Rose (Lucy Fry) has always known she cannot have children. The tragic result of a childhood surgery whose trauma embedded itself in her mind as a nightmare, this truth became a major part of her identity. A crucial piece to the puzzle that was her so-called brokenness. This is why she can’t wrap her head around the news when the doctor tells her she’s pregnant. It’s not just the irony that this discovery comes as a result of being ordered to lose three pounds for a potential acting role, but the horrible timing of finally catching a big career break when the opportunity to start a family miraculously manifests. Rose must escape the chaos. She must figure out what she wants. Who she is. Who she can still become.
The debut feature from Julie Pacino (yes, Al’s daughter), I Live Here Now embraces an unsettling humor from the beginning. There’s the noted, fateful turn of events. Talent agent Cindy Abrams (Cara Seymour) demanding that weight loss despite knowing Rose has no fat to lose (“maybe the character is starving”). A darkly absurd meeting with Travis’s mother Martha (Sheryl Lee) revealing a totalitarian nature that all but reduces her son’s semen to a proprietary entity within the family portfolio. The surreal, otherworldly atmosphere of The Crown Inn where Rose goes to contemplate an abortion amidst its martini-wielding manager (Lara Clear’s Ada) and wholesomely naive bellhop (Sarah Rich’s Sid). David Lynch’s Twin Peaks and Mulholland Dr. are obvious touchstones.
Because this place isn’t quite what it seems. Freedom is taken out of Rose’s control (the valet will move her car from the tow-zone she didn’t notice because it probably doesn’t exist). Desires disappear as though to test her resolve (first the script for her audition and then the abortion pill). She was told a last-second room opened, yet the heart-shaped key rack behind the counter holds a plethora of unclaimed keys––not to mention Ada instantly “upgrading” her to a suite while deciding which to choose. Is it simply because “The Lovin’ Oven” spoke to her? Or does she somehow know about the pregnancy? And when Rose asks for a crib to be removed, Sid doesn’t initially apologize for its presence. No, she’s confused because she thought Rose brought it with her.
That makes no sense, though. Unless The Crown Inn is less brick-and-mortar, more manifestation of Rose’s psyche. It would explain why fellow resident Lillian (Madeline Brewer) cryptically brushes off the notion that they’re in a hotel at all, as well as the impossibility of Sid’s pink Bible (about the establishment’s history) reading like a novelization of what we’ve already seen. The question is thus whether these women will ultimately prove to be figures from Rose’s past, fractured identities (Sid the childlike innocence whose pain everyone discounted and Lillian the cavalier risk-taker who’s more often than not suppressed), or both. And if the rooms (sauna, dining, fiery vents, and locked neighbors) hold memories or fears.
Reality blurs into hallucination as Rose’s body acts as a fail-safe to shut down the insanity when it gets too out-of-control. Murder? Hidden sanatoriums? Better have her wake up in bed as though it was all a horrible dream than confront meaning before she’s ready. Because it’s not just the baby or the audition or Lillian’s penchant for distraction or Ana’s apathy or Sid’s sorrow that Rose combats. There’s also the looming specter of Martha wanting her “property” back by any means necessary (the increased bruises on Travis’s face as we progress is a nice touch). Misogyny. Guilt. Terror. Imposter syndrome. Insecurity. Rage. Rose has created a war zone of emotional and psychological triggers seeking to keep her boxed in unless she chooses to claw her way out.
It’s a fascinating journey through the pitfalls of womanhood. Society’s demands and conventions rear their head so often that Rose doesn’t know where she begins and indoctrination ends. Fry does well in the lead role––headstrong yet uncertain. She’s the straight man in this equation while Lee goes full evil with a smile, Brewer embraces anarchy, and Rich supplies a lost purity that might be found again. I do think Pacino’s ideas and motives outshine the execution at times, but I love a big swing that can create a force like Martha and an unforgettable scene like Sid with the lentil soup. I Live Here Now never tries to hide its metaphor, yet still ensures our interpretation comes from within rather than the filmmaker. Your mileage may vary, but you cannot deny its power.
I Live Here Now premiered at the 2025 Fantasia International Film Festival.