9
All4

“What are you doing that for?”

“…I’m just passing the time”

It is easy to dismiss Me You and Everyone We Know as merely a mumblecore mash-up of Magnolia, Happiness and The Squid and the Whale. And, for some, it will undoubtably be much too quirky for its own good (and I admit that there are a handful of scenes here which push at the boundaries of pretentiousness- see for instance the over-long goldfish sequence). However, to me this is quite possibly the most achingly accurate film ever made about the hunger for human connection in the digital age. Every character in Me You and Everyone We Know longs for something or someone, whether that is in the context of familial or romantic relationship or a friendship, but they are unable to overcome their own insecurities and foibles in order to make this connection happen. It is about apathy, about insecurity, about bone-deep loneliness. It is about people who are scared and ashamed, who feel held back by the world around them from expressing how they feel or what they want, whether emotionally or sexually. It is a messy, chaotic, unpredictable film, but this works perfectly because that messiness, chaos and unpredictability is the stuff of everyday life. And yet at the same time Miranda July also manages to impose a sense of transcendency and lyricism to every scene; as a result, the film both has its feet on the ground and its head in the clouds. For example, an early scene sees John Hawkes’ shoe salesman explaining to a customer that store policy says he is unable to touch their bare foot in order to help them try on a shoe- even if all parties consent to this, and it would assist the customer. And yet, when he does touch the customer’s foot- through the shoe, naturally- there is strange, unexpected spark of longing, a moment which permeates and percolates throughout the film.

The film is also highly perceptive in its musings on how the internet, even in the pre-social media era, was already beginning to change the way in which we communicate. It is quite astonishingly accurate in its argument that even though the internet allows more ways of connecting with more people than ever before, it also exacerbates and amplifies our pre-existing hang-ups, making us feel more alone than ever. Connection through a screen, through a window or otherwise at a distance, is a motif throughout: Miranda July’s bedroom artist character fails in her attempts to present a tape of her work to an art gallery in person, and only succeeds later when she makes a direct address to the gallery manager via a personal plea smuggled in at the end of her showreel; meanwhile, a middle-aged man presents his sexual fantasies to two teenage girls by sticking up cards in his window. This film is as sad, angry, hopeful, daring and earnest as its characters. Absolutely lovely soundtrack, too. A wonderful film.