Adaptation. (2002)

Six years ago during the height of the pandemic, I watched Becoming John Malkovich under the heavy influence of substances, unsure if the film was really that trippy or I was merely having a stroke, but certain that I was witnessing something brilliant. It's only poetic that I would stumble upon this piece of genius completely unaware of where it came from and having the same out-of-body experience years later. 

This film touches on so much so broadly, yet still feels like it cuts so deep. Everything is wonderfully both existential and pointless. I loved Charlie's freakout over his twin brother's success. Loved Susan's   
empathetic laissez-faire way towards life that pulled her in Laroche's orbit. Loved Tilda Swinton slutty little bob and Nichola Cage's unapologetically receding hairlines. This film kept you guessing at every turn, but it never felt exhausting. Somehow it doesn't try to pique your curiosity, but you are engendering all of it yourself. 

I recently went to a play whose writer said they specifically did not want there to be a plot, and it sucked. I was bummed, because I truly believe stories without a plot can be good stories, and things like that bad play give plotless stories a bad rep. I wasn't even particularly looking for a case to prove the contrary, but this movie ended up on my screen anyway, so it was all very serendipitous.