Anomalisa – first look review | Little White Lies

Festivals

Anom­al­isa – first look review

06 Sep 2015

Words by David Ehrlich

Two people walking down a dimly lit corridor, one man in a suit and the other a woman in a floral dress.
Two people walking down a dimly lit corridor, one man in a suit and the other a woman in a floral dress.
The mas­ter of mis­an­thropy returns with a superb, qua­si-ani­mat­ed fea­ture on the nature of empathy.

An ani­mat­ed but crush­ing­ly real explo­ration of how empa­thy is our only escape from our­selves, Char­lie Kaufman’s first direc­to­r­i­al out­ing since 2008’s Synec­doche, New York begins inside a storm cloud of swirling voic­es, even­tu­al­ly emerg­ing to iso­late that of a sin­gle man.

His name is Michael Stone (David Thewlis, deliv­er­ing one of cinema’s best bod­i­less per­for­mances), and his face – which boasts promi­nent seams along his side­burns and appears to be made of hard felt – is pressed against the win­dow of an air­plane as it makes its descent towards the Cincin­nati air­port. He has a wife, he has a tearstained let­ter from anoth­er woman, and he has a British accent. The stranger in the seat next to him, a ner­vous fli­er who reflex­ive­ly clutch­es Michael’s hand dur­ing land­ing, may also have some of those things. Or none. We’ll nev­er know, because Michael nev­er cares to ask. And why should he?

It’s the same sto­ry with the cab dri­ver who schleps our bedrag­gled hero towards his gauche down­town hotel, proud­ly orat­ing to his pas­sen­ger about the city’s hottest tourist spots. Michael insists he’s only in town for one night, but that doesn’t stop the cab­bie from pros­e­lytis­ing about the local zoo (“It’s zoo-size!”). The cab­bie prob­a­bly had a first kiss, or maybe a trau­mat­ic child­hood mem­o­ry. He def­i­nite­ly has a morn­ing routine.

For Michael, who isn’t unkind to strangers, the chat­ty man in the front seat means lit­tle more than his util­i­ty. His voice blends in with those of all the oth­er sin­gle-serv­ing peo­ple who will nev­er mean any­thing to him, in part because all of the film’s sup­port­ing char­ac­ters – male or female – are per­formed by Tom Noo­nan. Each of the film’s phone calls begins with Michael reflex­ive­ly (opti­misti­cal­ly?) say­ing It’s nice to hear your voice,” but the voice on the oth­er end of the line is always the same.

By the time Michael is forced to con­tend with the unnerv­ing­ly robot­ic porter who shows him to his room, Anom­al­isa begins to feel like a fea­ture-length riff on the sequence from Being John Malkovich in which the actor enters a por­tal into his own mind and finds him­self sur­round­ed by peo­ple who are at once both per­fect­ly iden­ti­cal and strange­ly alien. This being a Char­lie Kauf­man script, the pur­pose of Michael’s vis­it is nat­u­ral­ly pro­vok­ing a mor­dant irony: A leg­end of the cus­tomer ser­vice indus­try, he’s flown to Ohio for a speak­ing gig tied to his recent­ly pub­lished busi­ness bible, How Can You Help Them? (The rabid­ness of his fans, who think of him as a celebri­ty god of sex, is milked for some of the story’s biggest laughs).

The Inva­sion of the Body Snatch­ers vibe is aid­ed immea­sur­ably by the fact that the film’s world is entire­ly pop­u­lat­ed by stop-motion pup­pets whose faces seem glued to their heads like masks. The cred­it here belongs to co-direc­tor Duke John­son, an ani­ma­tion wiz­ard whose work includes the likes of Mary Shelley’s Franken­hole (a project with which this review­er is total­ly famil­iar, and not just cit­ing here with a Tre­bek-ian pre­tense of knowledge).

As Michael nav­i­gates a near­ly pho­to­re­al­is­tic world that’s been designed from the details out (no film has ever been so keen­ly attuned to the Lynchi­an hor­rors of a swank hotel, from the frus­tra­tions of a key­card to the food but­tons on the phone), it’s easy to for­get that he isn’t made of flesh and blood. The secret is in his move­ments: he walks through the end­less hotel hall­ways like a man in the ear­ly stages of a night­mare, almost float­ing. The effect is won­der­ful­ly dis­com­bob­u­lat­ing, the movie both immer­sive and always just tilt­ed enough that you can afford to stop ques­tion­ing the sur­face of what you’re seeing.

And just when you think you have the lay of the land, chaos is intro­duced in the form of an excitable brunette with pink streaks in the hair that she matts over her sub­tly deformed right eye. Her name is Lisa (Jen­nifer Jason Leigh), and – for what­ev­er rea­son – her voice sounds unique to Michael. A stilt­ed romance soon blos­soms between the mar­ried trav­el­er and the shy intro­vert he con­vinces is wor­thy of his affec­tion, and fans of Eter­nal Sun­shine of the Spot­less Mind will feel right at home with the cringe-induc­ing can­did­ness and sud­den jolts of pas­sion that define the affair.

Set in 2005, per­haps in order for the sto­ry to antic­i­pate the age of social media fur­ther con­fus­ing our sense of per­son­hood, Anom­al­isa is, for all of its hilar­i­ous weird­ness, a pro­found­ly uni­fy­ing expe­ri­ence – Michael, so trapped in his shell, is nev­er more one with the world than when he glum­ly con­fess­es that he Might have psy­cho­log­i­cal prob­lems.” Kaufman’s gift for min­ing shared expe­ri­ences from pri­vate tor­ments makes this movie as hon­est and unique a heart­break­er as any he’s pre­vi­ous­ly writ­ten or direct­ed. Who else could man­age to wring tears (among oth­er flu­ids) from an ampu­tat­ed Japan­ese sex doll? Who else would try?

Char­lie Kauf­man is back. It’s good to hear his voice.

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