1 of 5 | Robin Wright and Tom Hanks reunite in “Here.” Photo courtesy of Sony Pictures
LOS ANGELES, Oct. 26 (UPI) — Forrest Gump, for better or worse, captured what the ’50s through ’80s meant to America. In Here, which premiered Friday at AFI Fest, the same filmmakers spread themselves thin trying to capture centuries.
The premise is that the camera remains fixed on a single location for the entire movie as it evolves. For most of the movie, it is a living room, but it sometimes flashes back to when it was a colonial plantation or forest inhabited by Native Americans.
The families who lived in the house in the 20th century begin with John Harter (Gwilym Lee), a pilot, and his wife Pauline (Michelle Dockery). The next residents are Leo Beekman (David Fynn), who is inventing the La-Z-Boy recliner, and his wife Stella (Ophelia Lovibond).
Al (Paul Bettany) and Rose (Kelly Reilly) move in after he’s discharged from World War II. Their son, Richard (Tom Hanks) grows up in the same house and marries Margaret (Robin Wright).
The technical gimmick of unfolding the entire movie in a single, unmoving frame is easy to follow. Smaller windows in the screen open up revealing transitions into different eras, and computers surely ensured the camera never moved by even a millimeter.
The format shortchanges the plot. It’s hard enough to cover more than a century in under two hours, let alone when every major event has to occur in the same room.
As such, Here feels like a play made up of 30-second scenes with instantaneous scene changes. In those brief scenes, the characters discuss every major event that occurs in their lives.
Gump screenwriter Eric Roth’s adaptation of Richard McGuire’s graphic novel, co-written with director Robert Zemeckis, always feels like characters are rushing to cram every piece of information into a scene before they leave the room.
And yet, characters frequently make sure to drop “here” into conversation and comment on the passage of time. If this concept needs to explain that it’s about the passage of time in a single place, then it’s failed.
Like Gump, the film uses major historical events to indicate where the characters are in time. The Beatles appearing on The Ed Sullivan Show, the music Richard and Maragret’s daughter listens to and aerobics on television indicate the ’60s, ’70s and ’80s for example.
When Here flashes back to the American Revolution, it feels far less natural to hear William Franklin (Daniel Betts) complain about his brother Benjamin’s politics. The Beekmans and Harters also feel like they’re speaking in caricatures of old timey dialects.
It is also strange how loosely Here plays with certain history. Why deal with the inventor of the La-Z-Boy but make up a guy named Leo Beekman? Edwin Schoemaker and Edward Knabusch designed it in Detroit.
In rushing through the 20th-century storyline, we barely saw Richard and Margaret fall in love. Yet, attempts to broaden the scope beyond a White family suffer from gross oversimplification.
A Black family moves into the house after Richard and Margaret, but the film barely checks in with them.
It does show them having a very serious conversation about how to cooperate with police during a traffic stop. That’s one of only two significant scenes of dialogue given to the Black characters.
In covering so much time, Zemeckis employs digital technology to allow older actors to play their characters younger. The technology has improved since even The Irishman five years ago, but the story fails to make a case for rendering Bosom Buddies era Hanks.
Anyone who considers the fate of Wright’s Forrest Gump character to be misogynistic will have similar issues with her treatment in Here.
The experiences of generations over time are surely valid dramatic ones. Sadly, Here feels born of a technical idea and the actual narrative never feels inspired to justify it.
Here opens Nov. 1 in theaters.
Fred Topel, who attended film school at Ithaca College, is a UPI entertainment writer based in Los Angeles. He has been a professional film critic since 1999, a Rotten Tomatoes critic since 2001, and a member of the Television Critics Association since 2012 and the Critics Choice Association since 2023. Read more of his work in Entertainment.
The Home (now streaming on Starz) pits Pete Davidson against the residents of a creepy retirement community, and it isn’t exactly a Millennials-vs.-Boomers clash for the ages. “Best generation, my f—in’ dick,” our headliner mutters under his breath at one point, and that’s an accurate representation of this quasi-horror movie’s level of articulation. Filmmaker James DeMonaco (director of the first three The Purge movies, writer of all of them) takes a halfway decent idea and turns it into an uninspired, vaguely brownish-colored movie version of the stew you make out of all the leftovers in the fridge, and that you can’t revive with just a little more salt.
The Gist: Hurricane Greta is about to slam into this community, and this movie would love you to come to the conclusion that it’s the result of the collective might of boomers’ farts after they ate too many Wagyu tenderloins basted in the metaphorical gravies wrung from the pores of younger generations. Maybe that’s why Max (Davidson) is so skinny, but it’s definitely why he’s so P.O.’d. He breaks into a building and expresses his angst via some elaborate graffiti art that gets him arrested – again. His foster father finagles a deal for him to avoid jail time by performing community service at the Green Meadows Retirement Home and that doesn’t seem too bad since he’ll be a janitor and not a nurse on diaper duty. And at this point it’s established that Max has some trauma stemming from his foster brother’s suicide, the type of trauma that’s requisite to pile atop any and all protagonists of crappo horror movies at this point in the 21st century.
It’s worth noting that Green Meadows is a halfway-decent retirement community – not as posh as the one in The Thursday Murder Club, and not as repugnant as you might expect for a low-rung horror flick. BUT. There’s always a BUT. He arrives at the home and looks up and sees peering out a window the face of a gaunt old man with eyes that ain’t quite right. I’m sure it’s nothing! Management gives him the nickel tour, and gives him the first rule of The Friday the 13th Murder Club: DON’T GO ON THE FOURTH FLOOR. And yes, that’s also the second rule of The Friday the 13th Murder Club. Max will stay in a room at the home so he can be available 24/7 in case the job requires a 2 a.m. mop-up, and also so he can have lucid dreams that may or may not actually be dreams about weird shit happening around these here parts.
But everything goes fine and Max quietly manages his trauma and nothing incredibly gross and/or violent happens and he lives happily ever after the end. No! Actually, he catches a glimpse of old people in bizarre masks having miserable sex, and hears horrible screams of agony coming from, yes, the fourth floor. Max seems to be getting along OK, and even makes a couple of friends, like Lou (John Glover), who summons Max to clean up a big mess of feces when it’s actually a little welcome party for the new super. Ha! Max also has conversations about Real Stuff with Norma (Mary Beth Peil), both sharing the pain of the people they’ve lost. Eventually the fourth floor misery noises get to be too much and Max picks the lock and investigates, and it’s full of wheelchair-bound elderlies in states of drooling, semi-comatose madness. After Max gets his hand slapped for violating the first/second rule, that’s when the bullshit ramps up. Let’s just say this bullshit has some Satanic vibes, and poor Norma doesn’t deserve what happens to her, although Max seems ready to do something about all this.
What Movies Will It Remind You Of? The Home is sub-Blumhouse drivel nominally referencing things like Rosemary’s Baby, Eyes Wide Shut, and One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest in order to make it seem smarter than it is. Other recent scary movies set in nursing homes: The Manor, The Rule of Jenny Pen.
Performance Worth Watching: A moment of praise for the makeup and practical effects people, who provide The Home with more memorable elements than any of the cast performances.
Sex And Skin: A bit. Nothing extensive. But definitely unpleasant.
Our Take: In The Home, DeMarco tries a little bit of everything: flashbacks, dream-sequence fakeouts, jump scares, body horror, surveillance-tech POVs, occult gobbledygook, creepy sex, conspiracies, climate change dread, generational divide, paranoia, deepfake-ish dark-web weirdness… it goes on, and none of it is particularly compelling or original. It’s most effective in its grisly imagery, with a couple of memorable deaths that might tickle the cockles of horror connoisseurs, and DeMarco’s generous deployment of pus and eyeball gloop shows a variation on the usual bodily fluids that’s, well, I don’t know if “satisfying” is the right word, but at least we’re not drenched in the same ol’ blood and barf. Small victories, I guess.
Most will take issue with the casting of Davidson, who in the majority of his roles to date has yet to show the intensity that anchoring a thriller like The Home demands. He puts in some diligent effort in the role of the guy who routinely goes what the eff is going on around here?, and his work is a cut above merely cashing a paycheck, which isn’t to say he’s necessarily good. Miscast, maybe. The victim of half-assed writing, more likely, this being a paranoid creepout that never gets under our skin, with attempts at cheeky comedy that fizzle out and social commentary that dead-ends into obviousness. Having Davidson piss and moan about “F—ing boomers” ain’t enough.
The plot works its way through its hodgepodge of this ‘n’ that plot mechanisms to get to a conclusion that’ underwhelming and over the top at the same time; the initial bit of exhilaration quickly dissipates and we’re left with the sense that the movie just hasn’t been good or diligent enough in its storytelling and character development to earn this catharsis. It’s just spectacle for its own gory sake. This mediocrity might just inspire Davidson to retire from horror movies.
Our Call: Hate to say it, but 1.7 decent kills does not a horror movie make. SKIP IT.
John Serba is a freelance film critic from Grand Rapids, Michigan. Werner Herzog hugged him once.
I’d call the title “Relentless” truth in advertising, althought “Pitiless,” “Endless” and “Senseless” work just as well.
This new thriller from the sarcastically surnamed writer-director Tom Botchii (real name Tom Botchii Skowronski of “Artik” fame) begins in uninteresting mystery, strains to become a revenge thriller “about something” and never gets out of its own way.
So bloody that everything else — logic, reason, rationale and “Who do we root for?” quandary is throughly botched — its 93 minutes pass by like bleeding out from screwdriver puncture wounds — excruciatingly.
But hey, they shot it in Lewiston, Idaho, so good on them for not filming overfilmed Greater LA, even if the locations are as generically North American as one could imagine.
Career bit player and Lewiston native Jeffrey Decker stars as a homeless man we meet in his car, bearded, shivering and listening over and over again to a voice mail from his significant other.
He has no enthusiasm for the sign-spinning work he does to feed himself and gas up his ’80s Chevy. But if woman, man or child among us ever relishes anything as much as this character loves his cigarettes — long, theatrical, stair-at-the-stars drags of ecstacy — we can count ourselves blessed.
There’s this Asian techie (Shuhei Kinoshita) pounding away at his laptop, doing something we assume is sketchy just by the “ACCESS DENIED” screens he keeps bumping into and the frantic calls he takes suggesting urgency of some sort or other.
That man-bunned stranger, seen in smoky silhoutte through the opaque window on his door, ringing the bell of his designer McMansion makes him wary. And not just because the guy’s smoking and seems to be making up his “How we can help cut your energy bill” pitch on the fly.
Next thing our techie knows, shotgun blasts are knocking out the lock (Not the, uh GLASS) and a crazed, dirty beardo homeless guy has stormed in, firing away at him as he flees and cries “STOP! Why are you doing this?”
Jun, as the credits name him, fights for his PC and his life. He wins one and loses the other. But tracking his laptop and homeless thug “Teddy” with his phone turns out to be a mistake.
He’s caught, beaten and bloodied some more. And that’s how Jun learns the beef this crazed, wronged man has with him — identity theft, financial fraud, etc.
Threats and torture over access to that laptop ensue, along with one man listing the wrongs he’s been done as he puts his hostage through all this.
Wait’ll you get a load of what the writer-director thinks is the card our hostage would play.
The dialogue isn’t much, and the logic — fleeing a fight you’ve just won with a killer rather than finishing him off or calling the cops, etc. — doesn’t stand up to any scrutiny.
The set-piece fights, which involve Kinoshita screaming and charging his tormentor and the tormentor played by Decker stalking him with wounded, bloody-minded resolve are visceral enough to come off. Decker and Kinoshita are better than the screenplay.
A throw-down at a gas-station climaxes with a brutal brawl on the hood of a bystander’s car going through an automatic car wash. Amusingly, the car-wash owners feel the need to do an Idaho do-si-do video (“Roggers (sic) Car Wash”) that plays in front of the car being washed and behind all the mayhem the antagonists and the bystander/car owner go through. Not bad.
The rest? Not good.
Perhaps the good folks at Rogers Motors and Car Wash read the script and opted to get their name misspelled. Smart move.
Rating: R, graphic violence, smoking, profanity
Cast: Jeffrey Decker, Shuhei Kinoshita
Credits:Scripted and directed by Tom Botchii.. A Saban Entertainment release.
Running time: 1:34
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