Hereafter
Unlikely to be regarded as a screen great, which is all the more baffling given the pedigree behind it.

A film tied to three interconnecting stories, Hereafter is a meditation on what happens to us after we die. It kicks off in spectacular fashion. French TV news presenter Marie (Cécile de France) is on tropical island holiday when a dramatic tsunami strikes. She drowns, but is revived – dying just long enough to get a glimpse of what may await her on the other side. The experience changes her outlook on life, leaving her searching for answers.

In London, a boy, Marcus is sent reeling when his identical twin (George McLaren and Frankie McLaren) is killed in a traffic accident. Placed in foster care because his mother’s a heroin addict, he too finds himself seeking answers – desperately trying to find out if his brother is still ‘out there’ and able to help him.

Finally, there’s George (Matt Damon), someone with a true psychic power to connect with the dead, but who finds such power more a curse than a gift. His wisecracking older brother, Billy (Jay Mohr) wants him to exploit his powers for financial gain, but George just wants to lead a normal life.

Films concerned with the afterlife appeal to the sense of curiosity in all of us, and they have a long and varied history, with such classics such as A Matter Of Life and Death offering up iconic cinematic moments. Unfortunately, Hereafter is unlikely to be regarded as a screen great, which is all the more baffling given the pedigree behind it. It was written by Peter Morgan (The Queen, Frost/Nixon), produced and directed by Clint Eastwood, and executive produced by Steve Spielberg.

With such a pedigree, why then does it misfire? Well, Matt Damon remains an engaging screen presence, and it’s his story that audiences will find the most arresting as he struggles to reconcile himself with his special powers – attending cookery night classes and working as a construction worker in a desperate attempt to be ‘normal’. However, he is but a third of the tale, and after the initial shock of Marie’s tsunami and Marcus’ bereavement, the quest upon which both characters find themselves is not sufficiently dramatic. Marie battles to write a book about her experiences and not be dismissed as a ‘David Icke-style’ crank, while Marcus steals money to consult bogus mediums.

Eventually, the characters come together in an ending that attempts to tie up loose ends in an all-too convenient and sentimental fashion. Eastwood can’t resist upping the saccharine factor (not helped by an unusually whimsical score) in what, sadly, is a disappointing effort after an impressive run of recent movies (Gran Torino, Changeling, Letters from Iwo Jima).

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