Charlie Kaufman felt trapped.
Charlie loved analyzing dreams. The inspiration for "Being John Malkovich" and "Adaptation" both came from his own dreams, which he deconstructed to spark creative ideas.
But this time was different.
Charlie couldn't make sense of the dream. He tried sharing it with friends, discussing it with a therapist, and talking about it with other screenwriters, but he was still lost.
And the dream didn't stop. It repeated continuously for two weeks, making Charlie realize for the first time that the dream was tormenting him.
However, he was powerless to stop it. His scriptwriting was also going poorly, as his terrible sleep quality left him anxious.
He had already decided to skip the Golden Globe Awards at the last minute, feeling mentally unwell, but his agent insisted he should get out, breathe some fresh air, and stop locking himself in his room like that writer from "The Shining."
After some thought, he agreed.
Unexpectedly, as he stood in the hallway, he once again felt dazed. The fragmented images from his dreams surged back into his mind, and he paused.
Sharing his dream with a stranger wasn't part of Charlie's plan—
This is Hollywood, and in Hollywood, there are no secrets. He knew he shouldn't share anything private with strangers. Even with friends, one had to be cautious.
But still…
The feeling of being at a dead end was overwhelming. Sometimes, when faced with strangers, things felt simpler—there was no need to maintain a facade.
As he started speaking, the words came out more easily than he had imagined.
"At first, it's a bit hazy. By the time I realize it, I'm in this dirty, rundown motel."
"I'm wearing nothing."
Charlie stopped speaking, and noticed Anson looking up.
Charlie didn't understand.
Anson noticed Charlie's confusion and said, "I'm trying not to picture anything."
Charlie was surprisingly calm. "But you need to visualize it."
"I only need key details," Anson insisted.
Charlie nodded. "Alright, you're right. That's not the point. Then the sound of the shower in the bathroom stops, and a man walks out…" He took a deep breath, "A man."
Anson paused. If he remembered correctly, Charlie was married with a daughter.
So, now what?
Anson looked at Charlie but didn't speak, only raising his eyebrows in question.
Charlie immediately caught the meaning behind the look. "Alright, just spit it out."
Anson blinked, "Are you saying that to me or to the man in your dream?"
Charlie caught the playful tone in Anson's words and smirked. "Ha. Ha."
Anson shrugged, "Even if it is, so what? It's the 21st century—who cares? Especially in Hollywood. You should embrace yourself and accept your truth. Go, you!"
Anson even made a fist-pumping motion.
That little interjection helped ease Charlie's tension slightly, loosening his expression and tone. "Please, if the dream were that simple and could be interpreted at face value, I wouldn't need a therapist."
Anson nodded. "True, but even on the surface, it's pretty interesting."
This time, Anson couldn't stop himself and almost laughed out loud.
Charlie gave a dry chuckle. "Ha. Ha." Then he got back to the point. "This obviously needs to be explained through Jungian theory."
According to Jung, dreams are spontaneous, undistorted products of the unconscious mind.
"The suggestive scenes in the dream are purely meant to highlight deeper conflicts that have absolutely nothing to do with 'sex,'" Charlie rattled off a series of academic terms, without bothering to explain them, completely indifferent to whether Anson could keep up.
Just like in his screenplays.
Anson was about to respond when someone called out from behind. "Hey, Charlie."
In an instant, Charlie's shoulders tensed up. "Anthony?"
The person now approaching was Anthony Bregman, an independent film producer, best known for Ang Lee's "The Ice Storm." He was good friends with Charlie Kaufman and Michel Gondry.
It was no surprise that Anthony was set to produce "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind."
Anthony Bregman, with his wife in tow, walked by, his voice tinged with laughter. "Charlie, are you still agonizing over that dream you had about me? Come on, it's just a dream."
Anson nearly choked on his drink.
Charlie pursed his lips and refused to turn around, speaking through clenched teeth. "Anthony, cut the jokes. You should head inside. There's a whole crowd waiting for your punchlines in there."
"Ha ha, of course, of course!" Anthony's laughter was dripping with mockery. "Alright then, see you inside. But don't worry, we won't meet in your dream tonight!"
Not just Anthony, but his wife also smiled and greeted Charlie. "See you soon, Charlie. Oh, is that Anson?"
Delighted, she was about to say more when Charlie abruptly cut her off. "No. He's not."
Anson exchanged a glance with the woman, giving her a polite smile and gesturing toward the banquet hall. She quickly got the hint, flashed an "OK" sign, and then walked off with Anthony, still smiling.
Anson sighed. "Oh, God."
Charlie glared at him. "Stop picturing it. You said you weren't going to visualize anything."
Anson raised his hands in surrender. "I'm not. But the thing is… you're blushing."
Charlie, "I'm not."
Anson, "And your ears are red too."
Charlie: …"Damn."
It was rare to see Charlie flustered, so Anson didn't laugh out loud but instead grew serious. "Quick question, did your dream include cigars, bananas, or daggers?"
Charlie choked, "Please, I'm 44 years old. If it did, that's one heck of a delayed reaction—like the Titanic at the bottom of the Atlantic."
Anson struggled to hold in his laughter.
Charlie still looked miserable. "I'm stuck. I can't find a reasonable explanation, and my therapist is useless."
Anson, "Maybe you should get a new therapist?"
Charlie gave Anson a sideways glance, sizing him up. "Did you not notice that I've already tried a lot of different things out of sheer desperation?"
"Oh." Anson sighed, realizing he might be one of those desperate attempts. Was Charlie avoiding Anthony on purpose?
After some thought, Anson said, "Since you have no clues, maybe you should try free association."
Free association is when you let one thought lead to another, unrestricted, in search of subconscious connections.
It's not just something therapists use—screenwriters often practice it too.
But it's very basic.
For someone as imaginative as Charlie, it might even be too basic. If he's not careful, he could end up in an entirely different universe.
Charlie slumped his shoulders, looking defeated. "Really? Is that the best suggestion you've got?"
Anson smirked, "Not necessarily."
And then… nothing.
Charlie stared at Anson, speechless. He sighed deeply but didn't argue, simply waiting for Anson to continue.
Anson, "Think back to the details of the motel. What's the first object you remember seeing when you opened your eyes in the dream?"