Going from HERE

I admire the hell out of Tom Hanks. I can't think of a movie he's been in that I didn't like. He's done serious work, funny work, historical work. He's America's favorite toy cowboy, Christmas train engineer, and cross-country runner who taught us that "life is like a box of chocolates." He did a film about AIDS when no one was talking about AIDS, and he managed to perform the bulk of a movie without speaking and still move our hearts. He even founded a coffee company whose profits go to supporting American troops. (As a WingMom, I'm deeply impressed by this.)

So when I heard Hanks on Jay Shetty's podcast last week, talking about his new movie, I told my husband we needed to go see it. The film is called Here. I was hard-pressed to explain to Gene what the movie was about when he asked: "Uh, I mean, it's about people, and their lives, I guess? I don't know. It has Tom Hanks in it, so that's enough for me." Gene, like a supportive husband, could see my logic immediately. 

The truth is, the podcast episode was about much more than the upcoming film. Hanks talks about growing up with divorced parents, moving around from place to place (a contrast to the character he plays in Here, who ends up living nearly his entire life in the same house). He talks about finding theatre in high school and realizing "school could be about the hang." He found his people, his home in the collective creation of art. Hanks shares the experience of being in a deeply historical place, and varying responses to it -- like the time a taxi driver casually tossed out, "To the left is where David killed Goliath," as they drove by. 

Hanks also outlines in the episode something he calls the Countenance Theory -- essentially, his guiding force to agreeing to a project or not. Once, someone approached him with a really great movie, but it just wasn't for him, for his countenance. A reductive way to say this might be, "Nah, I don't have the face for that," but it goes beyond looks. Maybe more like -- "I don't want to put my face on that," but even that doesn't quite land because the example project was a worthy one, just not one that lit him up. Now, of course, one has to be secure in their career and finances to be that picky, and I don't see a brand-new actor on the beat for her equity card having the privilege to say, "No thanks, that project doesn't speak to my passions." But, hey -- when you're Tom Hanks, you can. 

Knowing that Hanks only accepts projects that fit his countenance made me even more convinced to go see Here. (Oh, and Robin Wright is in it. Double win!)

The movie does not have a plan for streaming, either, so that intrigued me. It had been a while since we've been to a movie theatre, so we decided to support one nearby that had shut down but recently re-opened in an attempt to revitalize our mall (that's a whole other topic, so I'll stay focused here). There are some perks to this choice --

1. We went on a Monday night at 8 PM, which evidently no one else in our area does so we had the entire theatre to ourselves. 

2. The tickets weren't too expensive (I'm guessing the industry is realizing they need to compete with streaming or fold up shop . . .). 

3. We found out about new movies coming out, thanks to the previews we couldn't fast-forward through (Moana 2, I'm looking at you, girl!). 

3. Parking was a breeze.

OK, I'm out of perks, and that last one was probably a stretch. 

Here had an interesting concept for a film, one that is typically more common in live theatre: the entire movie took place in one location, one living room of a house. The filmmaker played with the concept of time, going as far back as when the dinosaurs may have had a nest on that same plot of land, but nevertheless, the whole film was well, here. 

From the indigenous people walking the land to the people who hand-dug the foundation to the family who bought the house after the main characters sell it, there are many people whose stories weave through Here. It's fascinating to think about. Even if your house is brand-new construction, the land existed before your cross beams and has a story to tell. Most of us live in homes that were built by others. Who lived in your house before you? Before them? Before them? We rarely stop to think about it, do we?

Tom Hanks and Robin Wright play a couple, Richard and Margaret, whose teenage pregnancy brings about a young marriage. Plans are set aside, domestic duties picked up, and their beautiful daughter grows up to be a successful attorney (a career her mother once aspired to). A common tale of how parents, especially of a certain era, defer their dreams in service of their children. Nowadays, we try to have it all (says the woman who wrote her dissertation at 4 AM, while the rest of the family slept), and it's not always easy. But, navigating the trade-offs seems more appealing that simply boxing up one's life at age 18 and putting it on a shelf, never to be seen again. 

When Margaret turns 50, she declares that she wants more for her life, probably in part thanks to her menopausal hormones that help women stand up for themselves as they get older. This moment, of course, is also possible because Margaret now lives in the 2000s, a time when women aren't sacrificing themselves to be mothers. 

Richard, too, has made sacrifices in his march toward responsible husbandry and fatherhood. Once a talented painter, Richard packs up the canvases the day he gets a job as an insurance agent. And the days go on. 

There are so many other layers to the stories that Here tells -- the multigenerational challenge of living with your parents and trying to raise a family, the impact of various wars on families, the stories of the past occupants of the house. The movie has This is Us vibes, if you've loved that show as much as we have. 

It's clear to me why Tom Hanks (and the rest of the cast) put their countenances on the story of Here. And what I really love about films, true films like Here, is that I'm still thinking about the characters and themes the day after seeing it.