Beth De Araújo’s remarkable ‘Josephine’ is a standout at this year’s Sundance

During the Q&A segment following the premiere of her film Josephine, director Beth de Araújo shared that she found lead actress Mason Reeves at a farmer’s market in San Francisco. De Araújo was handing out audition fliers for the movie she was about to shoot in six weeks and saw Reeves running to buy something for her mom. She then approached the mother and daughter pair and asked Reeves to audition for the titular character—an instinct that served her and the project very well.

Based on formative experiences from the director’s childhood, the film won the Sundance Grand Jury Prize Dramatic and the Audience Award Dramatic on Jan. 30. The wins feel even more monumental given that this marks the festival’s final year in Park City. Just last year, Sorry, Baby was similarly one of the festival’s standouts—a comedy, rather than Josephine’s drama, about assault and the lingering trauma it leaves behind. These are films helmed by women who treat women’s pain with care, allowing their characters the rare grace of existing. It is also a nice full circle for de Araújo as her screenplay for Josephine was selected for Sundance Institute's Director’s Lab in 2018.

The success of the film is largely due to the thoughtful script and a star-making turn by Reeves, who is decidedly the heart of the story. The film opens on 8-year-old Josephine’s perspective as she watches her dad Damien, played earnestly by Channing Tatum, coach her in a sprinting exercise to leave the garage door before it closes. That perspective alone allows the viewer into the hesitation, excitement, and fear that Josephine feels. Once she successfully runs through the door, the perspective turns to a close-third as we see Josephine for the happy and loved child she is. The metaphor of her leaving a sheltered and safe space to enter the world where things aren’t as controlled may be a bit heavy handed, but it works.

The father and daughter duo run to Golden Gate Park in the early hours of the day, and Damien loses sight of Josephine for a few crucial minutes. She witnesses a horrific rape, is noticed by the victim and perpetrator, and is approached by the perpetrator. Thankfully Damien finally finds her and is able to call the police to catch the perpetrator—the description may feel explicit and procedural but it is due to de Araújo’s sensitivity and brilliance of not editorializing the crime. There is no music when we witness this alongside Josephine, allowing the viewer to also feel the helplessness, shock, and the very human emotion of intrigue that Josephine feels. Even though she does not fully understand what she has witnessed, her sense of safety is irrevocably altered, and she begins acting out in class and at home. Her parents are unprepared for such a trauma, yet the film never slips into melodrama.

In the Q&A, de Araújo also shared that the film explores the gendered response to fear. It is very much seen in the way Damien and her mother Claire, played sweetly by Gemma Chan, respond to Josephine. Claire wants Josephine to see a psychotherapist, though she never does, while Damien insists physical activity will be more helpful, enrolling her in self-defense classes. Claire is not eager to let Josephine be involved in a trial following the crime whereas Damien cannot fathom not doing the “right” thing. We see Claire cry constantly, and we see Damien cry only at the end after the trial. Josephine soon develops an aversion to boys and men, and showcases a preternatural hypervigilance in public that is so relatable to all women.

It is important to note the victim, played by Syra McCarthy, is an Asian woman and the perpetrator is a white man, which curiously is never named out loud in the movie. Josephine also “sees” the perpetrator, in the bright blue polo and khaki pants he donned when she saw him at the park, in her room when she is alone—a looming figure as a metaphor for the danger she feels. Her parents fight more and more as they try to figure out how to navigate Josephine’s increasingly erratic, and sometimes violent, outbursts. There is a sequence early in the film’s final third involving a pair of scissors that leaves the audience holding its breath, culminating in a quietly devastating courtroom scene where we see Josephine for the child she is: scared, confused, and so desperately wanting to do the “right” thing.

Reeves is so present in this role and film that to her credit, following an 8-year-old girl’s perspective never feels like a gimmick. We see, in real time, how this moment can and will shape Josephine into adulthood, and how the adults around her sometimes do not know any better than her, and are also trying their best. There are things Damien says to her that feel clumsy, and as the audience, one can anticipate how the words chosen can unfurl themselves in unintentional ways for Josephine. But that is the privilege afforded to the viewer. Music is also used strategically in the film, swelling during moments when Josephine is trying to grasp at a concept that she should not need to at such a young age —the score by Miles Ross doesn’t use any words as it rightfully doesn’t need to.

Tatum, during the Q&A, said, “there is a wrong way of parenting but maybe there is not a right way of parenting.” Josephine understands that trauma does not bring with itself a manual for children or for adults. What de Araújo captures so delicately is not just the collapse of innocence, but the imperfect love that tries to hold a child together in its aftermath.