Together is set in one of the sharehome communes that sprouted around Stockholm in the 1970s. The group is loosely led by the kind-natured Göran, a peaceable organizer who will go to great lengths to avoid conflict, yet the collective energy is deeply divided by debates over left-wing politics and more mundane, everyday questions—like whether doing the dishes counts as bourgeois or as a shared responsibility.
The core disturbance comes when Elisabeth, Göran's sister, leaves her violent husband Rolf and moves into the commune with her two children, Eva and Stefan. Her arrival shifts the balance of power and affection within the house, as different adults react in different ways to the new family dynamic. Elisabeth’s presence underscores the fragility of the utopian experiment, exposing how fear, desire, and practical needs press up against the ideal of collective life.
Into this already volatile mix enters self-identified lesbian Anna, who lives in the commune with her ex-husband Lasse and their son Tet (named after the Tet Offensive). Tet quickly bonds with Stefan, and the two boys become playmates who mirror, and sometimes clash with, the adult quarrels and loyalties unfolding around them. The children, often sidelined by the grown-ups, become a quiet counterweight to the film’s public debates, reflecting both warmth and vulnerability in a world that prizes freedom but struggles to give it to the next generation.
The children’s world expands with games that feel at once innocent and troubling, such as when Anna’s circle pretends to be Augusto Pinochet in a game that pokes at the boundaries of power and equality. The line between play and reality blurs in unsettling ways, revealing the adults’ readiness to vacillate between empathy and self-interest as they navigate relationships, trust, and responsibility.
Across the street, Eva befriends a lonely boy named Fredrik. His family presents themselves as conventional on the surface, but the film gradually reveals a dysfunction that rivals, and perhaps outpaces, the commune’s own chaos. The children become witnesses and, at times, casualties of the adults’ experiments with personal liberation, illustrating a central tension: the longing for personal freedom can come at the expense of care and stability for the youngest ones.
Elisabeth’s husband Rolf makes a visible effort to reform, but his progress is uneven. A night of excess ends with him getting drunk and arrested, an episode that leaves his children stranded after a disastrous dinner at a Chinese restaurant. The incident lays bare the precarious balance between intention and consequence in a world where adult renewal often collides with imperfect outcomes for the family.
Relationships complicate further as Klas is desperately in love with Lasse, adding another layer of longing and miscommunication to the already intricate social web. Meanwhile, Göran’s relationship with his partner—an arrangement they want to keep open—sours as he faces the burdens of responsibility that come with freedom. The film does not shy away from showing how these interpersonal struggles ripple outward, affecting trust, kinship, and the sense of belonging within the community.
Despite their earnest desires to be open, tolerant, and progressive, the characters inhabit a space where love, loyalty, and idealism collide with jealousy, misjudgments, and the daily grind of living together. The result is a rich, textured portrait of a subculture striving toward communal harmony while contending with real flaws, mistakes, and the unpredictable demands of family life. In the end, Together offers a thoughtful meditation on what it means to grow up in a world of possibilities, where freedom is cherished, yet frequently tested by the very people who seek it most.
