How interesting that this film by the incomparable Charlie Kaufman follows relatively (in coronavirus time) soon after the incredibly brilliant Synecdoche, New York, a movie that transcends every genre it participates in, and has the most moving and effective last 13 minutes I can imagine ever existing in film.

And then comes Kaufman's novel, Antkind, which is about a film that took a lifetime to make, and almost as long, to view, had the only copy (with the exception of a single frame) not been destroyed. Two grand works as the bread for a sandwich of the incomprehensible vastness of humanity, with a filling of the vastness of the possibilities of individuality.

Thank you, Felix.