by Alireza Hatamvand
Worth: $13.00
FilmInk rates movies out of $20 — the score indicates the amount we believe a ticket to the movie to be worth
Cast:
Myrid Carten, Nuala
Intro:
… may not fully touch us with its form or its emotions, yet it still creates moments that are worth watching.
When it comes to portrayals of alcoholism in narrative cinema, The Lost Weekend still shines above all. Yet if we set aside acting methods and scripted drama, and instead look at the phenomenon from the closest possible distance — through an entirely personal documentary — the life of an elderly Irish woman may well move us even more deeply than Billy Wilder’s masterpiece.
This is a participatory, interactive documentary about the director’s mother, an alcoholic whose struggles with care and rehabilitation weigh heavily on the entire family, especially her daughter. The subject is simple, and although the film is filled with emotional turns and painful moments, its overall tone remains stripped-down. This simplicity works in some scenes, allowing the most ordinary conversations to yield surprising depth and intimacy. But those instances are few, and on the whole, the film leaves neither a lasting emotional impact nor a sense of insight.
Myrid clearly lets emotion guide the film, rather than trying to instruct or inform. Some parts feel drawn out, and it’s natural to wonder why they are included. Still, the ending — setting aside the rapid-fire phone calls that feel out of sync with the rest — emerges as the most powerful moment, where the filmmaker makes a bold, deeply bitter, and unexpected choice that casts a shadow over the entire film. With the beginning of the film engaging and the ending impactful, some of the middle moments feel drawn out, and one can’t help but wish that it had been made as a short documentary; every moment could have felt more deliberate and powerful, with the director in full control of the footage rather than the footage guiding her.
Another weakness is the director’s own ambiguous presence on screen. We often see her talking about making the film or editing on her computer. Why exactly is never made clear. What is certain, though, is that every such appearance chips away at her role as the emotional core of the story — the daughter.
At the same time, Myrid tries to make sure that the film’s form does not appear as plain as its subject. She blends in other elements: revisiting old family footage, inserting edits that resemble match cuts between documentary sequences, and using a floating camera movement to explore the family home. The latter is not only beautiful but also becomes a motif that marks transitions throughout the film. Yet these flourishes are too sparse to make 80 minutes feel consistently poetic or visually compelling. In fact, at moments, one wishes Myrid had not tried so hard to make everything appear distinctive, because forced creativity easily turns into its opposite.
In the end, A Want in Her may not fully touch us with its form or its emotions, yet it still creates moments that are worth watching. Perhaps its greatest achievement lies in the filmmaker’s courage — in revealing the painful reality of her own life and her mother’s struggles, and in the vital, brave decision she makes at the end.
