The Little Sister

Maybe that’s because 17-year-old Fatima (Nadia Melliti), the youngest of three daughters in a strict French-Algerian family, has realized something essential about herself by the time the credits roll. Not enough to be honest about who she is and what she wants, perhaps, but enough to at least start the long process of accepting one of the most vital aspects of herself. Writer/director Hafsia Herzi, deftly adapting Fatima Daas’ autobiographical novel of the same name, charts these small victories with the kind of grace and understanding that anyone struggling to feel seen would be lucky to receive.

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No matter where she goes, Fatima feels like an outsider. She’s the one diligent student in her group of friends, the rest of whom are rowdy boys at a Parisian lycée; she’s also the sole tomboy among her sisters, who are older and more feminine. The guy she’s seeing to keep up appearances certainly doesn’t like her for who she is: “You don’t try to look good for me,” he tells Fatima, “not even a little.” He doesn’t realize he’s barking up the wrong tree: Fatima is a lesbian, not that she’s fully acknowledged it herself. She certainly hasn’t told anyone else about the feelings she has for women, which she struggles to reconcile with the devout Muslim identity she’s spent her life forging.

Fatima has a secret profile on a dating app under the name of Linda, but after driving to a secluded location with a woman she meets on it, the two don’t have sex — instead, Fatima asks her when and how she knew she was a lesbian and listens dispassionately as the woman describes various sexual techniques. She lies about her background when asked, saying she’s Egyptian rather than Algerian and has seven brothers instead of two older sisters. With her hair in a ponytail and a black baseball cap, she dresses for these dates like a spy trying to blend in during an undercover mission — if people can’t see her true self, Fatima seems to be thinking, maybe they won’t notice her at all.

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She copes well enough with this internal struggle, but cracks are clearly forming. That’s most evident during a scene in which she visits an iman and claims to have a friend struggling with her sexuality; when he assures her that this is forbidden, she begins tearing up in dismay. Ultimately, though, The Little Sister is more memorable for the plot points it avoids than the ones it hits. Given both the setup and the genre, viewers would be forgiven for thinking that Fatima’s predicament will end in tragedy, violence, or both; Herzi eschews familiar tropes in favor of slice-of-life realism built on the accumulation of small, authentic moments.

The Little Sister is more memorable for the plot points it avoids than the ones it hits.

Melliti won Best Actress at the Cannes Film Festival for her performance, beating the likes of Jennifer Lawrence (Die My Love) and Renate Reinsve (Sentimental Value) in the process. It’s a well-deserved laurel for the kind of understated turn that usually goes unnoticed when it’s time to open the envelope, with Melliti relying on subtle facial expressions and diffident body language to convey what her laconic character can’t or won’t use her voice to express. Despite being a first-time actor, any reticence she displays onscreen feels like Fatima’s rather than hers.

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There are moments of joy, too: Fatima’s mother placing her baccalaureate diploma on the wall and saying “my pride and joy” with tears in her eyes. A quartet of rowdy university students instantly accepting Fatima into the fold after meeting her in the cafeteria. Fatima and her short-lived girlfriend (Return to Seoul’s Park Ji-min) attending a Pride parade, indifferent, at least in the moment, to who might see her there. Such moments are fleeting but resonant, as is The Little Sister itself.