The New Yorker's Richard Brody: not a big fan of Anomalisa.

Kaufman betrays himself as much with his condescending compassion as with his withering observations. He builds his modest characters as collections of traits that appear as calculated details drawn from life but serving to do nothing but evoke sighs akin to those yielded by pictures of children and pets. The artificial sweetness and gentle satire of his portraits of characters who could be labeled as everyday people is haughty and incurious.

[...] With its immense but blank, self-regardingly self-congratulatory sympathy for the benighted masses toiling in their ostensible ordinariness, with its critical judgment of the talented but unfeeling, observant yet selfish minor artistic celebrity, “Anomalisa” looks like the work of an incurious egomaniac of conferences and offices, sets and studios, who hasn’t soiled the soles of his shoes on actual sidewalks for decades. (Source)

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