And, I ask, who hasn’t been tempted; exhausted and angry. Wrung out and sad. To wish to wash it all away…
This movie is clamorous, and jumbled, and confusing and sweet. Just like falling in love. Tenderness can be obscured by these tics, long endured. When at first we see only the enchanting possibility and none of the tiresome rest. Here instead we are offered a glimpse of the contempt of familiarity sent into retreat; the rut undug.
This is a love story in reverse, let run forward again. It is a portrait of romance that is resonant and revealing. It portrays moments of intimacy as they are; heart-rendingly lovely and breathtakingly embarrassing all at once. There is no adequate way to explain how we found our nicknames for each other, why we love to dance in our underwear, why our rituals evolve into the pattern and myth that offers enticing hints about, yet cannot encompass, the story of a particular love? Somehow this movie with its playful jangling pace and tone, does a better job than any other film I have ever seen.
The cast almost defies intuition. Theoretically, Jim Carrey fails to inspire me as a romantic hero but his Joel manages to render an enchantment with Clementine so palpable as to convince me utterly. Kate Winslet, so often prim and lovely, embodies perfectly a slightly spastic but nevertheless compelling example of womanhood you cannot fault Joel for loving, despite her many trying tendencies.
I am avidly NOT a fan of Kirsten Dunst (people that successful should see a dentist about that shit-this means YOU TOO Patricia Arquette!) and somehow this works for me, because when we discover that she has been the dupe of the less-than-totally-scrupulous Dr Howie, I am all a-glee. I do however love Mark Ruffalo and feel deep chagrin at his fondness for this self-righteous and shallow git. His pained admission as she walks away “I really like you Mary Spavo!” and the heel of his hand in the corner of his eye is poignant and winning and wonderful. Even if it is wasted on that slattern.
I somehow love Elijah Wood as an Uber Creep; stealing panties FTW! And David Cross always delights “I’m building a fucking birdhouse!” The cast fits together in a way that allows each to illuminate the other in surprising ways.
I must also make a point to mention the very excellent soundtrack by Jon Brion. Always one to offer compelling work, he here weaves music and sound effects to heighten the sense of disorientation at one moment, and enhance wonder at the next. It is by turns quirky and irksome, then soothing and sweet. It more perfectly matches the imagery and mood of this film than any other example of a soundtrack that I can think of. More, in the summer this film came out, I listened to “Everybody’s Gotta Learn Sometime” by Beck on repeat for hours, as if it was the only balm for the particular pain I was in. And indeed, it was.
In fact, this whole movie had that effect on me. It both illustrated and redeemed many of the things I believe and want to believe about love. It is the same sentiment and understanding communicated in a line from a song by The New Pornographers that says explicitly what this film portrayed in more nuanced terms: “Whatever the mess you are, you’re mine.” This, to me, is the truest, and most beautiful expression of love that exists. I do not love you because I fail to see all that you are, nor all that you are not. It is not that I am unaware of your flaws. I love you rather in spite of and because of them. You are beautiful and precious to me, entire. What with all your obnoxiousness and smells. So there.
And this is so perfectly, gorgeously, and touchingly conveyed. They stand across from each other in the hallway, having just listened to a litany of complaints, each about the other, rendered in their own voices, and yet they look at each other and he says…
“I don’t care”
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