When I started this review, I thought about talking about the plot of Here, the latest film by Belgian director Bas Devos —known for films like Violet (2014) and Ghost Tropic (2019)—, but I soon came to the conclusion that, although I could summarise it, in essence, there is no clear plot. On the surface, it is about a construction worker who, before going on holiday and while getting back to his daily routine, decides to empty the fridge by cooking. This leads him to share soup with several of his friends. I could also say that it is about beginnings or the importance of walking, but I don’t think those are really the focus of the film. And perhaps this is where my mind began to wander.
Tenderness in small gestures: the contemplative approach of Here
What caught my attention the most is that the title in Spain included an appreciation of the protagonist that does not exist in the original title (Here), adding that he is “a good man”. For a good part of the footage I could not stop thinking about Georges Perec’s The Man Who Sleeps and its film adaptation by Bernard Queysanne. I imagined that Here was as if Perec had written—and filmed—a new version of his work, but shifting the perspective toward a different kind of social isolation, not necessarily sought, but palpable. Unlike The Man Who Sleeps, here there is a tenderness that runs through the story, shown in the moments of human contact that the protagonist shares, transmitting an empathy that is appreciated.
In this sense, Here is a more poetic variant, equally patient, but warmer and more pleasant. Although both films share themes such as loneliness in the city, the tedium of modern life and a certain sense of emptiness, Devos’s film immerses itself in an ethereal atmosphere composed of trees, plants and moss, moving away from Perec’s urban coldness. The film begins by showing buildings and constructions, then submerging itself in a natural environment that surrounds the protagonist, something that reinforces its contemplative character.
Here’s minimalist journey: The Man Who Walks vs The Man Who Sleeps
While it may seem like there is no clear “plot” or character development, Here explores the small moments of connection and disconnection in everyday life. The protagonist, Stefan, doesn’t seem to be in an overt existential depression, but there are hints that his life is not going all that well. His dialogue is sparse and his actions seem to indicate a certain inner emptiness, but the film doesn’t plunge us into suffocating nihilism. Quite the contrary. Devos invites us to find meaning in the small details of life, like when Liyo Gong’s voiceover describes the feeling of waking up one morning and feeling panicked at not being able to remember the names of everyday objects: “I saw my alarm clock on the bedside table and I knew what it was, but I couldn’t remember the names of the things around me. […] I lay there looking up at the nameless world.”
While Perec and Ludmila Mikael’s voiceover in The Man Who Sleeps immersed you in a kind of existential desolation, reminding you that “you are alone, and because you are alone, you should never look at the clock or count the minutes,” Devos suggests that while life can be overwhelming, there is also room for sweetness and tranquility. The film does not require us to bear the existential weight of the protagonist, but invites us to observe him from a distance that, paradoxically, brings us closer to him.
When a piece of moss is a forest
Bas Devos here demonstrates a deep understanding of spatiality and how bodies and objects occupy space. In Here, the folds, fissures and small arrangements take on a poetic dimension. We, as viewers, are tempted to wonder what will grow from the seeds the director has planted. If a small patch of moss can be a miniature forest, this film is equally tiny in scale, and it will be up to the viewer to decide how much depth they find in it, depending on their own perspective.
Ultimately, Here reflects aspects of our own lives. The silences and small interactions we share may not be as mesmerizing as those in the film, and our personal passions may not be as deep, but the people we share these moments with still matter, whether they are lifelong friends or strangers we meet by chance. In the end, Devos reminds us that even in apparent simplicity, life can be full of meaning.
I watched and rated Here on Wednesday Oct 9, 2024
(Madrid, 1987) Novelist by vocation, SEO specialist by profession. Music lover, cinephile and reading lover, but in “amateur” mode.