Here

If one were to describe the life’s work of Robert Zemeckis, perhaps a good start could be a quote from one of the characters in his latest film: “The future is the only direction we’re headed. It’s happening right now.” No one has launched themselves headfirst into the technological unknown like Zemeckis, sometimes even to the detriment of his own work. Yet, even at his most uncanny-valley-like, his relentless drive to push boundaries and create new cinematic experiences within the cultural mainstream remains unmatched. However, familiar as he may seem, with his latest film – an on-screen 30th-anniversary reunion with the stars of, perhaps, his crowning achievement, Forrest Gump (1994) – he manages not only to reveal a thesis statement on his entire career, but also dive into the experimental territory like never before.

Adapted from Richard McGuire’s graphic novel of the same name, Here is a multigenerational story about regrets and compromises in one's life, told from the point of view of a single point in space where over the millennia many different inhabitants found refuge, living out their lives while making other plans.

The film primarily focuses on two generations of the Young family. Al (Paul Bettany) and Rose (Kelly Reilly) are a working-class couple seeking an affordable home where they can settle and raise a child. Al, a war veteran dealing with hearing loss, hopes for peace of mind as they await the birth of their son, Richard (Tom Hanks). Decades later, Richard marries Margaret (Robin Wright), and due to worsening economic conditions, the two generations live together under one roof.

Richard and Margaret dream of saving for a place of their own, but compromises and sacrifices become the defining traits of their lives. Little do they know that similar decisions have been made in this very spot in the past – and will continue to be made in the future, long after they’re gone. As this family drama unfolds, the film interweaves fragments of similar lives and choices from other times: from the age of dinosaurs to Indigenous peoples, colonial settlers, William Franklin (the illegitimate son of Benjamin Franklin), and even the post-Covid era.

There is nothing like cinema for expressing a subjective point of view of a single character, as well as contemplating the passage of time, and Zemeckis’ career is a testament to that. Yet, what he’s attempting to do here is something else entirely. Although in the past we had fixed perspective films where the camera is simply observing a place, with some people taking this approach to its security-camera extremes, when one covers a timespan of what might be considered a totality of life on earth, the approach ceases to be about a situation, or human identification; it becomes the closest thing to an other-worldly point of view.

Some cultural critics and historians argue for decentering history by narrating it through ordinary objects or overlooked perspectives. Like retelling the past as a history of wine. Here achieves a similar effect. With figures like Benjamin Franklin’s illegitimate son appearing alongside Indigenous histories and mundane family struggles, the film evokes a sense of being in the presence of history, but with it being reduced to a mere backdrop to what’s really important. What drives life forward in this film are not monumental events but small, desperate acts of perseverance. These everyday sacrifices – made for family, survival, or hope – are what truly shape the world.

The point of view the film takes does not identify with the house where most of the film takes place, or even with the characters of the film, rather, the film identifies with the very point in space where their lives unfold. The only thing that stays the same is this driving force that indelibly pushes life forward. The way this is all accomplished is via visual abbreviations in the form of small picture frames that show small parts of that same spot, but from different times. That way, we’re not just invited to compare and contrast the two timelines which are playing out in front of us simultaneously, but we’re also made witness to the effects of time happening in front of us.

In the past, Terrance Malick’s Tree Of Life, as well as Charlie Kaufman’s Synecdoche, New York, aimed for a similar feeling of regret and being small in the face of the totality of time and compromises imposed on their characters. However, although both films show the passage of time and how one's life is seemingly a small part of an entire web of connections running through history, Zemeckis makes this even more literal in an experimental fashion. Instead of just cutting back and forth in a dream-like state, the images that would suddenly fade in the middle of the frame show us that every moment is fleeting, and yet, nothing seems to pass in this film. Like an old piece of furniture you can’t separate from, or like an old social media post from 15 years ago, waiting to bite you from behind, it seems that a huge part of human condition is trying to hold onto the past, perhaps because in that way, we can hold onto the illusion that things never really go away. They stack up, and hold weight over us.

Like with a musical composition where we’re not just listening to the individual tune hitting our eardrums right now, but also the tune that came right before it and also the tune we’re anticipating in the future as well. Trying to hold onto all these different realities, of which, many are either long gone, or are figments of our imagination, not only do we feel small in comparison, but this act of never letting things go becomes a burden. This action is made quite literal through the fades of images from different time periods, successfully convincing us that letting go of one house is the hardest thing Tom Hanks’ Richard could do, and showing us that, perhaps, the only sensible thing is to let things go.

Now, conceptually stimulating as it is, the prospect of getting rid of all camera movement, shot sizes and alternating angles, all while pulling off the record number of de-ageing shots, even for a film in 2024… Well, let’s just say that it can be a lot at times. However, despite these hurdles, Here remains a cinematic experiment of high ambition – something rarely seen in the cultural mainstream.