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Robert Zemeckis, the director of American masterpieces like “Back to the Future” and “Who Framed Roger Rabbit,” has always been interested in the intersection of storytelling and technology. Technological experimentation defines his filmography, where innovations in effects can produce greater emotional resonance.

Zemeckis’ groundbreaking blend of hand-drawn animation and live action in “Roger Rabbit,” create a world both cartoonish and believable, where Disney and Looney Tunes characters tangibly interact with the real world. Conversely, his motion-capture animation in films like “The Polar Express” and “A Christmas Carol” produce uncanny worlds and character designs that distance the viewer from the story out of pure discomfort.

For better or worse, Zemeckis created a new form of cinema through his digital experimentation. This bizarre marriage of classical storytelling, which he compares to “elaborate theatrical tech rehearsals,” takes the forefront again in his latest film, “Here.”

Based on the graphic novel of the same name by Richard McGuire, “Here” creates a tableau of time and memory that covers the events of a single spot of land in New England, from the age of dinosaurs all the way to 2024. Tom Hanks and Robin Wright star as Richard and Margaret, high school sweethearts who accidentally get pregnant and are forced to start a family in Richard’s childhood home.

Its nonlinear story is told with an ingenious central gimmick: the entire film takes place in a single, fixed camera angle, providing the audience an intimate and uninterrupted perspective into the characters’ lives.

“Here” is perhaps the most theatrical of all of Zemeckis’ films. As the single camera angle dissolves between time periods, characters from across history walk in and out of the same frame. They express their desires and fears in melodramatic fashion, with the screen often dividing into several panes — reminiscent of comic book panels — showing events from multiple periods concurrently.

On the surface, it is easy to compare “Here” with Zemeckis’ Best Picture-winning “Forrest Gump.” Though both films explore how little moments, framed by surrounding historical events, accumulate over time and define who we are, “Here” is far more willing to explore generational failures. The singular static shot is uncompromising in its depiction of the characters’ inherent dissatisfaction with their lives, but also gives us personal access to moments of joy that stick with the characters for years.

Telling a story through essentially one “shot” is ambitious, and it’s certainly not perfectly executed. Some characters are given much lengthier segments to develop, leaving others less interesting as a result. Though the film follows Indigenous characters from pre-Colonial America, the family of Benjamin Franklin during the Revolutionary War and the family of a pilot at the turn of the 20th century, most of the narrative takes place from the 1940s to the 2020s.

But the central visual gimmick is so unique and striking that it creates greater attachment to the characters more often than it doesn’t. Even if the side characters don’t have as much room to make an impact as Hanks or Wright, their journeys are filled with happiness and pain that resonate.

“Here” finds meaning in comparing the experiences of its characters across time. As characters in the late 1900s celebrate the fourth of July, a panel dissolves onto the screen to show American colonists lighting fireworks to commemorate their newfound independence in the 1700s.

Agony and death also echo across time, with panels of those from prior periods dissolving onto the screen like ghosts who cannot escape this singular New England space. Lovers lose their partners, the elderly slowly deteriorate and dreams of forging a better life fade away in favor of familiar comforts. The cinematography forces us to watch these painful experiences without interruption, closely resembling how we grapple with emotions in real life.

This thread about unfulfilled dreams defines the film’s most substantive section, following the Young family and their lives from the end of World War II to the present day. Veteran Al Young (Paul Bettany) and his wife Rose (Kelly Reilly) give birth to three children, including Richard. At 18, Richard accidentally gets his girlfriend Margaret pregnant. From there, the couple move into Al and Rose’s house to start their own family.

Though each of the Youngs wanted something greater for their lives, they compromised their dreams because of familial or economic obligations. Rose wanted to be a bookkeeper, but became a housewife instead. Richard wanted to be a painter and Margaret wanted to be a lawyer, but they had to support themselves with menial jobs as young parents.

Watching these characters’ dreams fall to the wayside from the expectations of 20th century America, where potential is limited by a need to make money, is heartbreaking. Two generations hold themselves back because of personal insecurity and traditional gender roles.

Yet even as Richard and Margaret argue over how to create a better life for themselves — with Margaret insisting they move into their own house and Richard too afraid to move on from his childhood — we see them try to make the best of things by properly raising their daughter.

There are glimmers of hope within the stagnant structure of their lives, like the saga of their daughter’s prized blue ribbon. After struggling to find the ribbon for several scenes, Margaret eventually sees it lodged between their couch cushions. Even as we bear witness to enormous changes in this plot of land across time, the act of finding a lost ribbon is the type of small memory we will cherish forever.

The film’s performances play into the inherent theatricality of the story, bearing their souls to the screen in both a corny and earnest manner. Unfortunately, Zemeckis distracts from the efforts of his actors with hideous digital de-aging, another example of his technological experimentation taking away from our investment in the story. It’s impossible to buy Hanks and Wright as teenagers, no matter how de-aged their faces appear.

It’s possible to look past the de-aging, though, as Hanks and Wright deliver reliably compelling performances. Wright’s optimism and energy burst through the screen, while Hanks leans into his charisma as a believably protective father.

The most interesting performance is given by Bettany, who is shockingly convincing as the father of Hanks’ character despite being fifteen years younger than his co-star. One of the film’s best moments is Bettany drinking alone in the frame describing a nightmare he has about losing Rose, expressing a lifetime’s worth of love and regret through a soliloquy.

It’s disappointing that the film’s singular, static shot is more interested in the cast of baby boomer characters like Richard and Margaret than the people from before and after their time who inhabit this space. This spot of land is a sacred place where souls from across time intersect. So, the missed potential of fleshing out the Indigenous characters, the Franklin family or even the dinosaurs at the very beginning is starkly apparent.

Even when it’s inconsistent, “Here” remains moving. While watching both the quarrels and loving gestures of these characters on screen, conveyed through excitingly experimental cinematography, we are encouraged to reflect on our own memories and dreams as well. It’s never too late to break from our static shot, to let go of the fears holding us back.

Published on November 11, 2024 at 9:48 pm