The mere knowledge of what Andrea Pallaoro’s Monica is about is itself a spoiler for the rich, emotional catharsis that occurs the moment you piece together this mosaic of a film. It’s not a twist, nor is it anything that should change how you view the central narrative that occurs in the movie but is instead a progressive emboldenment, led by a mentality we often lack in films of this kind. Monica is a film that refuses to flamboyantly present the subject as if they are something to be gawked at or to be prodded at for dramatic purpose, or the kind of project that exists for the director to be applauded for doing the bare minimum of representation.
When Monica (a spell-binding Trace Lysette) receives a call to return to her childhood home, she’s somehow unrecognisable to her ailing mother Genie (Patricia Clarkson). It’s not explicitly mentioned that this is Monica’s childhood home, but Monica floats around it like a welcome stranger. Within Monica’s childhood home stay her brother Paul (Joshua Close) and his wife Laura (Emily Browning), whom Monica is meeting for the first time. Laura introduces Monica into the house as if she has never been there before. Like Monica isn’t shirking away from the flickering ghosts of trauma that ebb in the home’s dusty corners.
This review was first posted on December 5th 2023. This review continues below.
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