Emotionally, Here never gets there
As an art installation, Robert Zemeckis’ Here might have worked. As a movie, it’s a noble failure. From the prehistoric era to modern day, the film touches upon various stories that occur over this period, all of them taking place in the same spot, which would eventually become a spot in New Jersey. As such, the camera never moves, though the setting obviously changes. We witness the Earth go through its birth throes and the extinction of the dinosaurs, a Native American couple fall in love and have a family, the building of a colonial mansion by Benjamin Franklin’s illegitimate son, William, and the building of a modest home across from that sprawling estate.
It is in this home that most of the action occurs, as erratic as it is, a variety of families living there over the course of the 20th century and into the 21st century. A turn-of-the-century couple, the Marters (Gwilym Lee and Michelle Dockery), buy it first, he a pilot in the burgeoning aviation industry, her a domestic worry wart; the Beekmans (David Fynn and Ophelia Lovibond) take possession next, he the inventor of what will be a radical domestic fixture, she a kept wife; a World War II veteran and his pregnant wife, Al and Rose (Paul Bettany and Kelly Reilly), move in during the mid 1940s; and finally, Devon and Helen Harris (Nicholas Pinnock and Nikki Amuka-Bird), along with their teenage son, Justin (Cache Vanderpuye), inhabit the dwelling during the COVID-19 epidemic.
The screenplay by Eric Roth and Zemeckis takes the viewer up and down this broad narrative timeline in a random fashion that proves frustrating. Some families are given more time than others, and as a result, far too many come off as underdeveloped and incomplete. This gives the movie a fragmented feel that challenges our engagement, our interest in the Franklins, the Marters and Harris’ becoming cursory at best. The inclusion of the latter family is particularly awkward, an obvious play for inclusion and a “woke” label that proves insulting.
The bulk of the film is devoted to Al, Rose, their son Richard (Tom Hanks) and his wife, Margaret (Robin Wright). Having to get married at 18 due to an unexpected pregnancy, the latter two move into the home and as a result, their family occupies it the longest. The cramped quarters, which also include Al and Rose’s two younger children, creates a great deal of tension as well as dramatic complications.
Had Roth and Zemeckis focused primarily on this family, the film might have been effective. What with Al’s bitterness towards the world, Rose’s quiet dissatisfaction with her husband, Richard’s fear to leave the home and Margaret’s anger over being stuck in a house that never feels like her own, there’s plenty of drama to sustain an entire feature. More importantly, it would have allowed us to become more emotionally invested in these characters, something vital to making this story work, which Zemeckis botches with his constant flitting about.
What’s the message of Here? As far as I can tell, it’s that the more things change, the more they remain the same. No matter what time period you may have lived in, people have faced the same problems. Conflicts between children and their parents, social issues threatening the safety of the community, the ups and downs of marriage and times of great happiness and security are all on display in each of the eras we witness. Far from profound, the obvious nature of the film’s theme is only outdone by its ham-fisted approach.
Smart, intriguing Conclave keeps audience guessing
Arresting from the first moment to the last, Edward Berger’s Conclave looks at the current state of the Catholic church, an institution at a crossroads, through an intriguing mystery involving backdoor politics, past transgressions and long-held secrets. This adaptation of the novel by Robert Harris does what the best of stories do, simultaneously entertaining and informing the audience, before ultimately delivering an out-of-left-field conclusion that will likely leave the viewer gob smacked.
No time is wasted as we witness the death of a pope and the immediate steps taken to replace him. This task falls to Cardinal Lawrence (Ralph Fiennes), who is tasked with summoning his peers to Vatican City for a conclave, a meeting in which the most powerful men in the Catholic church will meet to choose their next leader. Once they arrive, the 121 cardinals eligible to vote will be sequestered until a decision is made, and that is when the intrigue begins.
Frontrunners emerge from the diverse group. Bellini (Stanley Tucci) is modest, yet strong, adhering to more progressive policies of inclusion in the church. His counterpart is Tedesco (Sergio Castellitto), a conservative who would take the organization backwards, to the days of Latin liturgies and strict opposition to birth control. Tremblay (John Lithgow) splits the difference with his middle-of-the-road approach, though he has a personal agenda that is of concern. However, Adeyemi (Lucian Msamati) of Nigeria seems to have the most support and looks to be a lock in becoming the first Black pontiff.
As the numerous rounds of voting take place, support for these candidates fluctuate, while two dark horses emerge. Archbishop Benitez (Carlos Diehz) of Kabul, a man none of them know as he was secretly named to his position by the previous pope, upsets the plans of those angling for the job, and Lawrence himself, who is reluctant to take the job.
Of course, nothing is quite what it seems and as the film progresses and one surprise after another occurs, exposing dark secrets and underhanded dealings that speak to the all-too human desires of these men of God. Berger’s brilliant pacing sees these revelations coming at a steady pace, but not so quickly that we aren’t allowed to digest their import and implications. He deftly plays the audience, allowing the viewer to catch their breath before broadsiding us with yet another twist.
As for the ending, it’s likely to create controversy and will be discarded by some as too ridiculous to be considered. No question, it’s an outlandish turn of events, yet necessary to drive home Harris’ theme. The degree of social upheaval that has occurred in the past 50 years has tested organizations like the Catholic church, each forced to reckon with them while staying true to their tenets. This is a challenge not only facing institutions but individuals as well, Conclave ultimately suggesting that acceptance is the only true path for any organization or person that wishes to endure and thrive.
Neeson’s attempt at Absolution flounders
Something is amiss in Liam Neeson’s latest film, Absolution. There’s a genuine attempt to tell a story with substance and meaning. Now don’t get me wrong, director Hans Peter Moland isn’t so foolish to stray too far from the norm where vehicles for the withered action star are concerned. There’s still enough gunplay and violence to satisfy genre fans. Yet the balance between character study and action sequences are part of the problem with the film. Moland and screenwriter Tony Gayton’s intentions may be sound, but they err in the way they balance these two elements, ultimately to the movie’s detriment.
Neeson is Murtagh, an aging gangster who’s coming to realize he’s lost a step or three. Not quite as quick as he once was in the boxing ring and taken to forgetting names or even where he lives, he knows something is amiss. A trip to the doctor confirms this when he is diagnosed with CTE. Realizing his days are numbered, he attempts to reconnect with his estranged daughter (Frankie Shaw) and get to know his grandson, Dre (Terrence Pulliam).
Of course, these are gestures of a foolish, desperate man, as far too much time has passed to mend these bridges. A budding relationship with a neighborhood woman (Yolonda Ross) is doomed from the start, yet she and Murtagh go through the paces, taking temporary solace in one another. Finally, an event occurs that awakens his conscience. Having taken a job with a nefarious bunch, he comes to find out he’s unknowingly been complicit in a human trafficking ring, the cargo in the trucks he’s been driving containing women who’ve been taken or sold into prostitution.
Murtagh’s road to redemption contains no surprises, which makes the film’s nearly two-hour running time excessive. Narrative repetition sets in, far too many moments spent with our anti-hero trying to connect with Dre, sequences with his new lady love serving little purpose. I never thought I would write such a thing regarding a Neeson feature, but more action is needed here to goose things along.
Neeson doesn’t sleepwalk through this feature, which is a refreshing change, excelling in moments when Murtagh struggles with his memory or inability to connect with his family. Dream sequences in which he spends time with his long-dead negligent father are also of note, each providing a surprising emotional impact. These moments prove the actor still has something to give despite his wallowing in the B-movie wilderness.
Exploring some of the same thematic territory as Tim Mielants’ upcoming (and far superior) Small Things Like These, inaction and the guilt stemming from it are the focus, Murtagh shackled to his code of looking the other way in direct conflict with his awakened conscience. This is a worthy avenue to explore, especially during the contentious times we live in. Yet, despite being relatable and timely, Absolution is far too ponderously paced to have a genuine impact. In theaters.
This article appears in Best Of Springfield 2024.
