Mommy
WRITTEN BY OCTAVIO CARBAJAL GONZÁLEZ
Meteoric, irreverent, self-conscious, iconoclastic, baroque, intelligent, and profoundly energetic—these are just a few adjectives that describe the filmography of the prodigious Canadian filmmaker Xavier Dolan. With works such as I Killed My Mother (2009), Laurence Anyways (2012), Tom at the Farm (2013) and It’s Only the End of the World (2016), Dolan has established himself as a visionary auteur, crafting impassioned narratives that explore family conflicts, personal identity, and self-imposed isolation. His films are kaleidoscopic explosions of color and sound, where aesthetics and emotion merge into a lyrical symphony that elevates the storytelling.
Mommy (2014) envisions a near-dystopian Canada where parents of children with severe mental disorders have the legal option to relinquish custody, handing them over to the state without judicial intervention. This chilling backdrop is less of a speculative premise and more of an allegory for a world that shirks responsibility, avoiding the difficult and often painful consequences of mental disorders within families. At the heart of this world is Steve (Antoine Olivier Pilon), a 15-year-old teenager with Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD). After committing a violent act that leaves a fellow student with second- and third-degree burns, he is expelled from a juvenile boarding school and sent back to live with his mother.
Steve’s mother, Diane (Anne Dorval), is a 45-year-old unemployed widow who suddenly finds herself alone in the complex task of dealing with Steve. She is loving and protective yet overwhelmed, her resilience constantly tested by Steve’s erratic and often dangerous behavior. He oscillates between manic energy and violent outbursts, expressing his emotions through laughter, insults, impulsive destruction, and fleeting moments of tenderness. His grief over the death of his father only exacerbates his instability. Diane, despite her devotion, struggles to contain the chaos. Their volatile relationship finds a semblance of balance through the arrival of Kyla (Suzanne Clément), a neighbor who enters their lives almost serendipitously.
Kyla, a teacher on leave due to a debilitating stutter and the unresolved trauma of losing a child, becomes a stabilizing force in boy’s lives. Yet, her own fractured psyche hints that she is not entirely a beacon of sanity but rather a kindred spirit who channels her own pain into their shared world. Her presence allows for an unorthodox yet functional dynamic to emerge, built on love, dependency, and a fragile sense of hope. Their relationship, marked by an intense yet fleeting sense of belonging, becomes a poignant meditation on the nature of family—one formed not by blood, but by necessity and shared wounds.
Diane and Steve, always on the move, carry their burdens—both literal and emotional—through a world that barely makes room for them.
The first thing that stands out in Mommy is its striking visual composition. Dolan choses to shoot the film in a 1:1 aspect ratio, a rare and audacious stylistic choice that creates an overwhelming sense of claustrophobia. The square frame mirrors the entrapment of the characters, visually reinforcing their struggles against the limitations imposed upon them by both society and their own emotional turmoil. The few moments when the screen expands serve as breathtaking emotional releases, signaling fleeting glimpses of freedom and possibility. This cinematographic decision is emblematic of Dolan’s directorial philosophy—cinema, for him, is not just a means of storytelling but an expressive and visceral art form. Thematically, Mommy critiques institutional intervention in mental health, questioning the extent to which governmental systems can or should replace familial responsibilities. Dolan’s perspective is complex—he does not idealize family nor suggest that love alone can heal deep-seated trauma. Instead, he presents a deeply humanistic yet nihilistic view: even within the closest of bonds, pain and love coexist, and sometimes, the people who love us most are the ones who wound us the deepest.
Music also plays an integral role in the film’s emotional landscape. Dolan curates a pop soundtrack that is both eclectic and deeply personal, featuring tracks from Dido, Céline Dion, Lana Del Rey, Oasis, One Republic, Ludovico Einaudi, among others. These songs do not merely serve as background elements but function as emotional conduits, amplifying the characters’ inner lives and enhancing the film’s lyrical quality. Few directors wield music as evocatively as Dolan, whose approach echoes that of Luca Guadagnino or Wong Kar-wai—treating songs as narrative devices rather than mere embellishments.
In a fleeting moment of joy, Kyla, Steve, and Diane escape reality, basking in the warmth of their unconventional bond.
The chemistry between the three leads is electrifying, their dynamic so intense it borders on surreal. They form an insular universe, a rebellious trio who defy conventional moral structures, existing in a state of joyous anarchy punctuated by raw, unfiltered emotion. Their bond is intoxicating yet unstable, teetering on the brink of self-destruction. Mommy is not just a film about mental illness or dysfunctional families—it is a meditation on the impossibility of true understanding, the limits of love, and the inexorable pain of existence. In the film’s world, love is neither salvation nor solution; it is merely another force that binds, suffocates, and ultimately shapes our lives.
Octavio is a passionate cinema enthusiast from Mexico City, he mostly enjoys watching arthouse films from all over the globe. His reviews are published on "Vinyl Writers" (www.vinylwriters.com).