Over the years, I've come to realize a lot about the notion of language. The way we talk. The way we express ourselves. The way we try our best to convey how we feel to others. It's a very universal notion that is often prevalent throughout humanity but I also come to realize just how limiting it can often be. The way we can't say all of how we truly feel. The way we can't fully express ourselves honestly. The way we often fail to help people understand us that this miscommunication will compel us to stray from connection. Most of us become very alienated from people that our own bodies become islands where our selves -- our thoughts, our emotions, our yearning for connection -- became the only inhabitants. Language is indeed an intricate thing but its intricacy shouldn't stop us from taking another chance to find another way. Another way to reach out, to connect. It could be a reinterpretation of a late woman's story about a high schooler who sneaks into her classmate's house. It can also be an emotional epiphany of loss between two grieving people who are equally fond yet also spiteful of their loved ones. It can also be a multilingual play where sign language and talking can collate and coexist in harmony without colliding with the other. We may not fully understand the people around us but even the limits shouldn't stop us to try to find new ways to do so. And who knows? Maybe these new ways will not only help us get close to understanding them but also help us come to terms with our own place in the space we inhabit. Drive My Car explores these two concepts with amazing filmmaking that personify the layers of language's intricacy and humanity's conflicting attempts to convey it pretty well without one overbalancing the other with a contemplative three-hour runtime that doesn't drag too much nor rushes its exploration. It's a masterfully crafted Russian doll formed from ideas conveyed in precise execution and I can't wait to unravel it all again with another rewatching.