I'm from New Jersey and I'm proud about it
Man, that guy from Scrubs hit it right on the head. Life is all about creating totally unique moments. Hell, that’s what life is, even if we don’t realize it. And the more unique, the better.
I saw Garden State on Saturday night. I, admittedly, was rather geeked up about the whole she-bang, for two reasons:
1. I am a native of the great Garden State, and will defend it to the death.
2. When the movie first came out, a friend saw it and raved to me that it was better than “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” a movie that enthralled me almost to the point of writing about it.
Garden State was better for one major reason - more plausible.
You can’t erase all memories of a person. You can go back to where you grew up, for the first time nine years later, connect with old friends, realize you’re headed nowhere, and fall in love in four days.
I admit, I am a fan of NBC’s Scrubs, and Zach Braff, who stars there, also stars here. If you’ve seen Scrubs, you can understand that during some dialogue-free parts of the film, I kept waiting for his thoughts to narrate the goings-on.
Many movies tend to focus on making the viewer feel a lot of one specific emotion, or a little bit of a lot of different emotions. Comedies occasionally have a plot or some kind of moral or heartfelt angle, dramas have funny moments, horror movies are unintentional laugh-fests, etc. Eternal Sunshine made me laugh a little, think more. Garden State had genuinely hilarious moments immediately neighboring poignant ones, emotion and comedy - dark at times, very often subtle - constantly intertwined.
During the movie, it was as if I was receiving a great big hug. After the movie, I felt like I needed one. Emotionally riveting.
It’s not just because I was pining for my home state - the tree-lined streets, the eclectic mix of humanity, Medieval Times, pet cemetaries, Jewish people, girls like Natalie Portman - but it was because I could identify with the Braff’s character, Andrew Largeman. You can’t go home again. Buildings go up, they come down. People come and go. Once you leave, that’s it. We all want to go home, but home is not tangible. Home is wherever you are, if you’re lucky.
Just once, I want to wear a garbage bag as a rain coat, stand on top of a piece of heavy machinery with two close friends and scream into an abyss. Why can’t people let go like that these days?
Go see this movie. If you don’t like it, I’ll pay for your ticket. If you need company, I’ll probably see it with you, even if it’s the 12th time for me. It’s like a good book, you want to read it over and over.
It also has a soundtrack of pure amazement, with three songs I already had on my computer on an unrelated lark (one from The Polyphonic Spree, then the Shins song from the waiting room, and the Alexi Murdoch song, Orange Sky, when they are in the bedroom before burying Jelly.)
I could go on. But why?
I saw Garden State on Saturday night. I, admittedly, was rather geeked up about the whole she-bang, for two reasons:
1. I am a native of the great Garden State, and will defend it to the death.
2. When the movie first came out, a friend saw it and raved to me that it was better than “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” a movie that enthralled me almost to the point of writing about it.
Garden State was better for one major reason - more plausible.
You can’t erase all memories of a person. You can go back to where you grew up, for the first time nine years later, connect with old friends, realize you’re headed nowhere, and fall in love in four days.
I admit, I am a fan of NBC’s Scrubs, and Zach Braff, who stars there, also stars here. If you’ve seen Scrubs, you can understand that during some dialogue-free parts of the film, I kept waiting for his thoughts to narrate the goings-on.
Many movies tend to focus on making the viewer feel a lot of one specific emotion, or a little bit of a lot of different emotions. Comedies occasionally have a plot or some kind of moral or heartfelt angle, dramas have funny moments, horror movies are unintentional laugh-fests, etc. Eternal Sunshine made me laugh a little, think more. Garden State had genuinely hilarious moments immediately neighboring poignant ones, emotion and comedy - dark at times, very often subtle - constantly intertwined.
During the movie, it was as if I was receiving a great big hug. After the movie, I felt like I needed one. Emotionally riveting.
It’s not just because I was pining for my home state - the tree-lined streets, the eclectic mix of humanity, Medieval Times, pet cemetaries, Jewish people, girls like Natalie Portman - but it was because I could identify with the Braff’s character, Andrew Largeman. You can’t go home again. Buildings go up, they come down. People come and go. Once you leave, that’s it. We all want to go home, but home is not tangible. Home is wherever you are, if you’re lucky.
Just once, I want to wear a garbage bag as a rain coat, stand on top of a piece of heavy machinery with two close friends and scream into an abyss. Why can’t people let go like that these days?
Go see this movie. If you don’t like it, I’ll pay for your ticket. If you need company, I’ll probably see it with you, even if it’s the 12th time for me. It’s like a good book, you want to read it over and over.
It also has a soundtrack of pure amazement, with three songs I already had on my computer on an unrelated lark (one from The Polyphonic Spree, then the Shins song from the waiting room, and the Alexi Murdoch song, Orange Sky, when they are in the bedroom before burying Jelly.)
I could go on. But why?