You'll know what the title of this blog means if you see Me and You and Everyone We Know (heretofore referred to as M&Y&EWK), and you probably should see it. It's a sweet, good-natured, odd confection about the joys and ironies of living. It's like an existential jolly rancher. Tastes great, but you've got to suck on it for a while. Make sense? Didn't think so.
M&Y&EWK is the indie breakout of the moment, having seduced hard-nosed critics and swiped major awards at Cannes and Sundance. I haven't read a single critic or industry professional that doesn't like it, but then it's really hard to hate a film that is so light and hopeful. To hate M&Y&EWK, you'd have to hate life and people who love it.
Its star and director is Miranda July, who is a step away from Rachel Griffiths' looks, Lorraine Bracco's voice, and Lisa Kudrow's cute curtness. She's the textbook female indie protagonist, with her disarming-yet-unglamorous features and penchant for quirk. Her film is an ensemble piece about California neighbors, but it's silly to give it a hybrid label like "dramedy." There are funny parts and sad parts, but July's world is one that can't tell the difference, where the fabric of life is stitched with the delights of human connection.
If stuff like this makes you want to vomit, see it anyway; there's a hilarious subplot involving a rather sexual online chat between a 5-year-old and an "unknown pervert." The mysterious title of this entry alludes to it, as does the thesis of the movie: In life, it's all back and forth.