Reviewed by Megan Fleming

THIS IS A quirky-sweet and surprising film about ordinary people trying to connect in a modern world. It takes perversion and makes it cute. It takes loneliness and makes it endearing. It takes talking picture frames that say “I love you” and makes them the most melancholic symbol you can’t help laughing at.


Richard Swersey, played by John Hawkes, is a shoe salesman who’s “prepared for amazing things to happen.” He’s a professional (we never touch the foot, sir) with the haggard look of the modern romantic. We meet Richard in a moment of self-immolation, a dramatic gesture to mark the divorce from his children’s mother. It’s a shocking and beautiful scene, and it makes me think: is this a poignant example of the scarring majesty of love and love’s drama? Or is Richard just another weirdo with a lighter?

Christine Jesperson, played by writer/director Miranda July, is a video artist with a lovely face who drives old people around. She lives out earnest fantasies through her art. “I work alone,” she says, taping her voice, her feet, and her fantastical world. We adore her right away, and can’t understand why Richard doesn’t. Or maybe he does. But what’s wrong with him anyway? What’s wrong with everyone we know? And why isn’t my life this magical?

Strongly imbued with statements about our digital culture and the bubbles we create for ourselves, the characters are all interwoven in unexpected ways. But some of the characters are little more than caricatures. Like the pre-teen neighbour who fastidiously collects appliances for her hope chest. “It’s my dowry,” she says. And the sweet and simple octogenarian who’s falling in love for the first time, ever.

But despite the peripheral characters that aren’t quite fleshed out, the film is utterly penetrating. And funny. The whole theatre was laughing out loud – a rare experience for me in this age of slapstick and adolescent sex jokes. There is sex humour in Me and You. And sure, maybe the film takes some easy-joke shortcuts, like the unbearably cute black kid saying “poop.” But the humour isn’t just comic relief – it’s the film’s soul.

July’s poetic film doesn’t attempt to make ordinary things magical, so much as illuminate the magic already alive in ordinary things. It’s a story about people who speak the same language as you; it’s only timing, age, or personality that gets in the way.