Jérémy Clapin’s French-language Meanwhile On Earth is a heady dose of minimalist science fiction. No laser beams, no interstellar wars. It’s in the same camp as Coherence or The Vast of Night, earthbound thrillers that underexpose sci-fi elements. Clapin translates the alienation of grief into an alien encounter rooted in emotional importance over extraterrestrial engagement. Meanwhile On Earth dances between genre disinterest and grounded storytelling, seeking forgiveness through soulful themes that confront psychological unknowns with an ungraspable sense of ambiguity.
Megan Northam stars as Elsa Martens, the sister to missing astronaut Franck Martens (Sébastien Pouderoux in voice only). Elsa hears Franck speaking in her mind, and then another voice intrudes. A disembodied entity requests Elsa provide five individuals to be inhabited by invisible cosmic beings, and in return, they’ll release Franck. Nobody else can hear the voices, leaving Elsa to question whether Franck might return home after nearly three years. Can Else trade innocent lives for her brother’s return?
What’s essentially a telepathic kidnapping plot is subdued in its cosmic representations. Dimitri Doré is a calm communicator as La Voix aka The Voice, Elsa’s subconscious hijacker and the film’s levelheaded antagonist. Doré’s voice is a manifestation of Elsa’s heartbreak, one that poses a moral conundrum. Clapin’s storytelling is conversation-heavy, which sells excitement short. Meanwhile On Earth succeeds as an allegory for grief-sized holes left behind by lost loved ones, but derives more enjoyment from teasing audiences than following through on harder sci-fi invigoration.
At times, it’s like Under the Skin without the engulfing pool sequences. In others, Clapin flicks the safety off and whirs a chainsaw or inserts cutesy animated interludes. Meanwhile On Earth plays like antithetical science fiction with only a singular sequence of wriggly jelly-goo to establish some icky cosmic appearance, versus Northam’s central performance as a girl conversing with an ominous voice. Clapin approaches body-snatcher ideas from afar, like Honeydew “elevates” The Texas Chain Saw slasher grime, which lacks a certain dynamism. Elsa’s interactions with Sam Louwyck’s intellectual father or Catherine Salée’s boss-lady mother stoke conspiracies about the girl’s voices being fake — but that’s less interesting than galactic intervention.
That said, Northam beautifully bears the brunt of Meanwhile On Earth. Elsa’s caught in an existential crisis of either fractured sanity or supernatural coercion, but Northam’s performance hardly spins into oblivion. There’s a congenial charm to Elsa’s soul-searching and soul-snatching journey, as Northam poignantly wrestles with her character’s sacrificial quandary. The weight of one life falls heavy upon Elsa, caught in an invisible frequency rendition of the trolly problem. Northam’s long-stare contemplation, Elsa’s novice scheming, and her role’s unwillingness to sway audiences toward fantastical disbelief or incredulous realities keep the wheels turning.
Meanwhile On Earth is also wonderfully composed, as Clapin collaborates harmoniously with his technical rockstars. Cinematographer Robrecht Heyvaert illuminates night skies with an astronomer’s touch while capturing isolation in countless forms as Elsa traverses empty woodlands where victims are led. Dan Levy’s original score transitions between alt-rock revelations as Elsa carries our orders and frantic survival tones as heartbeats quicken with escalating rhythms. Clapin’s vision strings together scenic photography with moody background music that sucks us into Elsa’s universe, as sharply crafted as it is unknowing. The pieces of Clapin’s puzzle fit snugly together, even though some are visibly blank, open for interpretation.
Ultimately, Meanwhile On Earth is a barebones experiment pushing science fiction boundaries without recognizable genre landmarks. Megan Northam is a North Star, shining bright and guiding viewers through hazy storytelling. Jérémy Clapin impresses in his live-action feature debut, and while his film perhaps speaks too softly for stretches, there’s value to its stripped-naked approach. Clapin proves narratively capable without blockbuster embellishments, relying on narrative strength and performance talent that stretches farther than anticipated. Grand ideas, small means, and one heck of a leading lady.
Movie Score: 3.5/5
Matt Donato is a Los Angeles-based film critic currently published on SlashFilm, Fangoria, Bloody Disgusting, and anywhere else he’s allowed to spread the gospel of Demon Wind. He is also a member of the Critics Choice Association. Definitely don’t feed him after midnight.
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