Me and You and Everyone We Know

A film that defies categorization--and one sure to make viewers uncomfortable in the aggressive incisiveness of its observations about ordinary life--performance artist/writer Miranda July's feature debut starts out like one of those oddball little flicks about realistic people concerned with non-Hollywood topics such as working in boring jobs and raising kids. People like Christine Jesperson (July), who drives seniors around Los Angeles for a living while she creates bad art that no one wants to buy, or Richard Swersey (John Hawkes), who wears cheap suits and sells ugly shoes in a low-end department store, and tries to manage his disaffected sons after a divorce. Me and You and Everyone We Know ultimately turns into anti-entertainment, something defiantly and disconcertingly un-movie-like, with its achingly poignant and wise story of a daisy chain of forlorn people living precarious lives of quiet sorrow, consistently thwarted in their attempts to connect with others. A bracing and artistic cinematic slap in the face, this film festival favorite (winning honors at the Cannes, Sundance, and Independent Spirit Awards) is highly recommended. (M. Johanson)