Ma | Little White Lies

Ma

30 May 2019 / Released: 31 May 2019

Dark silhouette of a person in a long coat walking down a staircase.
Dark silhouette of a person in a long coat walking down a staircase.
3

Anticipation.

Intriguing to cast Octavia Spencer as a villain.

4

Enjoyment.

Spencer turns on a dime from kindly to tragic to terrifying.

3

In Retrospect.

Bunny-boiling thriller’s got good generation game.

Octavia Spencer reck­ons with teenage trau­ma in this sus­pense­ful and dark­ly fun­ny small­town horror.

At the begin­ning of Ma, we see 16-year-old Mag­gie (Diana Sil­vers) dri­ving with her moth­er Eri­ca (Juli­ette Lewis), a U‑Haul trail­er attached to the rear of their car. They are mov­ing from Cal­i­for­nia back to Erica’s child­hood town in the boonies of bum­fuck” Ohio. This is a del­i­cate time for Mag­gie: ado­les­cent, vir­ginal, aban­doned by her father, and upend­ed from her San Diego home to a place where she knows nobody.

So when direc­tor Tate Tay­lor shows this young, vul­ner­a­ble woman tak­ing her first ten­ta­tive steps into the dis­ori­ent­ing, alien­at­ing cor­ri­dors of her new high school, it is clear that this is a cru­cial moment for her, where things could eas­i­ly go very wrong very fast. In fact the oppo­site hap­pens: she is quick­ly befriend­ed by Haley (McKa­ley Miller, Andy (Corey Fogel­ma­n­is), Chaz (Gian­ni Pao­lo) and Dar­rell (Dante Brown), whom she joins in cel­e­brat­ing their typ­i­cal teen rites of pas­sage with drink­ing, rev­el­ling and young love.

Things might have turned out so dif­fer­ent­ly. They did, after all, for Sue Ann (Octavia Spencer), a bit­ter mid­dle-aged vet­eri­nary assis­tant who invites the teens to par­ty in the base­ment of her home, free from the unwant­ed gaze of the local police. Hos­pitable if rather tight­ly wound, Sue Ann seems deter­mined to relive her own lost youth through these guests young enough to be her chil­dren (and who come to refer to her as Ma’).

Yet this den moth­er and mis­tress of cer­e­monies remains deeply dam­aged by her own high-school expe­ri­ence, less salu­bri­ous than Maggie’s, from back when she was their age. Still scarred by a past humil­i­a­tion that is only grad­u­al­ly revealed in flash­back, Sue Ann stalks the teens with increas­ing­ly mali­cious intent, seek­ing both friends to stave off her lone­li­ness, and a twist­ed revenge on her own con­tem­po­raries through the next generation.

Two individuals, one comforting the other, in a darkly lit room with candles burning.

The result is a sus­pense­ful and dark­ly fun­ny mix of the pri­vate dis­co infer­no from The Loved Ones, the inter­gen­er­a­tional vendet­ta from A Night­mare on Elm Street, and some bun­ny-boil­er­plate thrills and tor­ture porn tropes, all involv­ing an unhinged mama and her per­verse desire to pass down her own teen trau­ma. Tay­lor takes his good sweet time ratch­et­ing up the ten­sion before reveal­ing the full extent of Sue Ann’s crazy. The effect of this slow build is not just to bring the house down with the film’s over-the-top con­clu­sion, but also to focus on Sue Ann’s char­ac­ter over twin time­lines, so that she is as much sym­pa­thet­ic fig­ure of trag­ic cir­cum­stance as mon­strous moth­er from hell. Ma’ has had it tough, as has Maggie’s own moth­er, both in dif­fer­ent ways faced with a world of bro­ken dreams and harsh realities.

Times are dif­fer­ent now. Though com­ing of age in the same haunts as their par­ents and test­ing their lim­its in a sim­i­lar fash­ion, Mag­gie and her friends seem to be mak­ing a bet­ter fist of grow­ing up. In con­trast with the pre­vi­ous gen­er­a­tion where the boys called the sex­u­al shots and the girls were expect­ed to be servile, now plea­sure is demand­ed as much by the girls, and only when they are ready for sex – and with greater knowl­edge of what they are doing. Indeed, Ma shows a cur­rent gen­er­a­tion where the kids seem alright, and if they too may grow up to be scarred, that is down less to them­selves than to par­ents whose own unre­solved prob­lems rep­re­sent a tox­ic inheritance.

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