Anomalisa
(2015 TIFF Review)

Preciousness and misanthropy have always been the twin hallmarks of Charlie Kaufman’s work, his characters’ misery heightened and sometimes enlivened by the writer-director’s ability to craft clever sci-fi/fantastical scenarios around them. In Eternal Sunshine for the Spotless Mind (which won him a Best Original Screenplay Oscar) or his 2008 directorial debut Synecdoche, New York, he has managed to make everyday loneliness and the gnawing sense of futility resonate with an almost ineffable sting. In Kaufman’s hands, life looks heartbreaking, and yet it can often be beautiful at the same time.
It’s hard to know yet whether Anomalisa is a new peak for Kaufman, or merely another highlight in a distinguished career. But what is clear at this point is that it’s piercingly poignant—perhaps his most succinct expression of the malaise that’s forever haunting his work. Anomalisa doesn’t resolve the issues that have eaten at his characters since his first published screenplay, 1999’s Being John Malkovich, but the honesty with which he depicts those struggles remain startling, even comforting. This movie is life-affirming, not because of any artificial feel-good sentiment, but because it mirrors one’s own mixed feelings about the wonders and horrors of being alive. Plus, it’s really funny.
Anomalisa was co-directed by Duke Johnson, an animator director, and is rendered entirely in stop-motion animation. Much like Wes Anderson’s Fantastic Mr. Fox, Anomalisa reflects Kaufman’s aesthetic in a way that’s purer and more direct than what live-action can provide. The fragile, deadpan, handmade quality of the characters serves as a shorthand for the neuroses and sadness that occupy all of Kaufman’s narratives.
Once we meet Michael Stone (voiced by David Thewlis), we feel like we know him. A productivity expert, Michael does speaking engagements around the world, his modest notoriety boosted by a successful self-help book he wrote a few years ago. But as he lands in Cincinnati for his next appearance, it’s clear he’s depressed, and not because he’s in Cincinnati. Really, it could be any town, which is part of the problem: In a few well-drawn early scenes, Anomalisa lays out the drudgery of life on the road, the crushing sameness of the hotel rooms and the blank, uniform friendliness of the employees. Adding to his troubles, we deduce from a brief phone call back home to England that Michael’s family life is far from perfect. There’s nothing terribly wrong with Michael, and maybe that’s why he’s so unspeakably melancholy: He’s cursed to be underwhelmed by his very existence.