Coming Home: A quiet, aching look at memory

Is it worth your time?

If you like movies that let a scene sit until the air feels heavy, then yes, absolutely. If you need a fast plot or big reveals, you’re going to be bored out of your mind. It’s for the patient crowd—people who don't mind feeling a little bit sad on a Tuesday night. 🕰️

The whole thing hangs on this one, quiet premise: a husband comes back, but his wife doesn't know him. It’s not a thriller. It’s just a long, slow exhale of a film.

Small details that stuck

The way the light hits the floorboards in their apartment? It feels so lived-in, like you could smell the tea and the dust. I kept looking at the wallpaper, wondering if they chose that specific shade of faded beige to make everything feel even more trapped.

There’s a moment with a piano that goes on just a little too long. It’s not "dramatic" in the way a Hollywood movie would edit it, where the music swells to tell you how to feel. It’s just awkward and quiet. It felt real, in that messy way real life is.

I was reminded a bit of the heavy, lingering sadness found in Scarlet River, though this one feels more like it’s happening inside a house rather than out in the elements. Everything here is interior.

Some people might find the wife’s condition a bit much, or maybe they’ll get annoyed that the husband doesn't just yell, "I am here!" But that’s not the point, is it? The point is the waiting. The waiting is the worst part.

• The train station scene—no dialogue, just faces.
• The letters. So many letters.
• The way the door locks sound.

It’s not a movie I’d watch twice in a row, but it’s one that sits in the back of your brain for days. Sometimes the most effective scenes are the ones where absolutely nothing happens except someone staring at a calendar. 🗓️

It gets a little repetitive, sure. But life is repetitive. You do the same things, walk the same paths, wait for people who might not remember you. I think that’s why it works.

It’s not trying to be a masterpiece. It’s just trying to be honest about how much it hurts to be forgotten by the one person who should know your heartbeat. And honestly, that’s enough for me.