Almost Linear

By Jack Davis

Greetings again! If you’re returning, thanks for coming back, and if you’re new, welcome! This is Part One of a two-part series where I’ll be discussing the films of one of the most unique writers out there, Charlie Kaufman. Even if it’s not his name on the directing credit, I think anyone familiar knows a Charlie Kaufman film when they see one. In this part, I’ll be discussing what makes a Kaufman movie.

Charlie Kaufman is one of my favorite screenwriters to this day, even if the films he’s directed himself have proved more perplexing than usual. I love Kaufman as a writer for a similar reason that I like Ari Aster, or Quentin Tarantino (I know it’s not usual to see these filmmakers mentioned in the same breath). It’s not just the dialogue, which they each have a unique mastery of, but it’s how they set the scene. I remember being on vacation in upstate New York, getting creeped out as I read the screenplay to Aster’s Hereditary in a coffee shop. I remember the specific feeling of disorientation as I read Kaufman’s existential nightmare I’m Thinking of Ending Things. It’s worth noting / conceding that Tarantino and Aster are easier to go to bat for; they’re more well known (although I’d argue anyone who’s seen Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind or Being John Malkovich (a lot of people) knows Kaufman, they just don’t know they know), and their movies are relatively easier to watch. But none of them manage to weave reality into the realm of the absurd as seamlessly as Kaufman does.

When I hear about absurdism in film, I tend to hear emphasis on the visuals, they more often than not tend to be “experimental” pieces, and people generally mention a lack of plot or dramatic tension, at least to the level that you can take it seriously. It’s possible I’m being too general, but assuming those are the widely agreed upon characteristics, that’s something Kaufman’s films are and are not at the same time.

For a bit of guidance on how Kaufman’s films are unique in this aspect, I looked to the piece Timothee Lee did for Polygon titled “Charlie Kaufman’s Movies Are Radical Therapy.” Lee lists three criteria that “link Kaufman’s meta-narrative odysseys”:

Number One: “First, the typical Charlie Kaufman protagonist is insecure and constantly questions their worth or place in the world. Because of these internal barriers, they often feel distant from their communities, and unable to connect with anyone.”

Number Two: “Kaufman puts his main characters in strange, unsettling circumstances or environments that only they and a small group of people seem to acknowledge. Kaufman’s characters live in almost-realistic settings that inevitably feature absurd, logic-defying, fantastical elements.”  

And last but not least,

Number Three: “The meta-narrative that all Kaufman protagonists navigate blur the lines between reality and fantasy to such an extent that it’s difficult for the audience (and sometimes, the characters) to discern what is real and what isn’t.”

Looking over these, it’s hard not to see that absurdism is both present and absent. You can also argue that the tenets one would classify as not lending themselves very well to absurdism. Take Eternal Sunshine of The Spotless Mind, for example. The story of Joel and Clementine, before and after the reveal of the device enters the picture, is a very grounded one (it doesn’t hurt that, in a movie about relationships, Kaufman’s strength is dialogue). Joel feels general discontent about the state of his life, has a very difficult time talking to anyone he hasn’t known for a long time, has trust issues, and is prone to getting jealous. Clementine is more assertive and possesses the excitement and spontaneity that Joel seemingly craves, but is equally unstable. It’s also apparent Joel – at times – seems to wish in a partner that he could have the good but not the bad. These are all things that fit like a glove into a regular relationship film, and fits smoothly into the criteria of number one. But that’s not all there is to the story.

It’s soon revealed that there is a facility, somewhat normalized in this fictional – both otherwise seemingly regular – society where you can get unpleasant memories erased, whether it be the death of one’s cherished pet or an entire relationship. We learn rather early in – around the same time Joel does, when his friend (breaking protocol) reveals it to him – that Clementine has already undergone this procedure. Furthermore, we learn that this happened before the story as we know it started, so what we’re following is something of a non-linear story. The movie ostensibly follows Joel as he – out of hurt and resentment – decides to have this procedure done on him, but most of the film actually takes place inside Joel’s brain when he’s asleep and has decided to change his mind about the procedure.

Of course, it’s essentially too late, but that doesn’t stop Joel from running around his psyche, trying to hide Clementine inside memories the computer would deem irrelevant for erasure. Visually, this is something to marvel at, yet this absurd device and adventure lend themselves to opportunities where Joel and Clementine mull over where they went wrong. That essentially fits both criteria two and three. The movie constantly toes the line between absurd psychodrama (psycho-dramady?) and a sincere, nostalgic mediation on how to reckon with a seemingly failed relationship.

Thank you for tuning in to the first part of my Charlie Kaufman series, where I broke down what makes a “Charlie Kaufman film” and the stirring of emotion that can come with watching one. Come back next week for the final part, where I’ll get a little more personal and a little less academic, go into how Kaufman’s films have specifically affected me.

Don’t be a stranger; I’d love for you to comment with any questions, concerns, or friendly disagreements. Also feel free to reach out to me through the “Contact Me” section of my page. Peace and love!