Robert Zemeckis' 'Here' Is a Noble Experiment Trapped by Its Own Gimmicks

From the groundbreaking animation of Who Framed Roger Rabbit to the unsettling visual style of The Polar Express, director Robert Zemeckis has long been a champion of pushing cinematic boundaries. With his latest film, Here, Zemeckis once again aims to innovate, attempting to tell a non-linear story spanning centuries within the confines of a single living room, viewed from a fixed perspective. While headlines have focused on the unconvincing de-aging of stars Tom Hanks and Robin Wright, attempting to revert them to their Forrest Gump days, this is merely one of the film's many issues.

Here certainly starts with a bang, showcasing a herd of dinosaurs rumbling past the camera through primeval mud, only to be wiped out by the infamous asteroid. Zemeckis then rapidly cycles through millions of years on the same patch of land, fast-forwarding to its inhabitation by Native Americans, a brief cameo from Benjamin Franklin, and the eventual construction of a small town. The titular house itself is built around 1900, with the primary narrative focusing on the family saga of baby boomer Richard (Hanks) and his wife Margaret (Wright) as they confront the hollow promises of the American Dream.

The film draws its concept from Richard McGuire's 2014 graphic novel, adopting its visual conceit of stationary images from multiple timelines layered over each other to create a collage effect. While striking on the page, this translates to an unappealing, weightless CGI sheen on screen. The cast is awkwardly confined to a specific spot close to the camera, forced to deliver their most dramatic lines as if performing downstage in a play.

As uncinematic as this approach feels, the script emerges as the film's most significant problem. The dialogue is so heavy-handed it occasionally elicits unintentional laughter. Michelle Dockery, playing the house's 1900s occupant, is burdened with some of the most clunky exposition, delivering lines such as, “You mortgaged our home to buy that ridiculous airplane!” Zemeckis also insists on having his characters constantly talk over each other, never allowing truly impactful moments to simply breathe.

Beneath the glossy, artificial visuals and Zemeckis's signature sentimentality lies a potentially profound commentary on suburban stagnation and the emotional baggage we inherit from, and inflict upon, our families. However, it's difficult to move past the jarring sight of the unnervingly plumped-up faces of young Hanks and Wright. Both actors seem more at ease in the later scenes, once their characters are older and confronting their shared unfulfillment. In the final act, they manage to infuse some much-needed poignancy, particularly a quietly yearning Wright, even as Here remains perpetually stuck in its own stiff melodrama.