After Getting Married, I Put Here Into My Lifetime Must-Watch List

Here employs a fixed camera angle throughout most of the film, in turn challenging the viewing habit of many. This cinematographic choice mirrors married life itself: A married couple is always within this space, sharing it and sacrificing some freedom for the process (unless they decide to divorce). Many people find themselves reluctant to return home after marriage, no longer feeling like they truly belong. The film explores a crucial question: Why does a space meant to be a sanctuary for both partners transform into a battleground for control? As the story unfolds, we realize that "home" may feel like a cage simply because we've only ever viewed it from the inside.

Hello, Peliplaters!

"Have you seen Here?", a friend asked me during dinner recently.

"Who?", I thought I'd missed someone's name, until she laughed and explained that Here was a movie released last year—one that had moved her to tears.

It came to mind when I googled the film. Its marketing campaign emphasized the reunion of Forrest Gump (1994) cast and crew—a choice I wouldn't call wise. Though Forrest Gump was widely watched, many viewers had grown weary of similar narratives.

After watching it myself, I felt an immediate urge to recommend it to all my married friends. As young couples, we share a common struggle: adjusting to cohabitation. One might think that couples who lived together before marriage would avoid this challenge. Yet that's rarely the case. Many find it even more difficult than before.

Every newlywed couple, whether they have lived together before marriage or not, would discover that married life differs from their expectations. 90% of movies and novels push the message "find your soulmate and get married," while the remaining 10% warns people to "avoid love or end up miserable." But where are the stories that help couples navigate post-marriage challenges? They aren't found in fiction—they're tucked away in self-help books alongside guides on success and mindfulness. Before marriage, few realize that it takes effort to learn how to live harmoniously with another person under the same roof.

Fundamentally, unmarried couples who live together can split at any time, while married couples can't, especially newlyweds. The reasons are complex and numerous—too many to delve into here.

Many viewers may feel viscerally resistant when watching this 100-min film portraying married couples' life mundanities. They struggle to understand why unhappy couples can't just simply live apart. To them, practical concerns like mortgage payments seem like weak excuses—they believe the solution is simple: move out and find affordable housing elsewhere.

However, for married viewers, these 100 minutes offer emotional catharsis. The fixed camera faithfully captures our situation in marriage: Even if Mars were to collide with Earth, we must still live with the existence of a home. The instinct to return home is deeply imprinted in human genes and profoundly shapes how we define success. Consider this: While the first rocket in human history launched in Massachusetts in 1926, it wasn't until SpaceX's Starship recovery in 2024 that people began taking rockets seriously. Similarly, in society, your achievements mean little if you haven't managed your family well. Yet, just as people overlook Musk's efforts to recover that rocket, no one notices what you do to maintain your family.

Do you see that, friend? Marriage requires double the effort in life, yet half—or even less—of that effort gets recognized.

So how do we persist without recognition? Here offers only a simplistic answer at the end: "Don't sacrifice your hobbies for marriage." Isn't that obvious? Every self-help book preaches that life's ultimate philosophy is self-love—who hasn't heard anything like this? No wonder many viewers gave this film poor ratings; they felt lectured without gaining genuine insights.

In fact, director Robert Zemeckis addressed this question subtly through his cinematography. While maintaining fixed camera positions, he employed picture-in-picture and layer masking techniques for scene transitions. That is, a portion of the screen, framed like a photo, shifts to the next scene first before the entire frame follows. For instance, we might see a couple arguing, then notice a small girl playing violin in a framed section of the screen. As the arguing couple's scene fades away, the violin-playing girl emerges to fill the entire frame. Though this unconventional editing technique unsettles many viewers, Zemeckis deliberately chose this method to illustrate how human attention naturally shifts in real life.

In life, our attention shifts begin gradually. When someone interrupts a conversation, we first notice the interruption, then identify the person and their intention. We wouldn't shift our attention immediately from the ongoing conversation; instead, we enter a state of divided focus. Depending on the urgency, we either ask the interrupting person to wait or attempt to process both conversations simultaneously.

What, then, is the purpose of Robert's cinematic technique? After all, cinema should transcend reality rather than simply mirror it. The film's timeline spans generations, even showing periods before the house existed. Through fixed camera positions but fluid temporal shifts, the concept of Here grows increasingly abstract. We come to understand that what drives changes in the frame isn't the location, but the people within it. In modern urban life, we often mistakenly believe we must travel far to escape stagnation. Yet in truth, simply sitting on a park bench for an hour would reveal how much the world changes around us.

Returning to the issue of cohabitation in marriage, we often feel our freedom is restricted by the house—a space that isn't fully ours, yet one we must inhabit. If you patiently sit through Robert's carefully crafted 100 minutes, you'll discover that what truly restricts you isn't the house, but life itself. Through the film's overlapping timelines, we see how characters' futures diverge from their present choices. One man gradually abandons his unprofitable dreams after becoming a father, while another finds success as an inventor by persistently pursuing his passions. Yet another loses nothing in chasing his dreams—until influenza claims his life. Robert's message to viewers is clear: "Nothing and no one can limit your pursuit of what you want to do, except yourself."

Dear readers, Robert weaves this message through every film he creates. From Forrest Gump to Here, from Back to the Future (1985) to Contact (1997), he explores the power of belief through varied genres, stories, and styles. He's lived a lifetime of belief. For Robert, the essential truth is: Never let anything before you become your entire world. Once you do, it won't turn out a stepping stone but an obstacle. Nothing should consume you entirely—not marriage, not illness, not aliens, not even God.

What do you think, Peliplaters?