Directed by Leida Laius and Arvo Iho, Naerata ometi stands out as one of the most compelling cinematic reflections on the fate of children abandoned by society. Though technically simple, it radiates a deep emotional honesty that lingers long after the credits roll.
The story follows Mari, a teenage girl whose mother has died and whose father, lost to alcoholism, has no place for her. She ends up in an orphanage-an institution depicted with painful authenticity, where cruelty and indifference rule. Yet, amid the bleakness, there are glimmers of warmth and humanity: Mari's friendship with younger girls, her tentative connection with the quiet Tauri, and the surreal moment when she pretends to turn into a boot-a small act of imagination that says volumes about her need to escape.
The performances, particularly by the young cast (many of the real orphans), feel unpolished but strikingly real. The actors aren't glamorous, and that works in the film's favour, grounding it in reality. The dialogue is sparse, but memorable lines and powerful imagery-like a child spinning in a washing machine-make it unforgettable.
Despite censorship and initial resistance from the original author, Naerata ometi delivers a powerful critique of Soviet-era alienation, using the orphanage as a stark metaphor for broader societal neglect. It's not a light film, but it's deeply human and, in its own way, hopeful. A hidden gem of Estonian cinema that deserves far more renown.
