Editor Reviews:

Description:
Award-winning and critically acclaimed, Me You and Everyone We Know, is a poetic and penetrating look at how everyday people struggle to connect with one another in an isolating modern world. Christine Jesperson (writer/director Miranda July) is a struggling artist and cab driver who uses her talents and imagination to draw her dreams and objects of desire. One such object is Richard Swersey (John Hawkes, TV's "Deadwood"), a newly-single father of two boys who is hoping for amazing things, yet panics upon meeting the captivating Christine. But in a world where the mundane is transcendent and people seek meaningful connections despite the risk, anything magical can happen - and well - happen.

Amazon.com:
One of the most critically acclaimed films of 2005, Me and You and Everyone We Know is also one of the most original feature debuts you're ever likely to see. Winner of the Camera d'or Award for best first film at the Cannes Film Festival, it's an altogether charming display of talent for writer, director, and costar Miranda July, a performance artist making a promising transition to film. Her loose-knit tale of love and longing encompasses a large cast of quirky and memorable characters, foremost among them being Christine (July), a forlorn dreamer who falls in love with Richard (John Hawkes, from HBO's Deadwood), who's going through a traumatic divorce. Richard is desperate to be a good father to his seven- and 14-year-old sons, both of whom have experiences that push Me and You to an almost perverse level of audacity, but July handles their potentially troubling scenes with such delicacy and tact that they seem almost miraculously innocent. The whole film is like that: It never, ever goes where you think it's going to go, and every scene tingles with humor, affection and curiosity for its characters. As it turns routine days into joyous opportunities for discovery, July's remarkable film is not for all tastes, but if you're looking for something new, different, and defiantly out of the mainstream, this gentle comedy's for you. --Jeff Shannon

Rating : - Quirky means... yicky, yucky, quacky
It's time to get quirky-- that means getting sentimental; that means getting melodramatic; that means being frustrating, and self-absorbed, and self-important. That means being quacky, and yicky and yucky. Watching these characters make them endearing, but if you actually knew them they would make you nauseous. This, my friends, is the face of independent cinema. Too afraid to make a real point, dancing around, and masking themselves in a stylized form of b.s. We've seen it with Juno, and Thumbsucker, and Michael Ceras and all of these tear-jerking jackasses. This is what an award-winning film means today, and the fact that it was picked up by MGM, and that Juno was a big hit, means that it's infiltrating commercial films as well.

This film isn't all b.s., though. Yes, we are so alone in this world and no one is on the right page and wouldn't it be great to walk down a block with a girl and talk to her about relationships in this metaphoric sense and feel your hearts dance around the subject of becoming a couple. It's nice, don't get me wrong. I actually like that part. And I also like the sensationalized sex scene between the preteen boy and the two young girls. Honestly, it's original and it's a new twist and it's good. The signs from the older man, well, that doesn't really work in real life. And the girls coming to his house and him ducking down, well, in the real world-- remember that-- he would have had his way with them.

But reality isn't always that important in movies. Because it's hyper-realistic and it represents reality and makes us think about things like how alone this older guy is, and well, he's not that bad because he just needs love-- this sentiment would not be felt by people in the real world, mind you. But it works in the movies.

How does this one end? NOT A SPOILER, don't worry if you haven't seen it. It ends like those other independents. Like Juno and that heart-warming song at the end... yes, I liked that, too, but it really doesn't say too much. It ends like that American Beauty scene in the middle with that bag blowing in the wind-- that seems deep and meaningful when you first see it, but after repeated viewings (and I love
American Beauty) you can't help but feeling duped for having gotten suckered into feeling goosebumps from it.

How do these films work on you? It's those musical interludes, of course. Or, should I call them filler? They work, yes, but they can save the most insipid scenes and make them seem deep, and sometimes films like these make the music their bread and butter. There was a time when the movies that stunk had great music to save it, but not these days. The music is simple, synthesized, with a few notes being played with varying pitches and fades. They work for the movies, but musically speaking, they're not that good when they're self-contained.

I like these movies, when they have a real point. American Beauty had a point even if it contained some of these pretentious attributes. It had a grand message of what life is about... even if the subject matter was trite, its presentation was original. That's what independent films crave... originality. And that's where quirkiness comes in; nobody knows how to be original without being quirky, and because every road has been so well-trodden, there seems to be no other way to express yourself. I have a bit of a quirky personality myself, but I'm not as sulky, and under-enthused and weird and spontaneous as these folk. There are people out there who try to emulate these personalities, but let me warn you now if you do: you will, at some point, be punched in the face. Not everybody is keyed-in to your close-up in your imaginary self-absorbed, self-important fantasy film-world, mind you.

These films are about things. There is no real story or point. They have good scenes, though; and original moments, like the goldfish in a bag of water on top of a car and his last moments of life on earth. Or like the sulky girl who cries for thinking the shoe salesman cute weird guy-- like "her kind of weird"-- is getting back together with his wife. These parts make you kinda squirm but they also make you open your heart for these vulnerable characterized characters. So, I'm not saying I don't kind of like it. They leave you feeling: "... Aaaah. Yuck. Hmmm... That's interesting. Hmmm... I didn't get the part, actually... Hey, nice cinematography... she's pretty... he's so weird... that's so me... yeah, I saw that movie... I kinda liked it."

"Kinda", is the operative word, and if you seen enough of these, the "kinda", kinda fades away. Here today, gone tomorrow; in the end, movies like these will most likely make you say, "No, let's not. I saw that already and I liked it, but let's not see it again."