Poland-based Magnus von Horn’s Swedish directorial debut The
Here After (‘Efterskalv’, 2015) is a slow-burning, calmly intense drama which
deals with the themes of punishment, guilt, forgiveness and aftermath of crime.
It’s natural for adolescents to feel that the whole world is conspiring against
them; to embroil themselves in atmosphere of isolation. For Magnus’ young
protagonist John (Ulrik Munther), it’s not just a transient feeling; it happens
to be the truth. He faces vicious resentments and reactions within his
small-town community for an unforgivable crime he committed few years before. The
small town doesn’t provide the luxury of city that may bestow second chance for
juvenile perpetrators through its cloak of anonymity.
The Here After explores an interesting, if not very familiar
subject – communal apathy and group hysteria. Recently, the Swedish film (also
released in 2015) Flocking subtly examined the mass hysteria of misled, tightly
knit small-town community. Thomas Vinterberg’s disturbing Danish drama The Hunt
(2012) also took a piercing look at the exceptionally cruel and unforgiving
people. However, we know for sure that the protagonists of the aforementioned
films were innocent and yet malevolently ostracized. But it’s the opposite in
‘The Here After’. John has definitely done the deed and spent two years in
juvenile detention center (in Sweden the maximum sentence for crimes committed
by juvenile is 4 years). Now this fragile-looking boy seeks rehabilitation
among townspeople who welcomes John with deviant antisocial behavior.
It’s best to experience The Here After firsthand than simply
read about plot information and aesthetic design. Those who have the patience
to watch restrained, slow-burn drama can delve into reviews after watching it first.
Writer/director Magnus von Horn parcels out morsels of information in each
scene and plays it through precise, contemplative visual design. Our interest
is constantly piqued by his decision to not reveal too much too soon. Most of
the shots remain painfully static and distant, forcing us to bear the on-screen
emotional and physical bruises in silence (the lack of background music adds
lot to the unnerving mood). The film opens with the shot of teenager John packing
up his bags from the correctional facility. He looks frail and quiet. Yet the
uncomfortable side glances and hard stares of people around him suggest that he
has committed some heinous crime. Father Martin (Mats Blomgren) picks up John.
The camera frames them from back-seat of the car as they travel alongside
tree-lined road to their agricultural town. Martin’s concern for his son is
evident in the way he forces John to wear seat-belts and through his forced positivity (he tells an awkward joke at dinner table among other things).
A neighbor’s gaze on John lingers little longer than necessary to increase
discomfort. Younger brother Filip (Alexander Nordgren) casually bitter comments
are scalding enough. In the supermarket aisle, John deliberately stands in
front of a woman who tries to choke him. John decides to go back to the same
school, despite knowing he would be subjected to acerbic actions. He silently
provokes the fellow students to beat and bully him. Apart from dad Martin,
classmate Malin (Loa Ek) shows empathy towards John. She is new to the
neighborhood and has only heard of John’s past actions. Yet they both are afraid
or unwilling to discuss about the boy’s feelings or indelible past. As the
spasms of violence (against John) rises to threshold point, the boy’s young
shoulders and heart struggles to bear. The steadily-flowing hatred makes it
hard for John to continue his pursuit of absolution.
It would be easy task to realize blond-haired teenage as a
‘monster’ who masks his deviant interior through shy posterior. Director Magnus
von Horn takes the hard task of realizing the murderous teenager as a human
without watering-down the scope of his crime. Unlike The Hunt or Flocking, the
story doesn’t deal with victim-hood or abuse because he welcomes punishment from
the people by remaining passive and unbelievably tolerant. John’s restraint
causes lasting tension in the narrative. Director Magnus intention is to not
just showcase John as a victim. He rather studies how tolerance and compassion
repeatedly taught is exercised on the practical side (in society). The depiction
of the lynch mob isn’t one-dimensional or bluntly judgmental. Magnus focuses on
both monstrosity and fear of the individuals that fiercely intends to cast away
John.
The driving force of the film is Magnus’ understanding of
the character dynamics, his carefully-constructed imagery, and Ulrik Munther’s
central performance. Cinematographer Lukasz Zal (Ida) bathes the domestic
scenes in blue light, suggesting the dysfunctional nature of John’s family. The
director-cinematographer duo excels in blocking the scenes between John and
father Martin. They often sit in different rooms (dad in dining room and John
in living room), the noise of TV screeching in the background. The inability to
transcend the father-son relationship is depicted through cold distance between
the rooms. Although most of the scenes between John and Martin pass in brooding
silence, what’s more interesting in the father-son relationship is the feigned
attempt to bond. Martin gives his son shooting and driving lessons, yet their
closeness is devoid of emotions. Such scenes only further accentuate the father
& son’s taciturn behavior. The inclusion of a grumpy, dying grandfather
into the family dynamics shoots up the sense of unease even in quotidian
situations (like having dinner). Similar to Austrian auteur Michael Haneke’s
works, Magnus strongly maintains the menacing atmospherics through the use of
diegetic sounds. Nevertheless, there’s something unsatisfying about the ending.
The high-charged emotional explosion is free of ambiguity and only confirms
what we anticipated—that there is no chance of reconciliation or return to
normalcy. Missteps and flaws aside, Swedish pop-star turned actor Munther’s
understated performance grabs our attention. His sullen face, self-hatred and
slowly burning rage cuts us deep.
Trailer
The Here After (98 minutes) is a disquieting drama with a
strong aesthetic sense that’s interested in examining the human darkness. It questions
the possibility of repentance or second chances in unforgiving, hypocritical
societies.
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