1.5 out of 5 stars

Richard McGuire’s Here is a marvel. A six-page comic strip that focuses on the same small plot of land, this story mostly charts developments over time within a single family, but across its six pages it also encompasses all of existence. Dates are given for each panel, some of which take place hundreds of thousands of years before the comic’s publication in 1989, while others occur in the 21st-century. Here offers a rare perspective, gifting readers the opportunity to pull back from their biased interpretation of time and realise that every plot of land on this Earth, no matter how nondescript it may seem, has a story that stretches back millennia.

McGuire expanded on this idea in a full-length graphic novel, which, though not exactly essential given how well he had already explored these concepts in a small fraction of its follow-up’s length, is still a joy to browse through. Just like his ’89 comic, this roughly 300-page graphic novel incorporates panels within panels, where, for instance, one might find a piece of furniture in a panel dated to ’75, while the rest of the room is given an entirely different date. This allows characters to unknowingly interact with one another across different time periods, making every panel feel essential and emphasising an interconnectedness to existence that very few stories can offer.

It’s a mix of emotional maturity and stylistic invention that has rightfully earned its place as one of the most original ideas in the medium of comic-books, as well as a powerful and sobering work in its own right. Director Robert Zemeckis, who turned this seemingly unadaptable comic into a feature film, is also something of a stylistic inventor and boundary-pusher. Zemeckis’s work is proof that sometimes heralding in change isn’t always pretty, with movies like The Polar Express (2004) possessing some disturbing uncanny valley motion capture animation. (Though some of his earlier efforts, like 1988’s Who Framed Roger Rabbit and 1992’s Death Becomes Her, managed to be pioneering for their time while still holding up today.)

In terms of the quality of his filmography, he’s one of the most inconsistent filmmakers there is, crafting timeless classics as well as spectacular duds. Perhaps only someone like Zemeckis, who possesses an eclectic taste and refuses to be limited to any one genre or style, could be a worthy challenger to take on the monumental task of adapting Here. From any other director, the end result would likely be a mild disappointment, but in Zemeckis’s hands, it could just as well be a soaring triumph or a monumental failure. Despite the ambition that he should be credited with for even taking on this task, and for finding a way to squeeze a feature-length film out of it, it’s sadly a case of the latter.

The opening sequence, played out in chronological order, lightly skips through millions of years as it depicts the extinction of the dinosaurs, then the resulting ice age, and finally a rebirth in the form of flowers, vegetation, and a sea of greenery. With desperately sentimental music accompanying these scenes, any forms of human contact before the arrival of the Europeans mark the briefest of footnotes, before the beginnings of this small section of America’s history as a British colony take root, with picturesque landscapes quickly being replaced by construction work.

Luckily, it doesn’t take an age for us to finally re-orient ourselves within the film’s main location—within the living room of a house—at which point the story can finally begin, its cloying introduction reaching a merciful conclusion. That is, until it becomes clear that Here’s non-linear structure is a complete and total hindrance. In what is easily the worst screenplay I’ve come across this year, the movie’s faults are baked into its form. Breathing room between dramatic moments is glaringly absent, where characters are never given the chance to take a second or two to pause and silently register what’s happening around them. Ideas, conflicts, and character traits are introduced at lightning speed, making for very crude interactions and plot beats.

Though this film follows a similar trajectory to the comic strip and graphic novel it spawned from, spanning thousands of years and drifting across different storylines set in this particular household, it mainly follows one family. Our protagonists are Richard (Tom Hanks) and Margaret Young (Robin Wright), but we also witness an extended rundown of Richard’s early life, and before even that, when his parents Al (Paul Bettany) and Rose Young (Kelly Reilly) first bought this house and decided to start a family together. Over time we watch this family have children, embark on careers, compromise, bicker, fall out, and grow old.

It’s rare to watch a movie where people are so quick to speak their mind, wasting no time whatsoever to convey the kernel of what they wish to express, and in such a plain manner. There’s no room for drama in a movie that’s more focused on upholding its design than offering its characters a chance to display genuine emotion. Granted, that is also somewhat hindered by the digital de-aging, which is serviceable at points, but becomes deeply strange whenever a de-aged Robin Wright laughs, whereupon her facial expressions plunge down the uncanny valley. (Other than that, the effect does its job without being much of a hindrance, though there’s one point where Hanks’ expressions as a teenage boy silently observing those around him is incredibly—and unintentionally—hilarious.)

But the widespread use of this technology is far from its most inhuman quality, where it struggles to justify a tale so helplessly bogged down by cheap sentimentality. It would take a supremely absorbing plot to justify the film’s cloying soundtrack, which does this experience no favours, but really it’s just in keeping with the rest of Here’s quality. The editing is quite funny at times, where the camera jitters weirdly or contains abrupt cuts that don’t mesh well with the movie’s format. I half expected a character to come racing forward, screaming, as they technically swallow the camera whole before Zemeckis crudely uses this cut to black for a scene transition, but thankfully he held out just enough restraint not to employ this tactic.

It’s also worth noting that the male characters in this main storyline are also given far more to do than the female ones. There’s a reason I specifically pointed out Wright as the only key player who looks the most odd due to the film’s de-aging technology, since whenever there’s a moment for Margaret and Richard to laugh at their children’s folly or commit to a bland, conflict-free moment, that responsibility falls on her. Richard’s concerns are far more interesting, where he must deal with his parents’ declining health as they age, as well as learn to settle between his dreams of becoming an artist and his need to financially support his family. Margaret’s dreams are an afterthought, just like the existence of her parents.

There’s no edge to her personality, hence why she gets to be the one laughing in the film’s blandly happy scenes. Richard and Margaret’s children are as well-developed as the wallpaper in this home, but at least that remains consistent between them, whereas with these adult characters it is always the men who are given interesting things to do, or who have flaws to make them feel like three-dimensional beings.

Gender politics aside, the movie does attempt to be socially conscious, largely through a lone scene between husband and wife Devon (Nicholas Pinnock) and Helen Harris (Nikki Amuka-Bird), and their son Justin (Canche Vanderpuye). This family unit, who occupy the home after Richard sells it, are in the process of guiding their son through a step-by-step procedure of what to do if he is stopped by a police officer while driving. (I’m not exactly sure how a young child is expected to perfectly memorise these very methodical steps, which are repeated one after another without any effort to ensure he’s memorised them by heart, but that’s besides the point.)

None of these three people can fairly be considered characters given their limited screentime, made doubly less remarkable when they simply drop in and out of this narrative with nothing to anchor them in it. Granted, the same can be said of most of the characters in this film, but to attempt to leverage what are practically floating, translucent orbs masquerading as characters for social messaging makes said message profoundly unperceptive.

There’s no faulting the ambition behind a project like this, and to its credit, there are moments when it’s impossible not to be impressed by the commitment to such a bold idea. The panels-within-panels effect doesn’t work very well in a film format, but it’s still quite enjoyable to watch this visual interplay between time periods, and the VFX landscapes depicting ancient timelines are also entertaining (just don’t expect anything realistic-looking).

But I mostly came away from this being astonished at how much this core concept hinders emotional investment. Here is an admirable failure that had no chance of success from the get-go, with characters you’ll struggle to care about in an experience from which you can only credit its director for his bravery and boldness. There are brief moments of resonance in this film, but they are always too fleeting or crudely set up to inspire the kind of awe, despair, and hope that this mismatched cross between an epic tale and an intimate family drama sets out to achieve.

USA | 2024 | 104 MINUTES | 1.78:1 | COLOUR | ENGLISH

Cast & Crew

director: Robert Zemeckis.
writers: Eric Roth & Robert Zemeckis (based on the comic-book by Richard McGuire).
starring: Tom Hanks, Robin Wright, Paul Bettany, Kelly Reilly, Michelle Dockery, Gwilym Lee, Ophelia Lovibond, David Fynn, Jonathan Aris, Daniel Betts, Lilly Aspell, Joel Oulette, Nicholas Pinnock & Nikki Amuka-Bird.