It reminded me a lot of The Graduate, not so much of that film itself, but rather that rose-tinted meta-version of The Graduate that exists only in the minds of Baby Boomer critics as a trenchant and eternal generational statement. Zach Braff has taken aesthetic lessons learned from indie filmmakers of the past ten years and created a film that is honest and optimistic, infusing the sort of quirkiness that Wes Anderson specializes in with real meaning. Nothing about it rings hollow, despite plenty of stuff that ought to have come across as contrived. It feels like a fable from which we all might derive some relevant truths. Braff plays a semi-successful actor returning home for his mother's funeral while, for the first time since his youth, going off his antidepressants in an attempt to feel something – anything. He runs into old acquaintances and meets an equally messed-up soul (Natalie Portman, proving that outside of the Amidala costume, she can still act), triggering emotional responses that leave him reeling. The cast (which also includes Peter Sarsgaard and Ian Holm in brutally honest turns) is note-perfect, the photography is dazzling, the music is evocative and purposeful, and the story is stellar. This film will be around forever, and while it may (like The Graduate or, really, every film) lose its immediacy over time, its humanity and heartfulness will keep it alive. I suppose it is understandable that it would take a non-hipster to use the hipster sensibility to make something perfect and important, as film as substantial as it is stylish. I hope Wes Anderson, and we as a whole, take at least one cue from Garden State … a retreat back into our hearts, instead of into our meticulous collections of amusing cultural artifacts.
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