Digital Overtone

Nota bene: I have found this an extremely difficult topic to write about coherently. I apologize for any gaping logical holes or non sequitur.

I know it hurts. But it’s life, and it’s real. And sometimes
it fucking hurts. But it’s life. And it’s pretty much all we got.

Last evening I saw Garden State for a second time, this time with the incomparable Collin, Kathy, and Mary (the latter two returned from Australia a month gone). The first viewing occurred at the insistence of Megan, for which I am insanely grateful, as this is a spectacular film, especially for a first film. Superficial impressions: Zach Braff is brilliant in nearly every way. Natalie Portman is adorable (and very very short), and executes a difficult part with deceptive facility. The direction and photography always subtly enhances the mood, and if the script is rough around the edges, at least thematic material is never heavy-handed. The narrative is, for once, not at all tight: it is anecdotal and full of random moments whose only function is to lighten, darken, or otherwise enhance the mood, not to provide obvious exposition or to advance the story. Skill, tact, and sheer talent abound.

What I adore most about this movie is that it eschews its genre—or any genre— (romance? comedy? drama?) by continually turning clichés on their heads. Judgments happen, but they are not life-altering; instead they are silent (or at least quiet), internal, communicated by looks and subtle shifts of attitude. Things are revealed, but do not tear the connective material between people bound by something stronger than mere facts or revelations. So much tension cadences deceptively ("We’re not gonna make out…") that the moments driven by genuine emotion shine through and feel stronger, less forced, more resolved. Most surprisingly, it never resorts to obvious tugging of heartstrings (as a viewer I never felt emotionally manipulated), and it never devolves to unnecessary sex or sexiness to generate interest. It is low-key, and beautifully sweet, and Braff seems to realize that those things are sexier than anything else. And I never would have suspected that Andrew pushed her, but it was pulled off with a grace I didn’t think possible.

Braff himself posted on his href="http://www2.foxsearchlight.com/gardenstate/blog/" title="Official Garden State Weblog">weblog that he had been criticized for appearing to encourage people to quit their medication cold turkey, saying that the basic intent of the movie was to communicate a kind of "life is short" sensibility: that what counts is the moment, and the moment after, ad infinitum. I quite disagree with both assertions. While Andrew does quit his meds cold turkey, and it turns out to be the right decision for him, there is no suggestion that he should be copied. And, as Collin pointed out, for every rightfully medicated person in this country whose life is measurably improved by psychoactive drugs, there are several overmedicated people whose lives are significantly hindered. And while Braff qualifies his intent by naming one of the major themes of the film, I think the more important theme is that it is okay to feel. No, that’s not right: it is essential to feel, for that alone is life, right now, and it is all we have.

It is a question of walls—social, chemical, or otherwise—wrought by fear, shame, a fault line in our understanding, and there really is a beauty in the breakdown. We all have walls that crumble from time to time, when for a brief moment we catch a glimmer of what lies behind them: raw, uncensored, and beautiful. The choice is in whether we rebuild afterwards, how high, and how thick, despite how ashamed we are to be so vulnerable (though there is no reasonable shame in vulnerability—it is an imperative for change). In the meantime we laugh and, if we’re lucky, "look forward to a good cry, because it feels pretty damn good."

As banal as it sounds, and as silly as I feel for being so affected by a movie (nod to Megan), after it was over I thought simplicity, kept my phone off, kept near silent and soaked my friends in as best I could. My mind wandered, though, at times. I think most people, if they had to choose, would elect to be Andrew from this film—I think that is the point: everyone wants their life to be changed by someone. But I think I would prefer to be Sam, who feels overmuch, to be the agent of change, to be slightly unstable but steady, wise without knowing, loyal and full of laughter, the rock and the catalyst. I want someone to tell me "You’ve changed my life." I think I have longed to hear it all my life, and maybe that is why this movie feels so poignant. Today, even still, everything feels more real: colors are sharper, and the world more worth noticing. I wish I could take a snapshot of how I feel right at this very moment—open, vast, full of expectation and overflowing with wonder—to refer back to every time I stop feeling this way. This is my life, and every moment is a new possibility, an affirmation of the right now or an opportunity to change it, for me or for someone else.

And a message to the critics, because I can’t help it: Don’t even bother criticizing this film anymore, even though most of what I’ve read has been impressively fair and objective. But when thousands of people decide a film defines them, there’s really just no point anymore.

Posted by Kyle / criticism and film