''The Little Sister' review: queer drama bolstered by complex performances

In “Little Sister,” a teenager tries to hide in plain sight. Although everyone comments on her beauty, 17-year-old Fatima prefers to wear her hair in a ponytail, her bright eyes buried under a black cap and her body hidden behind unflattering tracksuits. Played by newcomer Nadia Melliti, who won the actress award at last year's Cannes Film Festival, Fatima is encased in a kind of armor, an outward manifestation of her hesitancy to share her sexual orientation with a world she knows will judge her. This elegant film chronicles the process by which Fatima gradually sheds that reserve.

Adapted from Fatima Daas' 2020 novel “The Last One,” a work of autofiction detailing the French author's coming out, “The Little Sister” unfolds over five seasons and observes Fatima as she finishes elementary school and begins attending college. Fatima, an expert athlete with a tomboyish behavior, disappears into a group of friends made up of immature teenage boys who treat her like one of their own, including her in their obscene sexual talk. Fatima has a boyfriend, Adel (Ahmed Kheloufi), but the relationship seems vestigial and he constantly complains that she should dress more feminine. Just as disturbing for Adel: when he tells Fátima that he loves her, she does not respond in the same way.

This is the third feature film by French actress and director Hafsia Herzi, who made an acting sensation in 2007 with “The Secret of the Grain.” For “The Little Sister,” Herzi takes his cue from Daas's book and describes Fatima's inner journey as a modest series of hesitant steps forward and anxious steps backward. Fatima has reasons to be scared. The youngest of three daughters in a loving French-Algerian Muslim family, she hides any hint of her sexuality from her mother, father, and sisters, anticipating their disapproval. Many queer coming-of-age films consider the character's awakening as an act of defiance. For Fatima, a practicing Muslim who adores her parents, the stakes seem even higher. Melliti's performance is one of silent suffering, illustrating Fatima's deference to her family.

But no matter how much she stifles her desires, others can feel them. An altercation between her friends and a gay classmate becomes heated when the classmate accuses her of being closeted, which she vehemently (and violently) denies. Soon after, Fatima secretly joins a dating app in hopes of understanding her queerness. Her first date, in which she uses a fake name, focuses on learning terminology such as scissors, and she approaches each new encounter as a fact-finding mission. Melliti keeps the shy teenager's reactions neutral; Fatima's stoicism is a strategy to avoid exposing her inexperience.

That's when she meets Ji-Na (Park Ji-min, the free spirit of “Return to Seoul”), a medical assistant who practically shines in her presence, overwhelming Fatima's cautious nature. Ji-Na and Fatima's love story — its blossoming, its unraveling, its possible resurrection — forms the heart of “The Little Sister,” which also received the Queer Palm at Cannes. Melliti and Park exude a playful, lustful chemistry, but it's a film as much about self-love as it is about Fatima seeking to feel comfortable in her own skin. Ji-Na is open and confident, while Fatima remains closed, and her shame about her sexuality is deeply rooted in her culture. However, when our main character begins to lower her defenses, that is when she receives a shock that sends her spiraling.

Herzi's lean, modest drama contains few emotional crescendos or big ideas, although this is the rare French film to center on a Muslim lesbian as its protagonist. “The Little Sister” becomes even more intriguing once the love story fails, forcing Fatima to sink into her grief. Her odyssey will lead her to threesomes and lonely nights, but also to difficult questions about how her faith and her family can leave her perpetually adrift.

“The Little Sister” leaves a lot unsaid, which is appropriate for a protagonist who rarely expresses herself in clear terms. Even during a touching scene near the end, as Fatima sits at the table crying, upset at the end of a relationship, she and her mother (Amina Ben Mohamed) engage in a snappy dance: Fatima doesn't feel confident explaining precisely why she's crying, while her supportive mother chooses her words carefully, perhaps knowing more about her daughter than she dares to say out loud. But despite the character's difficult path to sexual awakening, Herzi navigates toward a hopeful conclusion that doesn't sell false elevation. Fatima still faces a community that does not accept her true self. But maybe, at last, she is willing to be seen.