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There's a crisis in the family. Marianne Jean-Baptiste is ripping into everyone: husband David Webber for his choice in business partners, son Tuwaine Barrett for being twenty-two and still eating peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, sister Michele Austin for wanting to know if she's going to be with her on Mother's Day when she goes to their mother's grave, sales clerks, doctors, dentists, the fox that's gotten in the back yard, birds. And she's scared and just wants to sleep.

By the end of this movie, I was convinced she had brain cancer that was depressing her past all bearing. But this is Mike Leigh's first movie in half a dozen years. That means you know you are going to get great performances; and Miss Jean-Baptiste certainly gives one here, not caring if anyone likes her. Most of the rest of the cast is reduced to silence, but Miss Austin keeps sweetly not taking no for an answer until she gets some answers. And those answers are as unhappy as the rest of the performance.

I can't recommend this movie to anyone who wants a story with a sense of closure one or another. But if you want to watch a human being in honest pain for an hour and a half, here's your chance.

"Hard Truths" is the kind of movie I think is extremely good, almost great, but that I could hardly "recommend" to anyone. It's extremely unpleasant to watch and most movie-goers will just think, "why am I inflicting this on myself"? I admit, as much as I admire the film, I understand where said movie-goer would be coming from.

Part of what makes watching "Hard Truths" so difficult is that by the standards of conventional narrative nothing "melodramatically sad" takes place. This is simply a slice of life of an exceptionally unhappy, though in no way conventionally "struggling", family. The pain the film depicts isn't brought about by an incident. It's a general reaction to the experience of life in the world. Most of us have felt this negative response to life at some point or another, and many of us have known people, like the main characters in this film, who have made choices they are scared to change that have kept them in a permanent state of misery. That is why the film feels so, well, true, but also unpalatable.

If I was trying to convince someone to watch "Hard Truths" I would compare it to a painting. The greatest portraitists create works expressing a full range of emotions in their sitters, sometimes the experience of an unexplained sadness or suffering. Yet such works are still considered beautiful and, in some sense, pleasurable to look at. Mike Leigh is a well-established dramatic master. Rarely in his career though have I sensed such an exceptional eye for detail on the director's part as in this work. Every aspect of the characters' world beautifully reflects the dreadfulness of their inner state. Their home, for instance, is, at first glance, generally pleasant but one comes to sense a fully artificial, unlived in aspect to it. It's not a home as much as a tomb for the living.

As is true with any film, this "portrait" is not the work of its director alone. In this case, the cast has an especially important part to play in accomplishing the work. Much has been written about Marianne Jean-Baptiste's lead performance as Pansy and she fully earns the encomium. David Weber and Tuwaine Barrett, as Pansy's husband and son Curtley and Moses, live up to Jean-Baptiste's firepower. This is less true of Michele Austin as Chantelle, Pansy's long-suffering sister, although I blame this less on the actress than on Leigh's only false note in the direction. The lively and boisterous home Chantelle shares with her daughters is a bit too brazenly contrasted with that of Pansy and company.

The quality of the performances both helps make the comparison to a painted portrait possible but also what ultimately makes it inadequate. The early film theorist Bela Belazs proclaimed that the most unique aspect of the cinematic frame was the way it made humanity visible as never before, especially in the form of the close-up. The film "Hard Truths" most reminded me of was Dreyer's "Passion of Joan of Arc". It's close-ups of the weeping actress Renée Jeanne Falconetti transcend the Joan narrative and impels the viewer to wonder from what source Falconetti expresses, manifests, this angst. Viewers of "Hard Truths" enter into a similarly conjectural/ empathic relation to Jean-Baptiste. It is only this affect of the performative aspect of cinema that invites the viewer to ponder the film's central question: what is the source of Pansy's suffering, what makes people unhappy and in extension, what makes happiness possible? It is a question that the film wisely leaves unanswered, at least in any verbally expressible way.

Belazs's theory of film would seem as pure a proclamation of the metaphysics of presence as one might hope to find in the twentieth century. I am no champion of this metaphysics and would often lean on the side of its prominent critics- Derrida and company who would tend to say that reality can only be referred to through the displacement of language. I must say, however, that the ending of "Hard Truths" is a compelling argument that the most difficult truths can, and perhaps can only, be acknowledged wordlessly.

Pansy is just like my mom for half the movie. Minus the wealthy house, the OCD and the crippling fear of anything nature, plus she only abuses immediate family, but is always super friendly outside the house. She toned it down in later years, but yeah, always unhappy with you, always criticizing and insulting you. Never a good word. Irritable at the drop of a hat. So this felt kind of familiar, but also very uncomfortable. Of course this woman's behaviour is extreme, and I don't blame anybody around her for "hating" her. I kept waiting for some big revelation, some deep-seated trauma, some tragic event in her past, severe abuse, something like that. She had a tough childhood, but nothing that would explain this. She might have some form of depression, but I haven't heard of this type of manifestation. Depression doesn't make you this mean, does it?

Mike Leigh's movies end in some sort of revelation about the main character or we just naturally empathize with them, despite their flaws. This wasn't the case here at all, and I kept waiting for it. Nothing excuses Pansy's attitude in the end, and I could see parts of myself in Moses and Curtley. A person like this makes you act like that.

Marianne Jean-Baptiste is undoubtably an immensely talented actress. But I do not get the point of this movie, unless it's meant to be a character study of a deeply unpleasant person and the hurt she causes everyone around her, in which case well done. The positives here are her sister Chantelle, an absolutely lovely woman and her two daughters. I wish the movie was about them really, but unfortunately it's not.

This isn't your typical storytelling-it doesn't follow a structured beginning, middle, and end. Instead, it's a character study of an isolated woman, played by the brilliant Marianne Jean-Baptiste, as it unpacks her relationships with her family and society. The contrast between her and her sister-and by extension, her entire family-is just fascinating to watch. The film tries to understand what drives someone to become so scared, angry, exhausted, and disillusioned with the world. I can't recall many films that visualize the impact of perspective on a person's life as masterfully as this one. So if you're expecting a dramatic beginning or a mind-blowing finale, forget it. This film is just the middle-but it's one hell of a middle, filled with complex characters, sharp humor, and moments of deep sadness. Just give yourself over to the experience and enjoy the ride.

While watching, I kept wondering: Why don't we see more films with rich, engaging conversations anymore? Dialogue in modern movies often feels like pure exposition-just people exchanging information. But here, every scene, whether packed with dialogue or completely silent, is alive with meaning. The visual storytelling is just as strong as the verbal. The cast is phenomenal, the cinematography is steady and intentional, and the editing is precise. There's so much raw emotion in every moment-love, fear, anger, sadness, joy, and everything in between. And one thing I hadn't felt in a long time while watching a movie? Genuine excitement about how a simple human interaction would unfold. There's this constant sense of anticipation because every conversation feels unpredictable.

Anyway, I had an absolute blast watching this. Not a single scene feels unnecessary or dull, even though the shots are deceptively simple. The music complements the tone perfectly, and the production as a whole is working at its peak. The only frustrating thing? Hearing that Mike Leigh is struggling to get his films made these days. He's a one-of-a-kind filmmaker, and whether you love or hate his work, you have to appreciate his unique vision. He tells the stories others don't. He cares about characters that most filmmakers overlook. Let the man cook. Give him all the funding he wants. Don't leave us hanging.

This film incisively and truthfully illustrates the trials and tribulations of mental illness, in this case ostensibly depression, and how it affects the loved ones of those afflicted. It is heartfelt, at times hilarious, and thought-provoking.

Marianne Jean-Baptiste as Pansy, a fitting name as she gives a vivid flowery performance, like the real-life eponymous flower, is excellent here at portraying a deeply troubled woman teetering on the brink of madness, hanging on by a thread. What could have easily fell into a caricature performance is the exact opposite: she feels so real, raw, and visceral, riding the line between sanity and insanity. She is at war with the world: the most normal petty inconveniences cause her to explode into hysterics, rage, and deep sadness; her reactions are sometimes so severe to the point she's at times unable to merely leave her bed. Michele Austin is great, playing Chantelle, the foil and sister to the lead. Where Pansy seems to be unhappy and unsuccessful, Chantelle is the opposite. Despite their differences, they support one another. And it's their sisterhood and camaraderie that functions as the film's anchor and centerpiece. The implication of their sisterhood is to drive home the point that family is key in life, a balm for the spirit. An interesting thing happens as the film furthers: the more time Pansy spends with her family, the more irritated she becomes, but it's also the more open she becomes about her feelings; it's as though her family simultaneously causes her to not only face her issues head-on, but face the reality that she does indeed have a good support network, but often fails to take advantage of it. This brings to the film an interesting dynamic. It's in these scenes with her family, particularly with her sister, that she finally lets down her tough, gruff exterior to betray a soft, mushy interior.

The film, despite at its core being a darker and moving subject matter, has many moments of welcome levity and playfulness. The comedy and gravitas meld flawlessly to make for both touching and funny viewing. The only issue this film has is that the pacing unfortunately drags rather often. As there is no real, significant plot here, besides following a middle-aged woman struggling mentally and existentially, the film feels very slice-of-life; the scenes unfurl with almost no change between when we first start the film to when we finish it. This is compounded by the dense dialogue and the secondary stories not really adding up to much ultimately, albeit the supporting characters are all good. But that is likely the conceit here: it ought to be about illustrating a snapshot of this character. Despite recognizing her issues, Pansy very well may never get better and things likely will always look this way, unfortunately similar to how life itself is for many with mental illness.

Overall, this is a great film. It's poignant, with a powerhouse central performance, unexpectedly and serendipitously humorous and diverting, and it provides a verisimilar portrait of dealing with mental illness.