Last weekend, Cinematical writer Kat Parr and I had a conversation over the phone about Miranda July’s Me and You and Everyone We Know, which we recorded for the purpose of posting as a podcast. I’d seen the film and Kat hadn’t, so the discussion almost took the form of an interview, with her as the eager, hopeful fan questioning me, the jaded authority on the subject. But listening back to the recording, I felt like we weren’t really able to nail the meat of the thing, and now, I’ve come to the conclusion that I’m actually not sure this is the kind of film that two people can really talk about in any kind of productive way.

The problem is, Miranda July has made a film that really seems to be asking for an open-armed, unqualified embrace. And while I think it’s a very good film and a very original film and a very interesting film, I don’t (and can’t) love it unconditionally. The more I think about it, the more my relationship to Me and You  and Everyone We Know feels like a love affair that never quite happened; there was a spark there, but me and her (because if films are gendered, this one is definitely a girl) have now come to that sort of bittersweet point where it’s clear that we’re not right for each other. And all I can do is give her a kind of awkward hug and let her off into the world. Except, in this case, because she’s a movie and not a girl, instead of an awkward hug I’m going to proceed to give her a conflicted review.