Puppet drama ‘Anomalisa’ surprisingly human

It's a moving, troubling look at one man's existential crisis, the powerful grip of loneliness and the mundanity and despair of everyday life. But "Anomalisa" probably will be remembered, at least by the few of you who'll see it, for one thing: puppet sex.

And not that comic, jangly, gratuitous puppet sex from "Team America: World Police." The stars of the stop-motion drama engage in one of the most realistic bouts of lovemaking — in all its awkward, tickly, head-banging, belly-fatted honesty — you'll ever see on film.

The fact that it was accompanied by nervous titters during the screening, and overall bafflement in the lobby afterward, once again demonstrates the provocative, not-intended-for-the-masses nature of writer/co-director Charlie Kaufman ("Being John Malkovich," "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind").

In the fully animated "Anomalisa," Kaufman and co-director Duke Johnson present British customer-service expert Michael Stone (voiced by David Thewlis, "Harry Potter's" Remus Lupin), who lives in Los Angeles with his wife and young son. He's grown so despondent that everyone — men, women, children — has begun to look and sound so identical, actor Tom Noonan is credited with voicing "everyone else." (It's worth noting that Michael suspects he may suffer from psychological issues and, for you psychiatry buffs out there, most of the story takes place in the Hotel Fregoli.)

During a business trip to Cincinnati, the author and minor celebrity suffers through forced, trivial interactions with cabdrivers, bellhops and room service staff. He looks up an old girlfriend, who's still shattered by their breakup. He hits the minibar, struggles in vain to regulate the shower's water temperature and watches a bit of "My Man Godfrey" on TV. It's all so joyless and bland, Michael's world, much like those "Godfrey" clips, might as well be in black and white.

But then he hears a new voice in the hall, one that cuts through the sameness of it all, and he pounds on random doors until he locates its owner: Lisa Hesselman (voiced by Jennifer Jason Leigh).

To the outside world, there's literally nothing special about Lisa. She's a sales rep for a snack food company who traveled "all the way from Akron" with her friend, Emily, to hear him speak.

Lisa's insecure, thanks in part to the scar above her right eye that she keeps adjusting her hair to hide. She hasn't been with a man in eight years, and even then it was a married, 60-year-old co-worker who, she admits, only sought her out because he knew she was attainable. Also, she understood so little of Michael's book, she kept a dictionary nearby. "I'm never gonna be smart," she confides to him. "And I'm ugly."

But to Michael, Lisa is nothing short of extraordinary, whether she's reluctantly singing "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" for him or reciting the trivial aspects of her day. She's clearly an anomaly — a word that, combined with her name, lends the movie its title.

"Anomalisa's" story is deceptively simple, although not without the Kaufman-esque flourishes that discerning film lovers have come to expect.

And the attention to detail is extraordinary, from the running gags about the pride that Cincinnatians take in their chili and zoo to the tiny cigarettes and martinis to the physical characteristics of Michael and Lisa. And, yes, this includes Michael's penis, which he unselfconsciously displays on more than one occasion. This means that someone not only had to sculpt that member; to create the illusion of movement, he or she had to manipulate it, ever so slightly, 24 times for every second it's onscreen.

And you think you've had some uncomfortable conversations with your parents.

Beyond its technical feats, though, the movie's most impressive triumph is how greatly Kaufman, Johnson and Leigh move audiences to care about Lisa. She's so damaged and timid, she can't figure out why Michael isn't interested in her friend, Emily, instead. Even when Michael is lavishing her with affection, Lisa remains guarded and distrustful: "Why are you doing this? Are you making fun of me?"

Her loneliness is palpable and heartbreaking, which makes it all the more wonderful when she's finally able to be comfortable in her own skin.

Even if that skin is made of plastic.

Contact Christopher Lawrence at clawrence@reviewjournal.com. On Twitter: @life_onthecouch