Even David Lynch Knows the Importance of a Beating Heart: A Review of Zach Braff's Wish I Was Here

In a recent interview with Elvis Mitchell on The Treatment, Zach Braff stated that when it comes to the unwritten rules of genre in Hollywood, “My brother and I just tried to just throw all that out the window and say, ‘Well, let’s just tell a good story.’” 

In his new film, Wish I Was Here, which he co-wrote with his brother, Adam, Braff’s aversion to Hollywood rules and standards is apparent—sometimes it’s obvious—but in no way is he a trailblazing maverick with his middle finger proudly raised to the establishment. His slight alterations to the status quo are made out of love and possibility, not spite. This doesn’t mean, however, that what he’s made is an overly daring film. It’s not. But it is different, and as a result, it’s flawed. 

Much of the rule-breaking Braff does—like incorporating space-age fantasy sequences into a family drama about mortality, spirituality, growth, and communication—feels somewhat forced. You can almost hear Braff—in his self-approving awe-whisper—say, “Look at that? I bet you’ve never seen that before.” In reality, we probably have, but we’ll give him the benefit of the doubt since he is nothing if not passionate. 

Because Braff liberally splices genres, the result is rather choppy. Some scenes feel like they were included merely because the idea was so well-loved by its creators as opposed to being critical to plot or character development. A scene involving Braff’s former Scrubs co-star, Donald Faison, and a very expensive sports car comes to mind. 

When all is said and done though, these flaws aren’t bad. In fact, they’re necessary in film these days. The big, corporate-run studios care only to produce and reproduce massive, technically perfect blockbusters, which is not going to end because the majority of audiences think they want to see massive, technically perfect blockbusters. Especially when it’s hot outside. What those movies lack—save this year’s Godzilla and Snowpiercer—is the sense that a risk, big or small, is being taken to offer something new or a little difficult for audiences to reckon with.

In the case of Wish I Was Here, Braff’s risks are on the small side, but the emotional reward they provide is monumental. One such risk is crafting a story in which the mother and father don’t hate each other’s guts. The risk, of course, presents itself in the question, “Well, where’s the conflict?” Braff’s answer comes in the inner struggles of his characters as they balance what it means to be on unique, personal quests that demand the inclusion of their loved ones despite differing opinions on what fulfillment is and how to attain it.

In that sense, the film is a triumph. The family members are distinct, genuine, and familiar, a feat that’s partly attributed to Braff’s risks and partly to the performances of his fellow actors, specifically Kate Hudson and Mandy Patinkin. 

Hudson plays Sarah Bloom, the matriarch of the family who has sacrificed a great deal of her own dreams so that her husband Aiden, played by Braff, can continue to chase his own—acting. If Sarah is bitter about this aspect of their relationship, she barely let’s on. Sure, she gets angry and frustrated from time to time, but like Natalie Portman’s Sam in Braff’s first film, Garden State, Sarah—an agnostic—believes in revitalization through the mysteries life offers us, and this belief allows her to persevere.

This isn’t to say she’s resigned to her role as breadwinner. Nor to her role at the water department where sexual harassment is the problem of women not being relaxed enough to understand the good-natured humor in a man’s unwanted sexual advances. Because she’s not resigned. She’s a fighter, for herself and for her family. She’s intelligent though, knows when to pick her battles, and knows that her husband confronting the creep at her work is not the answer to that problem. 

Her confronting her husband’s very religious father, on the other hand, is the right battle because she knows how crucial restoration to their relationship will be in the development of her husband and his brother as their lives continue to evolve. So she confronts him—challenges him, really—and in doing so simultaneously commands his respect and offers her love. And it’s beautiful to watch.

Speaking of which, Mandy Patinkin, who plays Aiden’s cantankerous father, Gabe, is nearly perfect. His performance centers on breathing, vocality, and enunciation rather than looks or actions, and the changes his character endures as the story progresses are subtle—yet heartbreakingly telling—and create an authentic, tragic reality that results in a profundity neither he nor his family expected.

Braff isn’t out to revolt against Hollywood, but much of the press surrounding the making this film could lead you to believe otherwise. He funded production through Kickstarter after running into numerous problems with studios that involved—among other things, no doubt—artistic control. Kickstarter allowed Braff to write, shoot, and edit the film his way. Thankfully, that way doesn’t include mockery or loathing. He’s too much of a romantic to go all Alexander Payne on us with his artistic freedom.

What he achieves when he breaks these narrative and structural rules, however, is the ability to remind us of the elasticity of film as an art-form. When bent or tweaked, even only a little, film is still capable of never-before-seen feats that go beyond insipid 3D images, and reach us on an existential level. But what we’re also reminded of, sadly, is how the majority of films made these days are done so without heart or a spiritual core. As a result, current cinema isn’t capable of reaching us on thought-provoking or even visceral levels, and that continually offered empty glass has left us very thirsty.