars. Along the way Christine describes their walk as an analogy for a long and fruitful romantic relationship. Richard sort of concurs. At the end, they separate, he toward his car, she toward hers. Then, as he drives away she comes stumbling next to his car. She invites herself in, he gets confused why a stranger would do such a thing, questions her on the matter, and she relents, leaving the car in sadness. Richard drives away. The scene ends.

What!? These aren’t real people. These are quirky (there’s that damn word again!) character templates from a bizarro version of Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus set in Pluto, sad sacks of humanoids who are hardly real, hardly endearing, and hardly entertaining. And don’t even get me started on when that little kid kisses that older lady right on the mouth!

But wait, I’m not done yet.

Boston Globe reviewer Ty Burr in his four-star review described the film as “an unthreatening Todd Solondz or Napoleon Dynamite for grown-ups.” Very astute and accurate descriptions, I think, but is July’s movie in league with either? Welcome to the Dollhouse this isn’t, not even close, and compare how Solondz treats pedophilia predilection in Happiness with July’s account here. Solondz is a talented though demented storyteller who makes you think. July is a mad scientist minus the science who makes you shudder and scratch your head.

As for the Napoleon Dynamite comparison, well, both movies certainly are precious. Precious but not good, either one of them.

I’d like to add a dash of Amelie to the description of this delicate soufflé. Yeah, that’s it: 2 cups of Todd Solondz, 1 cup of Napoleon Dynamite for adults, and salt with Amelie to taste. Now that sounds about right. And just about enough to make me want to throw up on myself.

In sum, Me and You and Everyone We Know is the prototypical movie praised by critics and hated by you.