Josephine, screening at BFI London Film Festival, is a deeply uncomfortable but riveting watch; its scathing indictments of miscommunication and violence against women are surpassed only by the corporeal resonance of its performances and mise-en-scene.
The POV (point-of-view) shot dates back to 1927’s Napoleon, but it’s most famously attributed to Jaws, with the cinematography putting us in the killer shark’s eyes. In Beth de Araújo’s arresting drama Josephine, POV shots ground us in the titular heroine’s perspective, as she navigates a catastrophic fallout. Of all the tricks up its cinematic sleeve, this choice sets the stage for one of 2026’s darkest but very best films.
A POV shot opens the picture: 8-year-old Josephine (Mason Reeves) is about to go running with her father, Damien (Channing Tatum). Through this simple choice, de Araújo and team put us squarely in Josephine’s world. Low camera angles looking upward create the impression of a small person in an increasingly giant world, with adults towering over her in whatever scene. At first, this mise-en-scene exudes joy as she and Damien laugh, play and exercise together.
But in Golden Gate Park, Josephine gets separated from Damien. In the few minutes they’re apart, Josephine witnesses the rape of a jogger (Syra McCarthy) and her attacker (Philip Ettinger). POV shots are again utilised as Josephine silently witnesses this horrific crime, the distance between the violence and viewpoint feeling obsolete as the tone shifts from vibrant to tangibly grim. Damien arrives and helps the police detain the perpetrator, but it’s too late for Josephine. This is the exact moment her innocence shatters.
It’s an impossible position to imagine, let alone face. Many parents pride themselves on shielding their children from the worst corners of humanity until they’re ready. Something like this obliterates that shield, leaving the ripple effects to take root, possibly for years to come. De Araújo based this story on a real childhood incident of hers, and the turbulent consequences of such trauma are explored with destabilising, but smart, meticulous sensitivity.
In a quietly heartbreaking moment, Josephine helps the affected jogger find her hair tie, which was lost in the assault. She’s giddy when she finds it, but receives stony silence when the jogger takes it back. Josephine is trying to be kind the only way she knows how, but is simply too young to understand the weight of what has happened. She knows enough to recognise that it’s bad, but, at only 8, she has no real concept of sex, assault or consent. It’s in her attempts to make sense of what she saw that the film takes us in a vice grip, our hearts heavy but our empathy firmly locked.
Greta Zozula’s visceral cinematography makes Josephine’s complicated, nebulous mindspace physical. She begins having behaviour issues, loses interest in her hobbies, and even starts to view men and boys, including Damien, with suspicion. As the police investigation and a possible trial loom, these behaviours only grow. By keeping the handheld camera work and minimal editing at the same level as Josephine, the film makes her confusion viscerally felt. Regardless of her comprehension, Josephine is frightened by what she saw, and her behaviours are both a response to, and a cry for help against, her fears. This includes hallucinations of the perpetrator that manifest all around her house. The fact that he usually isn’t doing anything other than occupying the space only adds to the ominous nature of his omnipresence.
Damien and Josephine’s mother, Claire (Gemma Chan), try to help but clash over how. Damien signs her up for self-defence classes, while Claire tries in vain to talk about what happened. Their characterisations are limited to Josephine’s perspective. Still, we are drip-fed enough to feel their frustration, anxiety and even guilt at having to face a scenario neither was prepared for.
De Anaujo’s story can be read as a damnation on miscommunication and parenting built on assumptions and deflection. She sympathises with the parents too – even implying some of their own childhood traumas at times – but Damien and Claire’s contrasting attempts to quell Josephine exacerbate the problem, often by talking down to rather than at Josephine’s level. They fail to recognise her actions as a traumatic response, and thus their efforts to reduce fear backfire, resulting in bottled-up feelings and explosive reactions.
A magnetically sharp script forms the base of this dark, articulate execution. The simple dialogue and interactions economically examine this complex adult subject matter: Josephine’s relationships with her parents, friends, and the case itself evolving as she tries to answer questions she shouldn’t be asking at her age. One can read the picture as a furious cry against systems that marginalise women and girls, particularly once the weight of the police investigation falls entirely on Josephine’s shoulders. By weaponising youthful dialogue and perspectives, De Anaujo and team generate palpable urgency around their compelling themes of injustice, trauma, and the unfixable loss of innocence.
De Anaujo and team protect Reeves from the worst of the premise, using shot-reverse-shot techniques to keep her separated from the heavier moments. Yet Reeves still captures the vulnerability of a child prematurely thrust into soul-destroying bleakness. Her silence and anger are as staggering as each other, her portrayal of naivety and puzzlement humanising the character as vividly as the cinematography. Even in the inevitable courtroom scenes, she carries herself in a way that rivals her adult counterparts.
Chan showcases the heartache of a mother unable to fully protect her child with subdued fortitude. Tatum has an underestimated knack for comedy and drama, but this might be his best work yet as a father who knows he failed his child and struggles to find the healthiest foot forward. If De Anaújo’s writing and direction, paired with her team’s craftsmanship, build this film’s humanist ship, then it’s the performances that steer it through the turbulent waves.
Unease defines Josephine’s experience, but its honesty and empathy ultimately triumph. A deeply uncomfortable, but riveting watch, its scathing indictments of miscommunication and violence against women are surpassed only by the corporeal resonance of its performances and mise-en-scene. By literally putting us in the perspective of its young heroine, De Anaújo and team cut to the bone of dense issues with devastating precision. If only the powers that be took such subjects as seriously and sincerely as this film does.
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