Ich war zuhause, aber...

Either the 'director' doesn't know how to tell stories or she takes herself too seriously. Actually, it is both, indeed. This is a disjointed movie that does not make any sense by the end, to a surprising ending that might explain its structure. Not only are there no characters to identify with whatsoever, as good stories have, the dialogues are overdone, senseless, and intended to dare, perhaps, the audience to go beyond what is said, but actually, they are empty. This piece of rubbish is a very personal waste of loads of money, with the excuse of being art. It is very likely the 'director' is projecting herself through the quite unlikable character of the mother. If she wanted to portray german society as sad, neurotic, flat people, she definitely succeeded. This movie, or whatever it is, is what happens in industrialized countries where people have so much they don't know what to do with it and themselves; they make absurdity and call it art and even award it with the silver bear! Unglaublich! Needless to say. DO NOT WASTE YOUR TIME...

The last shot of the film summarises the two ways the spectator may feel by the end of this film. Either you will be sleeping as the dog, or clueless as the dunkey. The only thing that is worthy are the beautiful shots and images.

No surprise, this art-house masterpiece is about love and loss, about the dream-like surreal world you find yourself in after losing a loved one. Is our 'reality' more real than a dream? Is it more real than its reflection - in drama, dance, painting, sculpture, music, on a windowpane? Love and loss are always with us, no matter the age, no matter the epoch. Recommend to watch more than once.

This was one of the most boring movies I've ever seen. It is indeed waste of time for all. This kind of art is nothing. There must be a rationale, a purpose for the film making.

The title might make you think of Ozu's masterly tale of childhood "I Was Born, But...", however German director Angela Schanelec's "I Was At Home, But..." is an altogether more challenging affair, typical of the woman who made "The Dreamed Path". It's also a film about childhood, or at least a film with a child as one of its principal protagonists, but this rigorous and admittedly difficult film totally belies any cosiness or sense of closure, turning its attention instead, not so much on the child, but on a distraught mother who appears to be having some sort of breakdown.

Something, perhaps terrible, has happened to the child in question but Schanelec doesn't feel the need to explain it or even to explain the subsequent actions of anyone involved. We seem to have been dropped into the middle of something we don't understand and are left to work things out for ourselves. This is what life is like, she is telling us, not what we usually see when we go to the movies. With only a few films to her credit she is an already established auteur as well as one of cinema's great female directors and her work demands to be seen; just don't expect the obvious or even to be entertained but if you are prepared to enter into her world you will be amply rewarded.