Should Miranda July Be Allowed to Make Movies?

I suppose this is the question at the heart of the film ‘Me and You and Everyone We Know’ (2005)

There’s a bit of subtext that around every corner a maniac lurks. That something deeply sinister, downright bloody creepy is about to drop on our heads from far above (the Platonic ideal of quirk, or the manic pixie Queen Mab’s dread rough love that we fully asked for). But, to speak in a language like the art I have come here to ‘critique’, I open my crafting kit, softly pull out my x-acto knife, and unsheathe the tip from its protective cover, contemplate my skin with the blade – look into a mirror and type – Miranda July’s manipulation and admixture of metaphor and language and event makes me jealous with its beauty of maneuvering. It concerns me. I place the cap back on, as gently as I’m able. And fill the hole left in my day with the inevitable – something less precise. Something less cool, less acquainted. With the night.

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