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It says less about “The Little Sister” than it does about a certain entrenched model of queer cinema shaped by past generations that we spend much of Hafsia Herzi‘s third feature waiting for something terrible to happen. Coming-out stories have long been weighted with expectations of trauma or tragedy, and the stakes in this one are high: Our heroine Fatima is a devout Muslim girl from an Algerian immigrant household in Paris, fearful that her nascent lesbianism will see her cast out of her family and faith. But conflict doesn’t arise in quite the ways you’d expect throughout this quiet character study, in which self-acceptance is the most significant narrative hurdle to clear.
Sensitive and empathetic but a little timid in storytelling and style, “The Little Sister” rests considerably on its lead performance by first-time actor Nadia Melliti, an arresting presence who suggests Fatima’s vulnerabilities and insecurities from behind a withdrawn exterior — though the film can, at points, feel hemmed in by her emotional range. It’s not hard to imagine Herzi herself having taken the role earlier in her career, though as in her last directorial venture, 2021’s “Good Mother,” the actor-turned-filmmaker stays off camera, guiding her cast with palpable care and compassion. A Cannes competition berth arguably places undue pressure on this affecting but modest work, though it’s a broadly accessible arthouse prospect. LGBT-oriented programmers and distributors, in particular, are sure to take an interest.
In the first of the film’s season-based chapters, Fatima is introduced as a bright high-school senior, confident in the company of her mouthy friend group, and a cheeky foil to her more staid older sisters and tradition-minded parents at home. Away from those spheres, however, she’s less certain of herself, for reasons that become clear when one classmate casually identifies her as a lesbian — her sudden and violent reaction speaks of the terror felt by closeted people when their secret is no longer under their guard. It certainly makes sense of her noncommittal, monosyllabic responses to her longtime boyfriend, a pushy chauvinist keen to marry and start a family as soon as possible.
It’s not only Fatima’s queerness that’s in conflict with that plan. She’s determined to live a more modern life, enrolling in college to study philosophy, and soon shedding her juvenile school friends to forge her own adult identity. That comes with hesitant sexual explorations too: furtive, app-arranged meetups, under a false identity, with women more experienced and comfortable with their sexuality than she is. In one standout scene, older sensualist Ingrid (a wonderful Sophie Garagnon) gently but frankly talks her through the fundamentals of lesbian lovemaking, stressing to the shy, faintly appalled teen that “nothing in sex is dirty.”
But it’s only when Fatima meets Korean nurse Ji-Na (Ji-Min Park, the vibrant star of “Return to Seoul”) that she finally feels ready to be intimate with another woman, and as herself rather than an aloof, baseball-capped alter ego. (She’s even coy about her cultural identity in these encounters, routinely telling people she’s Egyptian rather than Algerian — one more layer of disguise to hide behind.) The two swiftly enter into an intense, ardent relationship and before long, though she isn’t yet out to her family, Fatima feels emboldened enough to attend a Pride parade with her first girlfriend. Yet when Ji-Na’s mental health takes a turn for the worse and the two break up, Fatima must learn self-sufficiency in her new life.
Supplementing this personal awakening is an ongoing inquiry into her faith. While Fatima remains a believer, her fear that Islam will reject her as a queer woman isn’t entirely assuaged by counsel from a local imam (Abdelali Mamoun) — who advises her, with a conflicted mixture of kindness and misogyny, that homosexuality is “not as serious” a sin in women as it is in men. Herzi’s script, adapted from an autobiographical novel by Fatima Daas, is nuanced and perceptive on such matters, never more so than in a lovely scene, rich in unspoken conflicts and understanding, in which Fatima’s doting mother (Amina Ben Mohamed) assures her daughter of her unconditional support.
Otherwise, “The Little Sister” feels a little short on such domestic texture and detailing. Despite the title, Fatima’s family relations are only superficially explored, and more time spent observing everyday routine and activity outside of our heroine’s immediate interior crisis wouldn’t go amiss. Herzi treats her protagonist with such tenderness and concern — with DP Jérémie Attard’s camera likewise devoted, studying her face in one rapt closeup after another — that the external particulars of her life and environment fall comparatively out of focus.
English (US) ·