The other day, I was complaining to a friend about the decline of cinema, how movies today are notable primarily for how many explosions, sexual encounters and instances of drug use they contain rather than their plot or dialogue. However, upon seeing Synecdoche, New York, I realized why films like Eagle Eye and High School Musical have come to dominate the box office; people go the movies to escape from reality, not to be confronted by it.Don't mistake my observation for criticism. Synecdoche, New York is a beautiful, ambitious film and is one of the most profound works I have seen in quite some time. However, its observations regarding human nature are incredibly heavy and emotionally draining. Initially, Synecdoche depicts perfectly-by way of a sudden illness that afflicts theater director Caden Cotard (Phillip Seymour Hoffman)-the unexpectedness of misfortune and the unreal way in which the world continues to turn despite the development of personal grievances. For, as Cotard deteriorates, his wife still remains apathetic towards his plays, his daughter still requires comfort after finding that her fecal matter is green and life, in general, goes on mercilessly.

As the film progresses and Cotard undertakes a life-changing personal project, it becomes clear why: Contrary to popular belief, we only play the leading role in our own minds. In those of everyone else, we are but extras, and our hardships are far from unique.

The force and medium (that is, Cotard's project, which involves recreating the everyday lives of thousands of people, including that of Cotard, inside a gigantic warehouse) with which Synecdoche delivers this message is staggering. The characters of Cotard's play bring with them their own trials that make Cotard's problems seem insignificant in comparison, and on a daily basis Cotard hands out assignments to each and every player describing what has happened to his or her character that day (e.g. "Your wife has had a miscarriage"), a moment that demonstrates the all-encompassing scope of grief.

However, the reverberating nature of this moral is no doubt in part due to the excellent acting on the part of Synecdoche's cast. Phillip Seymour Hoffman triumphs as he portrays Cotard during his fleeting youth, middle age and old age, all of which are dedicated to the project within the warehouse even as his life crumbles around him. Hazel, the lover who drifts in and out of Cotard's existence, is played heartbreakingly well by Samantha Morton. I'm growing somewhat tired, though, of seeing Catherine Keener cast as a foul-mouthed, disloyal wife who is drunk or high most of the time and who plays in this particular instance Adele, the spouse of Cotard.

The film's only sticking point is the frequency with which it blurs the line between the real world and the make-believe one; it's hard to concentrate on Synecdoche's dialogue when you're wondering, "Why the hell is that woman living in a house that is always on fire?" This aspect of the movie does serve a certain purpose when used appropriately, though-that is, in exploring the notion of time. When Cotard mistakenly believes that his daughter is four when she is, in fact, 11, or when he thinks that a week has passed when it has actually been a year, the audience experiences more deeply the extent to which anguish and prescribed cures have muddled his existence.

The fact that Synecdoche, New York is not a typical cinematic distraction may be a deterrent for some, but those who avoid Charlie Kaufman's directorial debut due to its weighty material are missing out on a potentially sublime introspective experience.