Mark Reviews Movies: HERE BEFORE

Here Before, Saban Films

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Review by Mark Dujsik | February 10, 2022

Grieving is never really finished. In addition to the supernatural or very ordinary mystery at the center of its story, that's the premise of writer/director Stacey Gregg's Here Before, in which the mother of a dead child becomes increasingly convinced that her daughter's soul might have moved in next door.

That woman is Laura, played by Andrea Riseborough in a particularly tricky performance. The character begins with grief that's just beneath the surface, and its rising progression, communicated in quiet stares and hushed tones, becomes key to understanding and sympathizing with the obsession that overtakes Laura.

Laura's daughter was killed in a car collision several years ago. Her husband Brendan (Jonjo O'Neill), we learn, was driving at the time, and while he has more overtly moved forward through his own mourning, Laura mostly stays at home, leaving only to drive her son Tadhg (Lewis McAskie) to and from school or to leave flowers at the modest memorial for her daughter at the local cemetery. The stillness and evasiveness of Riseborough's performance in these early scenes is especially effective. It's as if Laura has a secret that she must keep from everyone, even though it's obvious it's always on her mind, waiting to be shouted at anyone who might listen.

The story is primarily a mystery. It begins with the arrival of a family, newly moved into the adjoining dwelling of the duplex where Laura and her family live. Marie (Eileen O'Higgins) and Chris (Martin McCann) have a seemingly normal, if somewhat strained marriage (much like Laura and her husband), but it's Megan (Niamh Dornan), the couple's 10-year-old daughter, who becomes the focus of Gregg's screenplay and Laura's attention.

Something about the neighbor reminds Laura of the girl her own daughter might have been. Confounding matters, Megan seems to know a lot more about her new neighborhood than she should—including a feeling that she has been in that cemetery.

Gregg initially presents all of this in a mostly straightforward way, but as Megan's assertions become stronger and Laura becomes more attuned to believing the impossible, the storytelling evolves along with that perception. There's less certainty, in what Laura sees and hears (One haunting sequence has her and Brendan joined in bed by someone who may or may not be there and in an incident that may or may not be real), and more directness, in allowing all of that grief, guilt, and resentment come to the fore (The calm coldness with which Laura tells her husband what she thinks about his role in their daughter's death makes an impact—especially because Gregg holds the camera on Brendan reaction to it).

The story doesn't come together in a particularly satisfying way (The answer to the puzzle is grounded and mostly unrelated). Until that point, though, Here Before and particularly Riseborough's performance offer a quietly chilling depiction of the persistence and mystery of grief.

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