Being There

In the polished corridors of Washington, D.C., a lone figure tends a quiet garden behind the grand townhouse of a reclusive magnate. Chance has spent his entire life cultivating soil, his only window to the broader world a flickering television set that supplies him with a patchwork of facts, fashions, and philosophies. His days are marked by the rhythm of seasons, the soft hum of a mower, and the gentle guidance of Louise, the kindly housemaid who watches over him with a quiet affection.

When his patron passes away, the orderly world that has cradled Chance begins to crumble. A sudden foray onto the bustling streets thrusts him into encounters that feel as foreign as the distant landscapes on his screen. A misheard introduction leads Eve Rand, the glamorous young wife of a powerful businessman, to usher him into a sprawling estate where Dr. Allenby—the physician caring for the ailing Ben Rand—takes a wary, almost paternal interest. Dressed in out‑of‑date 1930s attire rescued from an attic, Chance walks among opulent rooms and polished marble, his simple mannerisms starkly contrasting the polished veneer of the capital’s elite.

Within this gilded sphere, the very people who shape the nation’s policies begin to hear and interpret his unassuming observations about gardening, weather, and the cycles of growth. What was once a literal lesson about pruning roses becomes, to a curious audience, a profound metaphor for economics, diplomacy, and power. The film swirls with a gentle satire, its tone both whimsical and reverent, inviting viewers to consider how television, perception, and a quiet voice can ripple through the corridors of influence. As Chance navigates a world that reads far beyond his intent, the story teases the delicate line between innocence and the grand narratives that others are eager to construct.

Last Updated: September 20, 2025 at 16:46