Wish I Was Here (Review)

Before I start, there's something I should mention to you. It may be of little importance to anyone, but it certainly matters to me: I was there from the very beginning...
Ten years ago, I was among the first to see Zach Braff's debut film Garden State when it was in its initial limited release of four theaters. This was after Sundance, before the hype, and before the inevitable backlash. Actually, it was so early in its release there wasn't really anything to backlash against - it was nowhere close to becoming what it is now: a cultural touchstone. All we had was a film, and all we knew was that it spoke to us.
I can remember it as if it were yesterday. I came to this film based solely upon its terrific trailer. A trailer, by the way, that contained no dialogue. It was simply a collage of images set to the now-familiar "Let Go" by Frou Frou, which I had never heard before. This was, of course, back when film trailers could be - and were even encouraged to be - little miniature pieces of art themselves (this occasionally still happens - take the wonderful trailer for The Social Network, for example). Discovering the trailer itself was even coincidental (remember when the only place to get high-quality film previews on the internet was the QuickTime website?), but it was distinctive and memorable, and it was clear, even from this mere glimpse, that this was a film with a voice. I had no idea what that voice was, but I wanted to hear it.
The end result of that first viewing was both wonderful and bittersweet: I felt as though I had "discovered" something, and for all its flaws, it was something that touched me deeply. But I also knew right away that the film wouldn't be just "mine" for much longer. When something enters the zeitgeist in this way, you can feel it. So instead of being selfish and keeping it all to myself, I did what any good film lover should do: I spread the word.
I told everyone I knew to see this film. I brought people to it - literally. I dragged people along with me. When it opened wider to another city, I called someone else. If they were anywhere close to my age (18 at the time) I was almost certain they'd get something out of it. And, with very few exceptions, they did. Because at that age, it's all about uncertainty. And that's exactly what the film was about.
I must tell you, it's been one of the most interesting, exciting, and altogether fascinating things in my life to see this film "grow up". A mere few months after I first saw it, I started hearing the soundtrack being played in multiple rooms throughout my dorm. I'd like to take credit for that, but I can't. People discovered the film on their own. Whether they saw themselves in it or someone else, they identified with it. I sure did - I saw it twelve times in the theater. In the intervening years it has both grown in stature and been ridiculed in equal measure. The only thing I can say to that is this: you either love it for what it is, or hate it for the same reasons.
The same thing can be said for Braff's follow-up, Wish I Was Here. It suffers from a few of the same problems - a tendency to follow narrative tangents that go nowhere, some awkward transitions from comedy into drama - but it's a better film overall. It's as if Braff was consciously trying to fix the shortcomings of his previous film. And it actually pays off. This is the work of an artist that has matured before our eyes, and it's fascinating to see the difference between the two films. Less reliant on sight gags and visual humor than its predecessor, it is nonetheless a very funny film - and also more emotionally grounded. I'm not sure whether the ten years it took to gather financing resulted in a more polished script, or if it was the addition of Braff's brother as a co-writer, but the final product truly speaks for itself. Characters are more well-rounded, major plot points blend more seamlessly into the story rather than sticking out like a sore thumb, and everything seems to be just a little bit more finessed. It all adds up to a more fulfilling experience.
On the flip side, one of the things holding this film back is, ironically, what made his first film shine: the soundtrack. The music itself is no less worthy, it's just how it's used this time around. While the first film built memorable scenes around the music, in this film they mostly just feel like needle drops (with the exception of the terrific end title song, "So Now What").
But that's all just quibbling. Overall, this is a strong, confident picture. Ambitious and deeply personal, it's freewheeling and unafraid, and takes on subjects such as life, death, faith, and the search for meaning with both care and grace. Does it completely succeed? No, it doesn't. But does it try its damnedest to get there? It sure does. And to me, that's admirable - and reason enough to watch.