Lonely people converge in various storylines involving sexual development and the improbability of connection. It's been a long time since I've seen a film that has been able to find profundity in life's little moments, but Miranda July's tour de force work in Me and You and Everyone We Know is able to find gems in everyday occurrences. The most striking example of the beauty she finds in the benign happens in the third act, so I won't give in away, but the rest of the film is subtle and poignant too. And what is a better example of achieving the Altman Standard than the reveal of whom the boys are cyber-sexting with? I did think the film occasionally got quirky for quirky's sake like Christine putting socks on her ears, but the film's concentration on these characters' oppressive and oppressing loneliness makes the things they do for attention and recognition more motivated than a film with a weaker thematic through-line. Overall, Miranda July has a new fan, and I have a new example of why film can be a medium that communicates the occasional sublimity of life better than any other.

Oh-so-weird/indie/pretentious......but oh-so-irresistibly cute/sad/beautiful in parts (and trust me, I tried hard to resist): Richard accidentally self-immolating his hand with lighter fluid instead of alcohol; six-year-old Robby innocently cybering about pooping back and forth into each others' buttholes; Christine and Richard's meet-cute wherein they pretend to live their entire relationship together in a few street blocks; the sustained eye contact between Christine and Richard after he rejects her; Christine and Richard holding her mirror for fifteen seconds after gluing it; Peter bringing a stuffed animal for Sylvie's neurotically early hope chest, which she had heretofore filled with household appliances. The only story I wasn't into is the two neighborhood Lolitas trying to bait a potential pedophile. None of their motivations were set up properly. The filmmaker Miranda July seems like a total wackjob, but I guess I'll give her props for being so open with her wackjobiness, for instance, Christine, her performance artist alter ego (I'm assuming). The goofy Casio keyboard-esque score is a bit cloying at times but oddly atmospheric. I am very much enamored by John Hawkes' pugilist nose and sunken eyes. He's like an older, sadder version of DJ Qualls.