But will it ever be enough? Will there ever be true change? Or will there always be resentments, always be regrets, always be ghosts inherited from past generations that linger and stop real advancements from being made? Malu doesn’t have the answers to those questions, but it does a highly compelling job of posing them.Intergenerational Trauma - Legacies of Loss Malu is still stuck in the past, but new advancements cause her to finally look to the future, too - not to Joana and her generation but to the one after. A child is left to comfort their parent, and their parent is left to reflect on how the world has changed - and how it hasn’t. It raises questions about the cycle of generational trauma and whether it will be continued. Without giving too much away, the ending examines the bittersweet inevitability of aging and the natural reversals that occur. The thing that forces a reunion between Malu and Joana feels a bit random and narratively convenient as it stands, but it works well enough and is based on real-life events, so it doesn’t detract too much from its intended impact. The absence of cues indicating how much time has passed between events can leave us playing catch-up for a few moments, though thankfully, it isn’t hugely distracting.

The pacing can feel a bit strange, particularly going into the third act, which can lead to some confusion. Does that matter? Should we still sympathize with her? Should Malu? There’s still love between them - Malu is adamant about not sending Lili to a retirement home, and Lili encourages Joana to show her mother understanding - but at what point does that cease to be enough? At what point does the hurt and toxicity outweigh it? Her past is not an excuse for that, but it’s an explanation. After all, Lili is outwardly racist and homophobic, doing and saying some truly unforgivable things. Freire wants us to feel compassion for Lili, and then he wants us to feel conflicted about that. Freire’s script does an excellent job of driving that point home through subtle repetition, such as “ugly” as an insult and incest accusations.

And the things that bond them - their united front against Lili’s criticism and their shared passion for theater - threaten to be the very things that tear them apart.ĭa Cunha’s performance is often quieter than de Novaes’ but just as poignant, and a gutting three-and-a-half-minute monologue she gives not only emerges as the most haunting and memorable moment of the film but serves as its thesis statement of sorts: trauma is often inflicted by the traumatized. Between Malu refusing to do any work on the house (which has seemingly endless problems, including cockroaches and a leaky roof) until Joana’s father puts the entire thing in her name and some jealousy she fosters towards her daughter's flourishing career, the tension becomes nearly too much to bear. Though their reunion is initially a happy one, cracks start to show in their relationship the longer Joana stays with Malu. Joana also has aspirations of being onstage and is even determined to go live out her dreams in São Paulo. The house grows fuller when Malu’s daughter Joana ( Carol Duarte) returns from studying abroad. Though struggling financially, she opens up her home to her conservative mother, Lili ( Juliana Carneiro da Cunha), who harshly judges her for her life choices, particularly when it comes to the diverse group of fellow artists she hangs around and routinely also hosts at her home. The film revolves around the titular character of Malu ( Yara de Novaes), a middle-aged woman living in Rio de Janeiro.

Intergenerational complex trauma