Zach Braff has only directed two films in the past ten years, yet he has somehow managed to piss everybody off. Maybe it’s time he gets out of Hollywood for a bit. Maybe he’s getting too much sun, and it’s time to go back and smell the fresh Turnpike air in New Jersey.
Braff’s latest film, Wish I Was Here, plays like a training montage of indie cliches. It’s like they just wanted to point their camera at a bunch of objects for 106 minutes and yell, “look how quirky this is! Do you feel the quirks yet? Do you?!” I could make a list of every little cliche, but that could fill up an entire review.