Finding the right roommate can feel like going on a blind date, with a lease attached. In Living Together (Cohabiter), filmmaker Halima Elkhatabi transforms this everyday quest into a revealing portrait of a generation confronting one of today’s most pressing challenges: the housing crisis, without ever making it the main focus.
The documentary immerses viewers in candid, unfiltered conversations, where Gen Z tenants openly discuss mental health, personal boundaries, and core values, all in the pursuit of finding not just a housemate, but a true cohabiter.
A Film About Housing, Without Being “About” Housing
When Halima Elkhatabi began shaping Living Together, she knew she wanted to address the importance of housing as “a place to feel peaceful and a place of shelter” (povmagazine.com). But she was equally clear on what the film wouldn’t be: a didactic essay on the housing crisis. “Everything about housing was interesting to me, but I didn’t want to make a movie about the housing crisis. I wanted to talk about it, but not directly,” she explained to POV Magazine.
To do this, Elkhatabi placed her camera in the middle of a uniquely modern ritual: the roommate interview. Over the course of two years, she and her crew set up in 15 different Montreal apartments, filming tenants as they met potential cohabiters. The goal wasn’t to steer the discussion but to watch it unfold naturally. “As documentarians, we can’t control everything,” she told POV. “It’s a young generation, it’s the way they talk, what they want to say. We let them express themselves.”
The results are as revealing as they are intimate. By focusing on the micro, questions about daily habits, values, and emotional needs, Living Together quietly reflects the macro pressures of a generation that may need roommates not just for companionship, but for financial survival as well.
Concept and Approach
Elkhatabi scoured Facebook ads for rooms for rent, gauging which listings had enough detail to spark “actual conversations, as opposed to a more transactional approach.” Many prospective participants, especially those in their 30s and 40s, declined, concerned about their jobs or professional image. The majority who agreed were members of Gen Z, a generation, Elkhatabi notes, raised on the internet and “used to talking about themselves.”
Over two years, cameras rolled in 15 apartments across Montreal, capturing 52 participants of varying genders, sexual orientations, and cultural backgrounds. The filmmaker deliberately avoided feeding the tenants questions or imposing an agenda.
Instead, she took what she calls a “sociological approach” in the editing process, letting the candid exchanges define the film’s structure.
The result is a documentary that feels unforced and authentic, a collage of voices, personalities, and values, all brought together by the shared search for a livable home.
Structure and Style
Living Together unfolds as a series of intimate, unscripted encounters inside Montreal apartments advertising a “room for rent.” Each setting becomes its own small stage, with the participants’ words, body language, and silences carrying the drama.
Over the course of 75 minutes, viewers meet 52 people, all sharing the vulnerable process of deciding who they might live with.
The film lets conversations breathe, capturing not just what is said, but how it’s said, the pauses before delicate questions, the laughter after shared experiences, the subtle shifts in tone when topics become more personal.
By focusing on small, detailed interactions rather than sweeping statements about the housing crisis, Living Together builds a layered portrait of connection and compatibility. As POV Magazine notes, these exchanges “aren’t explicitly about the housing crisis” but instead function as “a layered humanist portrait of the behavioural and emotional impacts” of it.
Themes and Conversations
At its core, Living Together is about more than splitting rent; it’s about laying bare the values, boundaries, and quirks that make shared living possible. The film’s participants approach these roommate interviews with what POV Magazine calls “an unapologetic openness that can feel jarring to those of us raised in eras where guarded formality is preferred”.
Questions about mental health are asked as casually as one might ask about preferred shower times. One exchange reveals a polyamorous relationship to set expectations about guests coming and going; another recounts frustrations with a past roommate’s unwillingness to discuss white privilege. For some, like a young woman with autism, the interviews become a way to find others who share or at least understand her neurodivergent experience.
Elkhatabi was surprised by just how personal these conversations became. “I thought they were going to talk about the housing crisis, but they were talking about so many personal subjects, like physical and mental health and their boundaries,” she told POV Magazine. “I was surprised with how open they were and the desire to share what they feel” (source: povmagazine.com).
In these moments, what some might dismiss as “woke” turns out to be a genuine desire to create an optimal living situation for everyone involved. As POV Magazine notes, the film privileges “genuine inclusion, an attitude which is otherwise irrationally dismissed” in public discourse. By putting all their cards on the table, the participants aren’t just finding roommates; they’re building micro-communities based on empathy, respect, and shared values.
Housing Crisis Context
While Living Together never directly lectures about the housing crisis, its presence is felt in every frame. The decision to share a home is rarely just about companionship; it’s often a financial necessity. As POV Magazine observes, Elkhatabi’s film “captures [the] knock-on effect in which a generation of people is taking greater care than ever in selecting a roommate”.
With rental costs climbing and wages stagnating, many participants understand that living with others may be their reality for the foreseeable future. This shifts the roommate search from a quick, transactional decision to a deliberate act of compatibility screening. Preferences around communication styles, social boundaries, and lifestyle habits become as important as credit scores or rent budgets.
Reception and Audience Reactions
Since premiering at the 2024 Toronto International Film Festival, Living Together has travelled an impressive festival circuit, screening at VIFF, Windsor, Rendez-vous Québec Cinéma, and festivals in Europe and Morocco, along with a theatrical release in Quebec. Now streaming on NFB.ca, it continues to spark thoughtful conversations.
Elkhatabi has noticed that “there are so many subjects in the movie that I think the responses are very open” (povmagazine.com). But that openness can also unsettle audiences. After one screening, a woman in her fifties described herself as “destabilized,” caught off guard by the bluntness and vulnerability of the interviews. Even viewers only a generation older than the film’s mostly Gen Z cast have found the directness surprising, sometimes even a little uncomfortable.
This generational contrast is part of what makes the documentary so distinctive. As POV Magazine notes, Living Together is “a film that could only exist today,” shaped by a generation accustomed to self-expression in an era of rapid social and technological change. It’s both a time capsule and a conversation starter, inviting audiences to reflect on how openness, boundaries, and values intersect with the urgent realities of the housing market.
About the Filmmaker
Halima Elkhatabi is a Montreal-based writer and director of Moroccan descent, born in France and a graduate of the Institut national de l’image et du son (INIS). Her work spans documentary, fiction film, and audio storytelling, often with a focus on intimate, human-centred narratives.
Before Living Together, Elkhatabi co-directed the NFB collaborative documentary St-Henri, the 26th of August and directed the short fiction films Nina, selected for TIFF’s Canada’s Top Ten in 2015, and Fantas, which premiered at TIFF 2024. She has also authored podcasts, including La route du bled, Chloé et Abdi, Songe d’une nuit d’hiver, and La route de l’Eldorado.
With Living Together, Elkhatabi has crafted what she calls “a Polaroid of our time,” a portrait that not only captures the housing realities of today but also documents the spirit of a generation navigating them. Her compassionate, observational style gives space for participants to speak freely, resulting in a film that feels both deeply personal and socially resonant.
Wrapping Up
Living Together stands out because it resists the temptation to preach or politicize. Instead, it listens, really listens, to a generation often caricatured as overly sensitive or self-absorbed. Through Elkhatabi’s lens, Gen Z emerges as self-aware, articulate, and intentional about the spaces they inhabit and the people they share them with.
The film reminds us that in an era of escalating housing costs and shrinking personal space, choosing a roommate can be an act of self-preservation, community building, and quiet resistance. “We always say, ‘All those young people on social media are so superficial,’” Elkhatabi told POV Magazine. “But no, they are very present, they know themselves. They’re searching and they’re finding their way”.
Ultimately, Living Together is more than a documentary; it’s a snapshot of how people connect in the face of uncertainty. It captures a moment in history when economic necessity and emotional honesty intersect, proving that even in difficult times, we can still choose understanding, empathy, and inclusion as the foundations of a shared home.