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Garden State
(2004)
Dir: Zach Braff
I have always felt a little sinister for harboring a crush on Natalie Portman’s character in The Professional. I think she was only fourteen in that movie. At least half of the blame for the attraction can rest on director Luc Besson’s shoulders. He gave her character a heavy Lolita appeal (especially in the longer, European cut, titled Leon). You could tell from her acting, screen-presence, dangling bangs, and cigarette smoking that she was going to grow up to be totally hot. She seemed poised to become a moody, gothic temptress. However, it was not to be. She did blossom into quite a beauty, but a wholesome and brainy one. Boring. Even as she neared adulthood, it was hard to maintain a crush on her. Then it became nearly impossible when she was cast as Queen Amidala. Horrible face paint, and an even worse set of movies (third reel of CGIshit on the way) proved to be utterly deplorable; even Mars Attacks! sucked less. I’d see her glamming up the cover of a magazine here or there, but it was pretty much over. With Garden State, however, a garden-variety, coming-of-age movie, I can mark Portman‘s return to adorability. In the movie, she plays Sam, an awkward, super-sweet, epileptic, Shins-obsessed, apologetic compulsive-liar; basically your every-nerd wet dream. Great, but it’s also the movie’s downfall. Girls like that simply can’t exist, and fuck this movie for pretending that they do. There is nothing unlikable about Sam. Setting her as the precious-perfect core of the film makes the whole project a bit sickening. Plenty juiced-up with quirky characters and off-beat situations, Garden State is a tepid boy-meets-girl affair. Braff plays Andrew Largeman, a Jersey kid, steeped in Lithium, with a fledgling acting career in L.A., who is summoned home by his sullen father for his mother’s funeral. Once home, he meets up with some old pals, most notably Peter Sarsgaard who plays a listless gravedigger, for an old-timey after school special. Pot, ecstasy, plenty of hooch and some spin-the-bottle (Teen Wolf beware). It seems like “Largeman’s” homecoming is going to be just another slice of ennui in an already numb existence. Then he meets Sam, and bolt from the blue, his life turns around. Need I go on? It’s got a lot of heart, but so do crippled puppies. Only it’s central performances prevent it from languishing in total mediocrity. Braff (Andrew Largeman) and Portman (Sam) nurture a darling celluloid affair, but it’s Peter Sarsgaard, as Mark, that snatches the gold. His poetic and earnest portrayal of what really happens after high school is the film‘s real heartbeat. A much better “indie” picture would’ve centered around a blood-curdling, substance-fueled relationship between Mark and Sam. A shiftless lay-about and a mentally ill cutie, now there’s something to believe in.
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