A not-uncommon prologue: Miranda July drives me crazy, in the best and worst ways. Whether I’m watching her films, reading her stories, or taking a crack at her various, Web-documented performances pieces, I can’t seem to get off the fence. I want to get off the fence. I want it so badly that attached to every primary response — every swing across the fence and back again — I experienced while watching The Future , the plangent follow-up to her 2005 feature debut, Me and You and Everyone We Know , was the secondary desire to shoulder-pin myself there, if only for clarity’s sake. What seems most difficult to accept and so tremendously inconvenient to her appeal is that the talking cat — or whatever other of her grindingly earnest narrative totems — is not negotiable; it’s not even regrettable. If you want Miranda July, you want the talking cat.
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REVIEW: Miranda July Looks Into The Future and Sees a Talking Cat (Among Other Things)
