Garden State

By James C. Hess

As some readers of this effort know, about a year ago I posed a question that provoked responses unrelenting, unapologetic, all of them along the spectrum of human emotion: Anger, hatred, disbelief, frustration, disgust, happiness, delight, dismay, confusion, contrite, prejudice, bigotry--just to name a few.

And then there was the matter of the threats against my person, some veiled, some implied, some not so hidden in their intent and desire.

For those who don't know about this particular adventure in my life, for those who are curious about what it was I said by way of a select question, one that incited others to emotional outbursts and apparent violence, here is the question:

How important is honesty in writing?

That's it. That's the question. Without alteration or paraphrasing, that's it.

When I decided to ask this question I knew I would get a response to it. After all, honesty is a proven point of contention for a great many, especially those who make their living in politics and the news media, where honesty, more often than not, is viewed as a liability and not an asset. What I didn't know, what I didn't expect, was the form many of the responses would take. So when the aforementioned anger, hatred, disbelief, prejudice, bigotry, etc. manifested themselves against me I had to wonder what exactly was going on, and decided further, more in-depth, examination and consideration of the matter was required.

Honesty, I have concluded, albeit superifically, especially when it comes to something as personal as writing or behavior, is a curious thing: Humans, generally-speaking, expect honesty from others, but are contradictory and decidedly hypocritical when it comes to themselves.

Bluntly, then: We lie to ourselves and allow such things, but take great offense when others do the same, either to themselves or toward us.

And how do we know when someone is lying? Often by way of body language: Eye contact, crossed arms and/or legs, language, tone of voice, etc., all collectively defined as behavior.

Which brings me to a film I recently saw, "Garden State". Here is a film that should succeed on all levels engaged, but doesn't. Instead, it fails without exception, and the singular reason is because of behavior on the part of the actors, which, simply, is not honest.

Understand, the performances put forth are acceptable, and good, but because of how they are executed by the given actors they are not enough, and, consequently, the film must and does fail.

For example, when we first encounter Andrew Largeman, the hero of this particular story, he seems to be almost catatonic: He is laying flat, on his back, under a smooth, unwrinkled sheet, on a white bed, in a white room, spartan, barren of other furnishings, except for an answering machne, which is recording a message from his father, informing him his mother has drowned, in a bathtub. When the message is done Andrew gets off the bed, goes to his medicine cabinet, looks in, and sees there every shelf filled with neatly and orderly arranged rows of prescription drugs.

Is this convincing? Is this something one can believe in? No. And the basic reason is because f Andrew's behavior, as presented by actor Zach Braff, who demonstrates his definite and undeniable lack of acting talent.

Speaking of actors in subsequent scenes it is learned Andrew is a would-be actor--he played a retarded quarterback in a made-for-cable movie--who makes a living working in a Vietnamese restaurant. Not a good living this, and it may go to explain why he has not been home--New Jersey--for a visit for nine years. Oh, yes: He is overmedicated and is heavily into self-medication.

However, shortly before he leaves for his mother's funeral he decides to leave all his pills behind, and his life begins anew.

That is, it would begin anew if only there were realistic behavior going on.

I noted previously that Andrew is played by Zach Braff, who also directed "Garden State". This is important, I suggest, because it may go to explain why this film fails when and where it shouldn't. As director Braff is acting and as actor he is directing. Consequently, the film has little or no direction and his fellow actors--if they can honestly be called such--are left to fend for themselves in various scenes and settings.

Andrew returns home to his father, Gideon (Ian Holm), who is a very distant and dry man, infused with a deep-seated anger directed toward his son: He believes, in his capacity as a psychiatrist, Andrew made his mother into a paraplegic by pushing her so she fell over the opn door of dishwasher. Andrew, on the other hand, believes she fell because she was clumsy, the dishwasher had a broken latch, and his father is not a very nice person.

Once home Andrew's life starts over: He recognizes the gravediggers at his mother's funeral: They were once high school buddies whom he left behind to pursue a life the world of make-believe and fantasy otherwise known as the theater. But again, his life does not actually start over because the behavior by the respective actors is not honest: Would a person who self-medicates actually take to getting high on ecstasy? It is possible, but unlikely, given Andrew just gave up drugs to awaken.

Regardless, he is soon playing spin-the-bottle at a party, whre he meets a woman he immediately falls in love with: Sam (Natalie Portman, in a quickly forgotten role). She is a local girl who anything but honest: She is available for dating, she is desirable by all manner of men, and she likes the man who wants her.

Puh-lease.

At a certain point, following all these events, we catch up with Andrew, Sam, and his high school buddy, Mark (Peter Sarsgaard), as they travel through the wilds of New Jersey, where they meet some very strange and odd persons. Speaking of odd, Mark is supposed to be a stoner. Again, he is unconvincing because of his behavior. No matter. As a drug user he has a wide variety of friends, including a classmate who invented silent Velcro.

As Andrew and CO. go through their journey Andrew supposedly awakens from a life of medicated nothingness to a life of curiosity and wonder. That is, he would were his behavior credible. I can't help but say again: It isn't.

Because of this awakening comparisons are made to another film, a relatively-better film, about awakenings, "The Graduate". If honesty is introduced into the equation, however, one quickly sees and realizes there is no comparison. Dustin Hoffman was honest with his behavior in that role, Braff is not. Consequently, a film that should inspire disgusts and discourages.

About the Author:

James C. Hess graduated from the University of Colorado at Boulder, where he earned a Bachelor's Degree in English Literature, with an emphasis on Editorial Journalism and Film Studies.

Hess currently makes his home along the Front Range of the Colorado Rockies.

Article courtesy of http://www.suite101.com.