Os argumentos de Charlie Kaufman e a sua ostensiva genialidade têm tido, até agora, justas transposições para o grande ecrã, com maior ou menor originalidade. À simplicidade visual de Spike Jonze, quase naturalista, opôs-se o delírio cromático de Michel Gondry. Mas a eficácia destes dois realizadores tem sido notória. E é verdade que Gondry sem as palavras de Kaufman é vazio e desarticulado: basta comparar a energia romântica que anima Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind com as peças soltas de que é feito A Ciência dos Sonhos; há uma ausência notória de continuidade no fio narrativo.
Sinédoque, Nova Iorque consegue mostrar de que modo se articula a relação entre palavras e imagens nos filmes idealizados por Kaufman. A sua primeira realização mostra todas as virtudes que lhe conhecíamos: a estilização de um quotidiano delirante, a criação de personagens bizarras presas numa normalidade sufocante, o labor certeiro na criação de um mundo que é apenas uma consequência da vontade das personagens, a representação de uma ideia. O exterior é o cenário de um sonho: a cabeça de John Malkovich, a esquizofrenia de Kaufman, ele próprio, em Inadaptado, a memória perdida e reencontrada de Joel e Clementine em Eternal Sunshine. Sinédoque, Nova Iorque vai mais longe na fórmula: a realidade sonhada não é apenas alternativa à realidade real, torna-se ela própria realidade: a peça encenada por Caden (Philipp Seymour Hoffman estranhamente adormecido) vai tomando conta da vida até ser a própria vida, como é escrito por Shakespeare, em As You Like It:
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' brow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms;
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' brow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
(continua)
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