A humble but understanding story
The statement about “Little Sister” is less than some kind of deep-rooted queer film model that has been shaped by past generations, and we spent most of Hafsia Herzi's third feature waiting for something terrible to happen. The story that emerged has long been expected of trauma or tragic, and this story is high: Our heroine Fatima is a devout Muslim girl from an immigrant family in Algeria in Paris, worried that her new feminism would see her family and faith. However, your expectations do not conflict throughout the quiet role study, where self-acceptance is the most important narrative barrier.
Sensitive and understanding storytelling and style are somewhat timid, and “Little Sister” depends largely on the leading performance of first-time actor Nadia Melliti, who hints at Fatima's vulnerability and insecurity behind the retreating exterior – although the film can be shaded within her emotional range. It’s not hard to imagine Herzi herself playing this role early in her career, although like her last directorial joint venture (“Good Mother” in 2021), the actor-turned-filmmaker man left the camera and directed her actor with obvious care and compassion. The Cannes competition berth is arguably a broad farming prospect, but puts undue pressure on this impact but moderate work. Especially programmers and distributors for LGBT will surely attract interest.
In the first season of the film, Fatima is introduced as a clever high school student, confident in the company of her tone of friends, and the cheeky foil of older sisters who are more caring to her and traditional parents at home. However, away from these areas, she was not quite sure of her certainty, because her sudden and violent reaction when a classmate casually identified her as a lesbian showed that her horror was horrible when their secrets were no longer under their guardianship. Of course, it makes sense for her reaction to her long-time boyfriend’s non-official, monosyllable, a small chauvinist who is passionate about getting married and starting a family as soon as possible.
It was not only Fatima's queer people that clashed with the program. She was determined to live a more modern life, enrolled in college to study philosophy, and soon abandoned her teenage school friends to forge her adult identity. This also brings about hesitant sexual exploration: under false identities, sneaky, arranged parties with her sex more experienced and comfortable women. In one outstanding scene, the older sensualist Ingrid (a great Sophie Garagnon) gently illustrates her through the fundamentals of lesbian sex, emphasizing to the shy, faint teenager that “nothing is dirty in no sex”.
But it was only when Fatima met Korean nurse Ji-Na (Ji-Min Park, the vibrant star of “Back to Seoul”) that she was finally ready to be close to another woman, not herself, but a detached baseball-shrouded Alter self. (She even gets frustrated with her cultural identity in these encounters, usually telling people that she is Egyptian rather than Algerian – another layer of disguise to hide behind. However, when Ji-Na's mental health becomes worse and the two break up, Fatima must learn to be self-sufficient in her new life.
Supplementing this personal awakening is an ongoing investigation of her beliefs. Although Fatima is still a believer, she fears that the Islamic Church rejects her because the strange woman is not completely overshadowed by the local imam (Abdelali Mamoun), who suggests that she mixes with kindness of kindness and disgust, that homosexuality is just as homosexual as women, which is not a serious sin. Hertz's script is adapted from an autobiographical novel by Fatima Daas, which is subtle and keen on such issues, and never more important than in a lovely scene, rich in silent conflict and understanding, Fatima's distressed mother (Amina Ben Mohamed) ensures unconditional support from her daughter.
Otherwise, the “little sister” feels a little short in this family texture and details. Despite the title, Fatima's family relationship is only explored on the surface and spending more time observing the heroine's daily work and activities outside of the direct indoor crisis is not wrong. Hertz treats her protagonist with gentleness and attention—just dedicated to DP Jérémie Attard’s camera, studying her face in violent close-ups—the exterior details of her life and environment are relatively intensifying.