'A Good Person', Continuing, & Creating
I spoke with Zach Braff about his latest film, finding the hope to keep going, and making personal art
This is a special one.
I hope you’re all doing great. I just got back from a week in Tokyo, which dazzles my mind, eyes, and stomach every time. I’m also enamored by how kind and thoughtful Japanese people can be, even in mundane circumstances. If you’ve never been, please find time to visit. It’s the best city in the world to wander.
Onto Thoughts + Things:
As I said, this edition is unique: I have just one thing to share — and many thoughts to go with it. I watched Zach Braff’s newest film, A Good Person. He wrote and directed it and it stars Florence Pugh opposite Morgan Freeman. And then I got to talk to Zach about it.
This would be a meaningful opportunity for anyone, but it’s particularly special for me: I first watched Zach’s directorial debut Garden State in college, when it inspired a young, naive kid to embrace the richness of life that lay in front of him. Exploring the infinite abyss will never feel too cliché to me. And The Only Living Boy in New York is still playing in the back of my ears. I’ve revisited the film many times over the years.
And so, writing this at 29, right around the age Zach was when that film came out, and talking about making art and the film he’s just made on the other side of 20 years… that was something. I hope you enjoy this anywhere near as much as I did writing it, watching the film, and speaking with Zach.
And I hope you'll check out A Good Person. It's the kind of art the world needs more of. You can rent it on demand on multiple platforms here and watch the trailer below (although I’d recommend just going in cold, as there are some basic spoilers):
I’ll be clear from the start: A Good Person is not an easy film to watch: it barrages you with tough feelings and cuts to the bone. It’s a story of tremendous grief, (uncomfortably) imperfect people, tragedy, depression, addiction, reckoning with consequences and accountability, and living in an unfair world. But it’s also about hope, and finding it as a means of going on.
Zach is a filmmaker that is good at noticing the little details of life. This makes his writing so believable, and when he tells stories like this one it makes them hit even harder. And while facing these emotions so viscerally can be a challenge, seeing them presented in an honest, but hopeful way can grant us perspective.
I'd be remiss not to mention Florence Pugh: she gives what I can only describe as a masterful performance. She’s in the ring with the great Morgan Freeman, playing with our heartstrings, bleeding emotion, and going blow-for-blow with him until the very end. She is the gravity of the film and plays her character Allison with a rawness that must be believed. She even wrote and performed two songs on the excellent soundtrack from the perspective of her character (the soundtrack, like Garden State’s, is handcrafted and superb). If it wasn't clear to me yet that she is a bonafide superstar, it is now.
There are a few things that stood out about this film and Zach's approach that I was excited to discuss with him. Our conversation was inspiring and I hope my takeaways will do the same for those of you who are pushing through life’s challenges or doing the hard work of creating something.
On Continuing & Connection
They come in different shapes, but both Garden State and A Good Person are ultimately about troubled people finding a way to go on, look up, and continue. Garden State's Largeman (played by Zach) is coming out of this trough of depression and numbness, wondering if anything is really worth getting out of bed for. Meanwhile, we find Florence’s Allison as close to the end of the line as someone can get. The right metaphor for her life is broken glass, bloody hands, everything in pieces, alone. Why go on? And yet, somehow, Zach suggests that we can find that there is still love yet, maybe hiding around the bend if we can't see it.
I asked Zach why he's drawn to these types of stories:
ZB: What I see in both these films is someone looking for human connection. Someone who is lonesome and depressed and feels isolated. And is looking for love… The movie's about standing back up. About no matter how low you go on the floor, about having the hope to continue and to go on, through love, and friendship, and connection.
It’s both obvious and profound: we weren’t made to go at life alone. And yet it can be so easy to forget; to close up, run away, or lash out when we need connection most. This film does a beautiful job of showing just how surprised we might be when seeking connection, even in unlikely places. And like Garden State, it reminds us that we can be there for another’s struggles even when the foundation beneath us is anything but sturdy. The fallacy that we always need to get right with ourselves before we seek others’ help is so tempting and yet so damaging.
On Offering Something Personal
I've always felt that the best art becomes universal through specificity. A songwriter can describe such a distinct and personal emotion or a filmmaker can create a scene directly from their own life. And yet the audience responds with amazement that the art feels like it’s acknowledging them directly. There’s nothing like art that gets you.
For subject matter like this, though, I can't help but feel there is a potential burden to take on: how do you approach this kind of pain, grief, depression, and addiction? People who have experienced these things bring so much to the table with them. Dare I try and say something about what you may have felt, or how you should cope?
Zach and I discussed how he thinks about this burden. His answer was full of wisdom and grace:
ZB: Well, the burden is if you're trying to say like... my story is your story. I'm not saying that.
What I do is find as much specificity as I can with my storytelling… that comes out of me. You stare at the blinking cursor and you go, I don't know what the f*** I'm going to say. I have these feelings… In this case, my friend was dying from COVID, we were in lockdown, I'd lost my sister, I'd lost my father. I was very low. And battling it all.
And I knew that the pandemic gave me no other use but to sit in that chair and face the blank cursor, because what the f*** else was I going to do? I didn't want to make sourdough… I don't know how to make sourdough… Florence learned to make sourdough...
But what came out of me was something that had a specificity to my own life. Even though it isn’t my story, it is the way I expressed it. And then all you can do is pray and hope that people see themselves in it.
His answer reminded me of part of a BAFTA speech by Charlie Kaufman that’s stuck with me for years. I think the two writers would agree on this one:
CK: The obvious solution was not to throw my hands up but try to find myself in a situation where I was doing me, not someone else. Do you. It isn’t easy but it’s essential. It’s not easy because there’s a lot in the way. In many cases a major obstacle is your deeply seated belief that you are not interesting. And since convincing yourself that you are interesting is probably not going to happen, take it off the table. Think, ‘Perhaps I’m not interesting but I am the only thing I have to offer, and I want to offer something. And by offering myself in a true way I am doing a great service to the world, because it is rare and it will help.’
On Taste & Authenticity
We talked about the kid who made Garden State and the filmmaker Zach is now, and what wisdom he's held onto in the twenty years since. He returned, once again, to the personal, and referenced Tarantino's advice to make the movie you want to see:
ZB: You have to speak your authentic self onto the page. The idea of spending all this blood, sweat, tears, and energy on something that doesn't at least strive to be the most authentic story that is your voice...
Don't think about an audience; don't think about anything else but: 'What's a movie I want to see? What's my taste?'
I love a movie that breaks my f*****g heart, and then makes me feel the pangs of lost love, and then in between makes me belly laugh, and then gives me hope at the end. These are all things that I love in a movie.
So that was what felt like fulfilling my assignment from maestro Tarantino.
I’m sensing a pattern here! Why is it so tempting to try to make something for the invisible crowd whose taste we might intuit? I can’t say I always follow it, but — especially in the age of the internet — I don’t know if there is any better advice for creating.
On Fate, Acceptance, and Taking Life as it is
I won't spoil it, but A Good Person ends with a powerful message about fate, accepting the things we can't control, and embracing the lives we have. To close the interview, I mentioned the following to Zach:
JD: I just want to say, I've been thinking a lot about how you have to take all of what life gives you, not just cherry-pick the highlights or comfortable parts. And I think art that speaks to that is really, really important.
ZB: Thank you. I think so too, man... I love a big action movie, I love a f*****g comedy, I love all types of movies. But my favorite -- when I sit down and dedicate three years of my life to something-- is something that I'll really feel viscerally. And hopefully make an audience think about beyond leaving a theater. That's my dream.
I'll be sitting with this one for a while. I hope, if you choose to see the film, you'll leave thinking about how beautiful life is. You can’t have the best of it without having all of it. The whole messy, ugly, wonderful, imperfect, perfect sum of it. Life is so short. And so precious.
To close, I'll share an essential reminder and favorite motto of mine. It often rings true in moments of peace, joy, or wisdom, but is perhaps most needed when we are at our lowest:
This is the good part. It's all the good part.
Until next time,
Jackson
I've been reading these emails now for a while, but this one really resonated with me.
Zach has been a hugely influential person in my life - Garden State being my favorite movie + soundtrack growing up (I'll link my Spotify playlist I started almost 10 years ago entitled "The Infinite Abyss") - and Scrubs being my first bingeworthy series as a kid.
We can agree that Simon & Garfunkel is great, but Lebanese Blonde by Thievery Corporation is *chef's kiss*.
I hate to say that I'm jealous of your time interviewing him, but this was such a fantastic read. I will definitely have to find some time for 'A Good Person'.
https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4sykbbBCuqHQ2IE2vqR2mq?si=bfccb24ad10b4671