Garden State is THE movie
Okay, so I saw the movie Garden State in Orlando*, and again at Tim's house, and then again in Jeff's room when I got here. And let me say:
ho
ly.
crap.
This movie absolutely blew my mind so far out the back of my head I think it landed somewhere in the Atlantic. I'm not a fan of saying "this movie changed my life", because the only thing that changes your life is you; but if I was gonna say say that about any movie, it would totally be this one.
Okay, so for those of you who haven't seen the movie, you probably won't get this part. This is where I do my best to explain the movie's message, and go on ad nauseam about how I relate to it.
I think really the most important line of the movie is when Andrew (the protagonist) says to Albert (the guy who lives in the boat at the garbage dump), "Hey, good luck exploring the infinite abyss," and Albert says "Hey. You, too." The idea here is that the infinite abyss is a metaphor for someone's life, and it's pretty apt. Albert, for instance, seems to lead a life where you couldn't complain about everything that's wrong with it no matter how hard you tried. The guy has a dead-end job, which forces him to live inside a discarded boat at a garbage dump in Newark, where he's got to try and raise a child with his wife, whom he can barely provide for, and to top this all off, it's raining. If there was ever a man who had reason to commit suicide, it would be Albert.
But he doesn't. In fact, he seems downright satisfied with his life, and he doesn't seem fazed in the least by the extreme, desperately depressing circumstances he has found himself in, or the fact that it would be perfectly understandable for him to just give up. He is humble, self-assured, and even affable, an example of the psalmist's words that "a light shone in the darkness, and the darkness surrounded it, but did not overwhelm it." Note that the light does not destroy the darkness, indeed rather far from it. The darkness "surrounds" the light, and has every possible advantage over it; the darkness poses a threat of destruction that seems unstoppable by anything that puny light could muster.
However, the darkness "did not overwhelm it," and that's the fundamental message of hope in the psalm and in this movie: darkness may surround you, permeate your life, seem unbeatable, unbearable, inescapable and utterly overwhelming--but in the end, despite the fact that the only conceivable outcome seems to be that you will be ultimately defeated . . . you will not. There are some things that no one in this world but you can control; if you decide to shine, to live your life without being overwhelmed and undone by even the harsh, hard, and sometimes cruel facts of your life, but also without denying how harsh, hard and cruel they still are, then they won't overwhelm you. The only force that can make your life worth living, or not, is when you decide, regardless of what conclusion the world around you seems to have already made, to conclude that your life is in fact worth living, and to therefore live it.
This idea of "exploring the infinite abyss," is what I mean by "living your life": I don't mean just drawing air and maintaining bodily function as you watch the world go by; I don't mean to just "keep trucking" or "keep going" when you don't know where you're going, or why, or if you even want to be there at all; I don't mean that sort of numb, passive state of existence. I mean an active existence, one where you actually feel your emotions, instead of suppressing them. This includes the happy ones, the regrettable ones, the fond ones, the ones that are so sad and so painful you're afraid to even think about them--and you don't have to be afraid of even these, because like I explained: if you don't let them consume you, then they won't. You can't make them less sad, make them less painful, make them less overwhelming . . . but you CAN prevent them from taking over your life, controlling it, and ultimately ruining it.
The fact of the matter is that almost everyone's life contains these experiences and emotions; the ones that are so intensely painful and personal that the person himself is afraid to confront them. They seem un-healable, unbeatable, unmentionable . . . unthinkable. These emotions seem so totally unfathomable, that to confront them would be like staring into an utterly dark, hopelessly infinite abyss. If so much as acknowledging these problems, even to one's innermost self, is too frightening a concept to contemplate, then how much more so would be the thought of confronting them, and then the paralyzing, unimaginable horror of actually climbing in and exploring that abyss? The reasons for bolting, hiding, denying, or otherwise shielding oneself from this desperate abyss become obvious; and however many reasons there are for running from the abyss, there are as many ways to do it.
A few of these are demonstrated in Garden State. Andrew the protagonist, is shielded from his emotions by the numbing drugs he's taken since he was nine; his girlfriend Sam unwittingly protects herself with her unintentional lies, and when she does vulnerable, she hides by projecting her insecurities onto others ("you're like totally freaked out right now, ohmygod you can't wait to leave, don't feel bad, totally you can just go", etc.). Andrew's father simply denies that tragedy is an unavoidable part of life, and clings to the idea that they can all somehow just "be happy" and have no problems, whatsoever. Andrew's friend Kenny has become a cop, because he "couldn't think of anything better to do," and while he's made no effort to seek meaning and direction for himself, he seems think his occupation gives him that--although judging from his conversation, it obviously hasn't. His friend Jesse has made seemingly a few million dollars overnight, so even though he's already got what most people spend their lives striving for, he is ultimately unfulfilled, unmotivated, and utterly passive; even though the incessant drugs and partying make the passivity more fun, they don't change the fact that he is in fact just "doing nothing." Andrew's friend Mark seems to actually realize that he doesn't have what he wants from life, but can't seem to find any way of obtaining it, so he just waits, spending his time getting high and collecting Desert Storm trading cards, and hoping that somehow it will come to him. He seems to be getting progressively more desperate though, even though he says he's in "no rush."
Each character has his or her way of hiding, running, or somehow veiling from themselves the infinite abyss, but by the end Andrew at least, and maybe Sam, has torn down the protective walls he's built up around his problems, and is finally beginning to actually live, to explore his own "infinite abyss."
This also touches on the movie's theme of doing something "completely original, that no one else has done before." Sam has the habit of doing something nonsensical and absurd to feel that she's doing something unique; the movie's message though, seems to be that the one truly unique, unprecedented, and inimitable act someone is capable of is to simply live. No one before has lived your life, hurt the way you've hurt, cried your tears, or laughed your laugh.
No one before has explored your infinite abyss.
So yeah, that's kind of what I thought the movie was about, and it really spoke to me. I feel like I'm at a similar point in my life, where I'm just beginning to take control of my own life and how I feel about it; so it affected me more deeply than it might have otherwise. Maybe it also skewed my whole perception of what the movie was all about, but whatever. It was certainly a beautiful, subtly nuanced, and finely crafted film though, with exquisite writing and some exceptional acting. That's all for now, I'm sure I'll think of something later.
*this trip to FL will be described later on, when I feel like it.
ho
ly.
crap.
This movie absolutely blew my mind so far out the back of my head I think it landed somewhere in the Atlantic. I'm not a fan of saying "this movie changed my life", because the only thing that changes your life is you; but if I was gonna say say that about any movie, it would totally be this one.
Okay, so for those of you who haven't seen the movie, you probably won't get this part. This is where I do my best to explain the movie's message, and go on ad nauseam about how I relate to it.
I think really the most important line of the movie is when Andrew (the protagonist) says to Albert (the guy who lives in the boat at the garbage dump), "Hey, good luck exploring the infinite abyss," and Albert says "Hey. You, too." The idea here is that the infinite abyss is a metaphor for someone's life, and it's pretty apt. Albert, for instance, seems to lead a life where you couldn't complain about everything that's wrong with it no matter how hard you tried. The guy has a dead-end job, which forces him to live inside a discarded boat at a garbage dump in Newark, where he's got to try and raise a child with his wife, whom he can barely provide for, and to top this all off, it's raining. If there was ever a man who had reason to commit suicide, it would be Albert.
But he doesn't. In fact, he seems downright satisfied with his life, and he doesn't seem fazed in the least by the extreme, desperately depressing circumstances he has found himself in, or the fact that it would be perfectly understandable for him to just give up. He is humble, self-assured, and even affable, an example of the psalmist's words that "a light shone in the darkness, and the darkness surrounded it, but did not overwhelm it." Note that the light does not destroy the darkness, indeed rather far from it. The darkness "surrounds" the light, and has every possible advantage over it; the darkness poses a threat of destruction that seems unstoppable by anything that puny light could muster.
However, the darkness "did not overwhelm it," and that's the fundamental message of hope in the psalm and in this movie: darkness may surround you, permeate your life, seem unbeatable, unbearable, inescapable and utterly overwhelming--but in the end, despite the fact that the only conceivable outcome seems to be that you will be ultimately defeated . . . you will not. There are some things that no one in this world but you can control; if you decide to shine, to live your life without being overwhelmed and undone by even the harsh, hard, and sometimes cruel facts of your life, but also without denying how harsh, hard and cruel they still are, then they won't overwhelm you. The only force that can make your life worth living, or not, is when you decide, regardless of what conclusion the world around you seems to have already made, to conclude that your life is in fact worth living, and to therefore live it.
This idea of "exploring the infinite abyss," is what I mean by "living your life": I don't mean just drawing air and maintaining bodily function as you watch the world go by; I don't mean to just "keep trucking" or "keep going" when you don't know where you're going, or why, or if you even want to be there at all; I don't mean that sort of numb, passive state of existence. I mean an active existence, one where you actually feel your emotions, instead of suppressing them. This includes the happy ones, the regrettable ones, the fond ones, the ones that are so sad and so painful you're afraid to even think about them--and you don't have to be afraid of even these, because like I explained: if you don't let them consume you, then they won't. You can't make them less sad, make them less painful, make them less overwhelming . . . but you CAN prevent them from taking over your life, controlling it, and ultimately ruining it.
The fact of the matter is that almost everyone's life contains these experiences and emotions; the ones that are so intensely painful and personal that the person himself is afraid to confront them. They seem un-healable, unbeatable, unmentionable . . . unthinkable. These emotions seem so totally unfathomable, that to confront them would be like staring into an utterly dark, hopelessly infinite abyss. If so much as acknowledging these problems, even to one's innermost self, is too frightening a concept to contemplate, then how much more so would be the thought of confronting them, and then the paralyzing, unimaginable horror of actually climbing in and exploring that abyss? The reasons for bolting, hiding, denying, or otherwise shielding oneself from this desperate abyss become obvious; and however many reasons there are for running from the abyss, there are as many ways to do it.
A few of these are demonstrated in Garden State. Andrew the protagonist, is shielded from his emotions by the numbing drugs he's taken since he was nine; his girlfriend Sam unwittingly protects herself with her unintentional lies, and when she does vulnerable, she hides by projecting her insecurities onto others ("you're like totally freaked out right now, ohmygod you can't wait to leave, don't feel bad, totally you can just go", etc.). Andrew's father simply denies that tragedy is an unavoidable part of life, and clings to the idea that they can all somehow just "be happy" and have no problems, whatsoever. Andrew's friend Kenny has become a cop, because he "couldn't think of anything better to do," and while he's made no effort to seek meaning and direction for himself, he seems think his occupation gives him that--although judging from his conversation, it obviously hasn't. His friend Jesse has made seemingly a few million dollars overnight, so even though he's already got what most people spend their lives striving for, he is ultimately unfulfilled, unmotivated, and utterly passive; even though the incessant drugs and partying make the passivity more fun, they don't change the fact that he is in fact just "doing nothing." Andrew's friend Mark seems to actually realize that he doesn't have what he wants from life, but can't seem to find any way of obtaining it, so he just waits, spending his time getting high and collecting Desert Storm trading cards, and hoping that somehow it will come to him. He seems to be getting progressively more desperate though, even though he says he's in "no rush."
Each character has his or her way of hiding, running, or somehow veiling from themselves the infinite abyss, but by the end Andrew at least, and maybe Sam, has torn down the protective walls he's built up around his problems, and is finally beginning to actually live, to explore his own "infinite abyss."
This also touches on the movie's theme of doing something "completely original, that no one else has done before." Sam has the habit of doing something nonsensical and absurd to feel that she's doing something unique; the movie's message though, seems to be that the one truly unique, unprecedented, and inimitable act someone is capable of is to simply live. No one before has lived your life, hurt the way you've hurt, cried your tears, or laughed your laugh.
No one before has explored your infinite abyss.
So yeah, that's kind of what I thought the movie was about, and it really spoke to me. I feel like I'm at a similar point in my life, where I'm just beginning to take control of my own life and how I feel about it; so it affected me more deeply than it might have otherwise. Maybe it also skewed my whole perception of what the movie was all about, but whatever. It was certainly a beautiful, subtly nuanced, and finely crafted film though, with exquisite writing and some exceptional acting. That's all for now, I'm sure I'll think of something later.
*this trip to FL will be described later on, when I feel like it.