Yes, Miranda, Art Is Beautiful

I find it difficult to figure out what artist Miranda July is trying to accomplish in her debut feature-length film Me, You, and Everyone We Know. The opening sequence shows July playing Christine Jesperson, a less savvy version of herself, engaged in a video project (the same for which July is known in real life) involving photos of romantic scenes, some quirky sound device and her own enchanted narration. When July (okay, Christine) finishes the take, she puts on her awkward employee vest and heads to work (making it clear that yes, she is the unappreciated geeky artist type.)
After this little slice of the secret, impassioned life of the leading misfit, I lost any hope of having a profound experience. This stuff was just too adorable to be taken seriously by any audience member outside the mainstream. Allow me to illustrate how I believe this film was intended to function, and how it failed. It easily fits into the category which I refer to as Geek Revolution films: this category is designed to express to the masses that it’s okay to be a Geek, that Geeks have feelings too, and that maybe you could love a Geek if you just took the time to get to know one. I for one consider myself a loyal and steadfast supporter of this Revolution, so I am continually dismayed at the insertion of sexy, wildly appealing protagonists into roles that should be reserved for only the most awkward, goofy-looking, and socially disastrous creeps and losers. When this happens, the audience ends up falling in love with the sexiness, not the geekiness, and the sacred ideals of the Geek Revolution are compromised.
So even though I found the opening scene somewhat charming, I was put off by the total saturation with adorableness. There was not a trace of anything objectionable about her. So then, it became rather difficult to feel any sense of crisis on her behalf, particularly in her struggle to find a mate; I just can’t believe it would be that hard. She’s ultra-considerate (drives around old people) ultra-creative and imaginative, ultra-dedicated to what she does, as well as ultra-gorgeous—the camera is consistently drawing attention to her dazzling blue eyes and neat dark curls, not to mention, on more than one occasion, coming dangerously close to delivering a classic Hollywood ass-shot. It is here that I find the biggest problem with July’s film. She is not sincere in speaking on behalf of the geeks, artists, and losers with which she pretends to identify, because she doesn’t believe it’s possible to make anyone love these precious people without lubricating them with a generous dollop of Hollywood bullshit.
Fortunately, the film is not restricted to following July’s quest to achieve that perfectly accessible, quirky cuteness. The man playing opposite July, John Hawkes, is quite good, and brings a more authentic loser-ness to the screen. Of course, he does have to have brilliant blue eyes that gaze out with childlike wonder, but even the most stalwart revolutionaries must make concessions here and there. I think it’s enough that he screwed up a marriage with children.
The film also creates some interesting relationships between its secondary characters, most of which play out in decidedly un-mainstream situations such as the little girl next door buying kitchen appliances for her hope chest, or the two awkward teenage girls flirting with the pervert posting dirty messages to them in his window. My favorite scene must be the two young brothers engaging in an anonymous sex chat over Instant Messenger. The success here is owed to the phenomenal little boy playing the younger brother, Robbie, as he carefully describes the act of “pooping back and forth.”
Regardless of how successful these brief scenes may be on their own, when the film is over I ask myself what was the point? Of course, films don’t have to make a point, often they intend only to present a piece of real life, in which myriad philosophies and opinions intertwine, intersect, and collide. However, Me, You, and Everyone We Know had anything but an objective perspective. July’s vision was overwhelming, not just in her portrayal of Christine Jesperson (the clothes, the room décor, the artwork) but also in the quick, memory-collage-style cuts dicing up the scenes, and especially in the unrelenting emotional punctuation provided by Michael Andrews’s electronic score. So if the point was to look through the eyes of a stylish, thirty-four-year-old, successful mixed-media artist, what were we supposed to see? That art is beautiful? And that beauty is often found in out-of-the-way places? The beauty in this film can be found at Hallmark. Next time, leave the Geek Revolution to the diehards.