Memorable Movies: Garden State
Large: I've been having these really intense headaches. They only last for a split second and then they're gone. It's like a lightning flash; almost like a surge of electricity and then it's gone.
Doctor: You're Gideon's kid. I didn't even put the two together.
Large: Yeah.
Doctor: I'm sorry about your mother.
Large: Yeah. Thank you.
Doctor: I must have missed you at Shiva last night.
Large: Yeah.
Doctor: So how long have these headaches been going on?
Large: Well I think I've had them in some form since I was a little kid. But they've been getting more and more frequent over the last year.
Doctor: (looking at chart) How long have you been on Lithium?
Large: Oh uh, I've been on some form of it since I was ten or so.
Doctor: And what about Paxil, Zoloft, Celexa, Depakote; did any of that ever help you?
Large: No. I mean I don't know. It's recently occurred to me that I might not even have a problem. Only I'd never know it, because as far back as I can remember I've been medicated. I grew up on it. I left them in LA. This is the first time I haven't had it in my body since I can remember.
Doctor: Well, it'll leave your body pretty fast. I'll write you a prescription.
Large: Actually I...was thinking about taking a little vacation.
source: https://www.imsdb.com/scripts/Garden-State.html
As a bumbling undergraduate in the heart of New York City, I sauntered alone and contemplative through the streets during deserted Sunday mornings with a Starbucks mocha in my hand, sometimes bumming a cigarette from the occasional passerby and sitting on a bench at Union Square Park. In peak physical shape, I sipped the brown stuff and followed it with a long, wistful drag, and as the toxins flushed into my alveolar capillaries, I felt a profound loneliness admixed with a solace of hope.
I was an odd fellow. At nights, I'd bring my guitar out and play full-throated Dylan in the dorm basement of University Hall then bring the show out into the park, where I'd overcome intense anxiety to perform a few songs in the Park. The guitar case was splayed out suggestively, and I'd earn a few bucks for my next cup of Starbucks Mocha. I became such a frequent customer of that particular establishment, on 10 Union Square East circa 15th street, that at times a kind barista would make it for me free of charge. She sensed something in me I didn't; either an empty wallet or an impoverished soul.
I had no friends, something I talked about with Dr. Dinstein every 2 weeks or so. She gave me a good discount and offered specialized therapy that few psychiatrists perform nowadays, except for rich clientele. For 45 minutes, she'd combat mid-day fatigue with a restrained yawn and checking of the clock. Every time she did this, I wanted to make her like me more, become more interested, so from time to time I'd throw in some embellished stories to dilate her pupils, bringing her up to full attention again. Immediately, she'd rush to scribble into her notebook again, and my face quivered into a faint smile. It was a healthy exchange between two humans. I haven't seen her for a long time now, though on one of our appointments I visited her sprawling Westchester County home, where she held some therapy sessions out of convenience. Driving away from the secluded neighborhood, I'd sit and daydream of a bright future while fighting panicked thoughts of embarrassment, fear, looking for love, and emptiness; the usual fare of a lonely, anxious 20 year-old male.
Just now, I lied. I did have friends; a female, to be precise, and through our friendship I inherited her other friends. This friend, let's call her Emily, accepted me wholeheartedly for the intensely anxious, self-conscious, and peculiar guy I was; all despite my innumerable faux pas with her and her cohort. She wanted a relationship, but I cherished our friendship as it was, and, harsh as it was, I had no physical attraction towards her. She made me feel smart, accepted, delightfully quirky, and worthy of being liked.
But I could not take it to the next level. My roommate advised me to let go of her, for, as he put it, all friendships between men and women contain inherent sexual tension. I didn't agree, so my friendship with Emily lasted for 3 years before the final breaking point, where she and her friends mounted a vigorous pressure campaign to submit me to the reality that I did in fact love her in all ways, Platonic and otherwise. Nota bene: from the original readings in Plato's Symposium, the term 'platonic' (coined long after his death) as used to define relationships does not strictly mean something non-amorous, so its modern usage is largely incorrect. Plato churns in his grave on this account.
On one particular occasion during the pressure campaign, Emily's male friend took me aside for a talk, and used phrases like "bro, you know you love her, and that you're meant to be together" to try and convince me of the truth I had yet to accept. I didn't say yes, but I feared losing the nice friendships I had built through her, so I didn't say no. But it was a turning point, and finally I confronted Emily about it, cruelly dispelling any hope she might have had about our ensuing love-dating-nuptials, and so on. She wept, a heartbreaking sight, and returned the cruelty right back to me: "You are not fun or interesting, and I never cared so much about being friends with you as I did for being with you. You are weird and nobody will ever like you for who you are." And that was it. We went our separate ways, and I was alone again.
Despite the strident conflict at the end, I cannot say our time together was misspent. For one, she introduced me to some great music and movies, Garden State chief among them. For years after our undoing, I watched the movie over and over again, for something about it always struck an aching chord. Andrew Large (played by Zack Braff) was alone, uncomfortable in his shoes, and branded as abnormal from an early age. He never quite fit in. He had a history of trauma in his life, though I can't quite use that term so liberally for myself, fearing its overuse at the expense of genuine trauma victims. I moved around the world a lot as a kid and always felt displaced. Home was nowhere, and in some ways I still seek it. Upon freeing himself from the reins of medications, psychiatry, and his past, he found a similarly quirky and lovable mate in Sam, played by the beautiful and intelligent Natalie Portman. So there's the nice ending there as well, something I've always sought in movies ever since my parents had me watch countless Holocaust documentaries as a child (rightfully so).
I'm no movie Nazi or critic, as it were, but Garden State hit me at a point in life when I was keenly susceptible, and its essential message still lingers today; although I still seek that nice ending through my own travails - finishing surgical residency, moving back to near my parents, practicing Medicine, and having children with my lovely wife.
Doctor: You're Gideon's kid. I didn't even put the two together.
Large: Yeah.
Doctor: I'm sorry about your mother.
Large: Yeah. Thank you.
Doctor: I must have missed you at Shiva last night.
Large: Yeah.
Doctor: So how long have these headaches been going on?
Large: Well I think I've had them in some form since I was a little kid. But they've been getting more and more frequent over the last year.
Doctor: (looking at chart) How long have you been on Lithium?
Large: Oh uh, I've been on some form of it since I was ten or so.
Doctor: And what about Paxil, Zoloft, Celexa, Depakote; did any of that ever help you?
Large: No. I mean I don't know. It's recently occurred to me that I might not even have a problem. Only I'd never know it, because as far back as I can remember I've been medicated. I grew up on it. I left them in LA. This is the first time I haven't had it in my body since I can remember.
Doctor: Well, it'll leave your body pretty fast. I'll write you a prescription.
Large: Actually I...was thinking about taking a little vacation.
source: https://www.imsdb.com/scripts/Garden-State.html
As a bumbling undergraduate in the heart of New York City, I sauntered alone and contemplative through the streets during deserted Sunday mornings with a Starbucks mocha in my hand, sometimes bumming a cigarette from the occasional passerby and sitting on a bench at Union Square Park. In peak physical shape, I sipped the brown stuff and followed it with a long, wistful drag, and as the toxins flushed into my alveolar capillaries, I felt a profound loneliness admixed with a solace of hope.
I was an odd fellow. At nights, I'd bring my guitar out and play full-throated Dylan in the dorm basement of University Hall then bring the show out into the park, where I'd overcome intense anxiety to perform a few songs in the Park. The guitar case was splayed out suggestively, and I'd earn a few bucks for my next cup of Starbucks Mocha. I became such a frequent customer of that particular establishment, on 10 Union Square East circa 15th street, that at times a kind barista would make it for me free of charge. She sensed something in me I didn't; either an empty wallet or an impoverished soul.
I had no friends, something I talked about with Dr. Dinstein every 2 weeks or so. She gave me a good discount and offered specialized therapy that few psychiatrists perform nowadays, except for rich clientele. For 45 minutes, she'd combat mid-day fatigue with a restrained yawn and checking of the clock. Every time she did this, I wanted to make her like me more, become more interested, so from time to time I'd throw in some embellished stories to dilate her pupils, bringing her up to full attention again. Immediately, she'd rush to scribble into her notebook again, and my face quivered into a faint smile. It was a healthy exchange between two humans. I haven't seen her for a long time now, though on one of our appointments I visited her sprawling Westchester County home, where she held some therapy sessions out of convenience. Driving away from the secluded neighborhood, I'd sit and daydream of a bright future while fighting panicked thoughts of embarrassment, fear, looking for love, and emptiness; the usual fare of a lonely, anxious 20 year-old male.
Just now, I lied. I did have friends; a female, to be precise, and through our friendship I inherited her other friends. This friend, let's call her Emily, accepted me wholeheartedly for the intensely anxious, self-conscious, and peculiar guy I was; all despite my innumerable faux pas with her and her cohort. She wanted a relationship, but I cherished our friendship as it was, and, harsh as it was, I had no physical attraction towards her. She made me feel smart, accepted, delightfully quirky, and worthy of being liked.
But I could not take it to the next level. My roommate advised me to let go of her, for, as he put it, all friendships between men and women contain inherent sexual tension. I didn't agree, so my friendship with Emily lasted for 3 years before the final breaking point, where she and her friends mounted a vigorous pressure campaign to submit me to the reality that I did in fact love her in all ways, Platonic and otherwise. Nota bene: from the original readings in Plato's Symposium, the term 'platonic' (coined long after his death) as used to define relationships does not strictly mean something non-amorous, so its modern usage is largely incorrect. Plato churns in his grave on this account.
On one particular occasion during the pressure campaign, Emily's male friend took me aside for a talk, and used phrases like "bro, you know you love her, and that you're meant to be together" to try and convince me of the truth I had yet to accept. I didn't say yes, but I feared losing the nice friendships I had built through her, so I didn't say no. But it was a turning point, and finally I confronted Emily about it, cruelly dispelling any hope she might have had about our ensuing love-dating-nuptials, and so on. She wept, a heartbreaking sight, and returned the cruelty right back to me: "You are not fun or interesting, and I never cared so much about being friends with you as I did for being with you. You are weird and nobody will ever like you for who you are." And that was it. We went our separate ways, and I was alone again.
Despite the strident conflict at the end, I cannot say our time together was misspent. For one, she introduced me to some great music and movies, Garden State chief among them. For years after our undoing, I watched the movie over and over again, for something about it always struck an aching chord. Andrew Large (played by Zack Braff) was alone, uncomfortable in his shoes, and branded as abnormal from an early age. He never quite fit in. He had a history of trauma in his life, though I can't quite use that term so liberally for myself, fearing its overuse at the expense of genuine trauma victims. I moved around the world a lot as a kid and always felt displaced. Home was nowhere, and in some ways I still seek it. Upon freeing himself from the reins of medications, psychiatry, and his past, he found a similarly quirky and lovable mate in Sam, played by the beautiful and intelligent Natalie Portman. So there's the nice ending there as well, something I've always sought in movies ever since my parents had me watch countless Holocaust documentaries as a child (rightfully so).
I'm no movie Nazi or critic, as it were, but Garden State hit me at a point in life when I was keenly susceptible, and its essential message still lingers today; although I still seek that nice ending through my own travails - finishing surgical residency, moving back to near my parents, practicing Medicine, and having children with my lovely wife.
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