Or Sinai’s debut feature, Mama, tells a story of geographic and emotional displacement that resonates with a long tradition of global cinema focused on migrant labor. The film introduces us to its protagonist, Mila, a Polish woman whose life is neatly, if painfully, bisected. We first meet her in Israel, working as a live-in housekeeper within the bright, spacious, and modern home of a wealthy family.
The power dynamics are a masterclass in subtlety; her employers, Yaffa and Gideon, treat her with a casual kindness that barely conceals her station as a paid servant. The arrangement recalls the complex employer-servant relationships often explored in Indian cinema, where affection and obligation are intertwined with class hierarchy. A simple line from Yaffa, “my dress looks good on you,” is delivered with a smile but lands with the weight of ownership, a quiet reminder that Mila’s very appearance is borrowed.
Yet Mila’s existence is not solely defined by her labor. In stolen moments, she finds a private tenderness in a secret affair with Duby, the property’s gardener. Their connection is a small act of personal agency in a life largely lived for others. This narrative of a migrant worker sending remittances home is a familiar one, echoing stories of sacrifice from South Asia to Latin America.
The film’s central conflict is triggered by a mundane accident when Mila injures herself at work. Her employers, with practical concern, send her home to Poland to recuperate, a decision that sets in motion an unwitting journey into the heart of what she has lost while building a future from afar.
The Unmaking of a Matriarch
The return to Poland is a jarring sensory and emotional shift. The warm, open aesthetic of the Israeli house is replaced by the crumbling walls and dim light of her family home. This visual dissonance is made more potent by the state of the new house her earnings were meant to be building; it stands as a half-finished concrete shell, a stark monument to her deferred dreams and the family’s fractured reality.
Her homecoming is not the triumphant return of a provider but the beginning of a painful unraveling. The expected joy is quickly eclipsed by a series of devastating truths. Her daughter, Kasia, for whose university education Mila has worked tirelessly, reveals she is pregnant and intends to marry and abandon her studies. This rejection of the future Mila planned is a profound blow.
The revelations continue with her husband, Antek. He has not only spent the money saved for their new home but has also found comfort and love with another woman, Natasha. The film explores with devastating precision how Natasha has quietly stepped into the maternal void left by Mila, becoming a confidante and mother figure to Kasia.
The ensuing family confrontations are charged with the kind of high-stakes emotionality familiar to viewers of Indian family dramas, where long-held secrets erupt to challenge the established order. In Israel, Mila was a subordinate. In Poland, her financial power was meant to make her the unquestioned matriarch.
Finding her authority completely usurped, she reacts with a desperate attempt to reclaim control, her actions becoming increasingly tyrannical as she fights to reassert her place at the center of a world that has moved on without her.
A Portrait of Unvarnished Strength
The film is held together by the formidable, magnetic performance of Evgenia Dodina as Mila. Her portrayal is the anchor upon which the entire emotional structure is built, a complex depiction of womanhood that defies easy categorization.
Dodina presents Mila with all her flaws intact, refusing to sand down her abrasive edges or soften her bitterness for the sake of audience comfort. This commitment to raw, authentic characterization is reminiscent of the great actresses of India’s Parallel Cinema movement from the 1970s and 80s.
One thinks of Smita Patil or Shabana Azmi, artists who brought a fierce, unvarnished humanity to women grappling with immense social and personal constraints, presenting them not as saints or victims, but as complicated people.
Dodina’s physical presence is immense; her fierce, intelligent gaze communicates a lifetime of internal conflict, sacrifice, and simmering resentment. Her own personal history as an immigrant from Belarus to Israel seems to inform the performance, lending a palpable authenticity to her depiction of a person caught between two worlds, belonging fully to neither. She never begs for the viewer’s sympathy.
Instead, her raw and unflinchingly honest performance commands a deep and unnerving compassion for Mila’s difficult predicament. She makes even the character’s most irrational and destructive decisions feel emotionally legible, stemming from a place of profound hurt and a desperate need to matter.
The Grammar of Dislocation
Director Or Sinai crafts a film that operates first and foremost as a focused, deeply intimate character study. Her observational direction invites the viewer directly into Mila’s personal and psychological space.
This intimacy is amplified by the work of cinematographer Matan Radin, whose handheld camera feels restless and empathetic, following Mila closely and mirroring her shifting emotional states without judgment. The film’s visual language powerfully communicates her divided existence through its deliberate color palette.
Israel is rendered in warm, yellowish desert hues, suggesting a life of deceptive openness and space. In stark contrast, the Polish settings are presented in gray, cool tones. The interiors there are often cramped and claustrophobic, with Sinai’s framing visually boxing Mila in as her world and her options shrink.
This use of social realism—where the physical environment reflects a character’s inner state—is a classic technique of world cinema, from Europe to the Indian subcontinent. The screenplay excels in creating lived-in relationships with painfully authentic dialogue, especially in the simmering, history-laden arguments between Mila and Antek.
At times, the script turns toward heightened, almost melodramatic situations to advance the plot. While these moments create undeniable drama, they can feel slightly dissonant with the film’s otherwise grounded, observational tone. It is a testament to the strength of Sinai’s direction and the sheer force of Dodina’s central performance that the film’s emotional core remains unshaken by these inconsistencies.
Mama premiered at the Cannes Film Festival on May 18, 2025, marking its debut.
The Review
Mama
A potent and moving character study, Mama is anchored by a truly formidable lead performance from Evgenia Dodina. Director Or Sinai masterfully contrasts the two worlds of her protagonist's life through sharp visual language. While the film's emotional core is undeniable, its narrative is sometimes weakened by a reliance on melodramatic plot points that feel at odds with its otherwise stark realism. It remains a powerful exploration of identity, sacrifice, and the complex meaning of home, carried by its unforgettable central force.
PROS
- A commanding and complex central performance by Evgenia Dodina.
- Assured, character-focused direction that builds a palpable atmosphere.
- Effective cinematography that visually contrasts the protagonist's two lives.
- A nuanced and emotionally resonant exploration of migrant identity.
CONS
- The script occasionally resorts to predictable and melodramatic situations.
- Some supporting characters feel underdeveloped compared to the protagonist.
