The best thing a goldfish mindlessly forgotten atop a car roof can hope for is to drive steadily. Forever. Sudden brakes are destined for a stolen soul, forever clueless of being loved. A fish won’t ever know, but Christine Jesperson always will. She is the lonely hero.
It’s only blue skies in Miranda July’s Me and You and Everyone We Know. The sun beams down on the lonesome faces of Californians. The summer breeze whistles Cody ChesnuTT into the air as an honest gesture to the solstice. The city houses the braided lives of desperate and alienated citizens of 2005—a world delicately strung around artist and senior cab driver Christine (Miranda July) as she finds love in a shoe department.
The male prospect, Richard, is a recently separated dad of two sons, desperate to be adored. As a performance plea for their attention, his hand is now wrapped in gauze after a stunt setting it ablaze with lighter fluid, mistaken for alcohol. Sons Robby and Peter fill their time with online chat rooms, an exploration into the unknown hazards of cybersex. Seven-year-old Robby takes the lead in internet communication although has no understanding of sex. He does, however, know the word “poop” and is familiar with the spelling enough to use it as his flirting strategy. This ultimately proves to be successful. Schoolmates Heather and Rebecca fill their time similarly, exploring their sexuality in the neighbourhood around them.
July’s life force breathes innocence and sincerity into the film. It is tender and quiet, whispering to the audience for appreciation of the survival we are forced to fit into. Awkward humanisms are brought to the very surface, ready and willing to be seen and admired in a time capsule of 2005.
Stories intertwine into vignettes, opening a portal into the idiosyncrasies of their small lives, each waiting to be full, and waiting to be vulnerable. Christine waits by the phone for a call from her dear Richard hoping to be swept off her feet again after a shared stroll toward Tyrone Avenue—a lifelong relationship discussed over two minutes. First strangers and then infatuated, the two meandered toward their parked cars as they weaved into their fantasy future, the Ice Land sign being the halfway point, a marker of their relationship, and Tyrone the final finish line.
As the screen blackened, I removed the DVD and placed it back into its case, my heart still melted from the experience. I credit each of these wandering souls for sowing the seeds of hope back into my chest. The world is better for Miranda July, and so am I.
4/5