(Check out Anders Ljung’s Mouse movie review, it’s in select theaters now. Seen it? Join the conversation with HtN on our Letterboxd Page.)
Grief is an especially difficult emotion to navigate during adolescence, a period already consumed by insecurity, uncertainty, and the desire to understand one’s place in the world. In Mouse, directors Kelly O’Sullivan and Alex Thompson approach these overlapping experiences with considerable tenderness, crafting a moving portrait of teenage loss and the complicated relationships that emerge in its aftermath. Following its Berlinale premiere, the film stands as a thoughtful exploration of how young people process tragedy while still confronting the ordinary anxieties of growing up.
At the center of Mouse is Minnie, a teenager struggling with the loss of her best friend and the sudden absence of a relationship that once defined much of her identity. Katherine Mallen Kupferer brings a convincing vulnerability to Minnie, whose grief is complicated by the realization that she has spent much of her adolescence existing in someone else’s shadow. Her friendship had provided a sense of belonging, even if it often meant accepting a quieter place beside someone more popular and socially confident. Without that familiar dynamic, Minnie is left confronting both the loss of someone she loved and the uncomfortable question of who she is without them.
The film is particularly successful in its understanding of the uneven dynamics that can exist within teenage friendships. Being the less visible companion to a popular best friend is an experience that can inspire admiration, resentment, jealousy, and genuine affection simultaneously. Mouse finds something deeply relatable within these contradictions, recognizing how easily young people can measure their own worth through the attention and approval of others. Minnie’s grief is therefore as much about losing a person as it is about losing the version of herself that existed within their friendship.
What makes this exploration especially affecting is the film’s refusal to present grief as a singular emotional experience. Minnie remains awkward, occasionally selfish, and uncertain of how to articulate what she is feeling. Her sadness exists alongside the familiar frustrations of adolescence, creating moments of humor and embarrassment that feel entirely appropriate to her age. O’Sullivan and Thompson understand that tragedy does not suddenly grant teenagers emotional maturity. Instead, it often intensifies feelings they were already struggling to understand.
Sophie Okonedo delivers a wonderful performance as Helen, a mother attempting to maintain some semblance of normalcy following an unimaginable loss. Her composure becomes one of the film’s most affecting expressions of grief. Helen continues to organize, nurture, and preserve the appearance of a life that has been permanently disrupted, as though keeping everything in its proper place might prevent the emotional devastation from becoming overwhelming. Okonedo is particularly skilled at communicating the exhaustion beneath this determination. Her smallest gestures reveal the considerable effort required to appear unshaken, offering a compelling portrait of a woman whose desire for control is gradually challenged by the reality of her circumstances.
The developing relationship between Minnie and Helen gives the film much of its emotional substance. Both characters are searching for comfort in the absence of someone who connected them, and their growing closeness becomes an unusual means of navigating their respective grief. There is considerable tenderness in their interactions, particularly in the ways they attempt to care for one another without fully understanding their own emotional needs. The film handles this connection with sensitivity, recognizing that shared loss can bring people together without necessarily providing the answers they are searching for.
Having previously explored the emotional consequences of loss in Ghostlight, O’Sullivan and Thompson demonstrate a continued interest in the difficulty of communicating grief. Their approach in Mouse is particularly accessible, balancing heavier emotional material with moments of warmth, humor, and adolescent embarrassment. Certain developments occasionally feel familiar, but the film’s sincerity and strong performances make its more conventional tendencies easy to forgive.
Perhaps the film’s greatest strength is its potential to resonate with a younger audience. Mouse addresses grief with enough emotional complexity to feel meaningful while remaining approachable for teenagers who may recognize their own experiences in Minnie’s insecurities and relationships. Its understanding of friendship, social anxiety, and the desire to be seen gives the story an immediate familiarity. With the opportunity to reach a wider audience, the film could easily become a crowd favorite among younger viewers, particularly those navigating the uncomfortable transition between childhood and adulthood.
Mouse ultimately succeeds through its compassion for characters who are still learning how to live with loss. Anchored by Kupferer’s vulnerable performance and Okonedo’s beautifully restrained portrayal of maternal grief, the film offers a tender understanding of adolescence at its most uncertain. It recognizes that mourning someone can also mean confronting the parts of ourselves that existed because of them, and that growing up sometimes begins with learning how to occupy a space that once belonged to someone else.
– Anders Ljung
