Synecdoche, New York is not a movie I have ever wanted to see again. Charlie Kaufman’s movie about creation, art, and sense of self is probably a masterpiece, as intricate and volatile and fully-formed as anything I’ve seen. It’s also a frighteningly insightful film on the subject of being alone, even as you live in a world entirely of your making. I was deeply unsettled by it then, and I’m deeply unsettled by it now, even just thinking about it. Hoffman’s character comes to understand his loneliness so completely, so terribly.