Back in 2004 when Zach Braff's writing/directing debut Garden State quietly slid into theaters, I caught it at a single-screen independent cinema having no idea what it was. Like a lot of people who wandered into this sleeper hit, I really enjoyed it upon the first viewing. However much it affected me in Summer 2004, the film really didn't hold up upon repeat viewings. But it's not so simple as enjoying a movie because of how and when one sees it. Something about Garden State plugged into that part of my brain that only lights up when I see a truly good film. For all of its problems, I've spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about why Garden State is special. That's why I'd like to apply something of a revisionist's bent to it today.

Let's get Garden State's failures out of the way first. The most grating aspect of the story is how it flits from one issue to another without really resolving any of them, then tying things up a little too nicely in the end. My main beef is with how Braff's Andrew Largeman confronts the extremely complex struggle with his father in one incredibly awkward scene that basically consists of Andrew delivering a cathartic monologue. The scene reads like a fantasy and it doesn't really address the nuance their relationship. I don't so much blame Braff for bad writing as I do for his overabundance of ambition. There's just not enough time in Garden State for this plot thread to get properly tied up.

The reason for this is because Braff spends most of the movie's run time concentrating on his quixotic quest to recover Andrew's dead mother's unique necklace. This strange center segment is definitely Garden State's strong point. It takes advantage of the many on-location set pieces of New Jersey, gives us a descriptive glimpse into Andrew's past and allows Peter Sarsgaard, the film's strongest actor by far, a chance to really show off his subtle talents. Placed in more economical surroundings, these scenes would provide indelible moments in cinema instead of the half-remembered indulgences of an ascending generation.

Given the opportunity to revise Garden State, I would significantly truncate the first act and completely amputate the closing fifteen or twenty minutes. Braff spends too much time reveling in Sam and all the rote love interest elements of her contribution to the plot. Sam ought not to be the magical girl who shows the disaffected Andrew all that's good about life, she ought to be just as confused and troubled as him. If this film consisted of little more than the necklace quest and the intimate cool-down of the mansion afterward, it would be an instant classic.

So, I think the reason so many people loved Garden State upon its arrival and despite its failings is because it still contains a fair number of excellent moments and deft directorial flourishes. It's half the quintessential movie of a generation and half a demonstration of that same generation's emotional cluelessness and inexperience. Like a teenage romance, so much of Garden State is powerful and special, but it just doesn't have enough substance or maturity to be all it wants to be.