Marianne Jean-Baptiste in Hard Truths (TIFF)

The mind, especially when we are asleep, has a way of surprising us with the most unwelcome horrors, jolting us awake in fright. Yet for Pansy (Marianne Jean-Baptiste), these nightmarish wake-up calls are not occasional—they are her constant state. She returns to consciousness with an angry, terrified scream, even when her mild-mannered husband, Curtley (David Webber), wakes her. This behavior persists throughout her day, no matter the circumstances. To her, the world is full of dangers. People constantly need berating, and everyone and everything seems to conspire against her. Even the animals and the outdoors pose threats—in her kitchen, she eyes with suspicion the pigeons cooing outside.

Her son, Moses (Tuwaine Barrett), is another source of constant anger and disappointment. If he stays in the house, locked in his bedroom, she believes he is wasting his life; if he leaves, she fears he is in danger. Neither Moses nor Curtley does much to argue with or assuage her anger, nor do they seem to stand up for themselves during her frequent tirades. The only person who attempts to engage with Pansy is her sister, Chantelle (Michele Austin).

Chantelle runs a salon, and her personality—as well as her household—could not be more different from Pansy’s. In her salon, she freely jokes with her customers, holding space for them to talk about their lives. Her home, shared with her two daughters, Aleisha (Sophie Brown) and Kayla (Ani Nelson), mirrors this lightness and warmth. When the fifth anniversary of their mother’s death approaches, Chantelle reaches out to Pansy, hoping to bring their two families together to commemorate the occasion.

Mike Leigh has always been a bold filmmaker, and Hard Truths is no exception. He has a tendency to blend tough realism with almost cartoonishly exaggerated traits in some characters, and much of this film tests the audience’s endurance. How much of Pansy’s spite can we tolerate? Yet each performance is rendered with believability, nuance, and subtlety, even when the characters are seized with extreme emotions (in Pansy’s case, almost constantly). Leigh’s attention to detail—a glance, a lie, a gesture—imbues many moments with considerable power. His distinctive way of shooting residential streets at a diagonal, with the sky and nature looming in the background, mirrors how Pansy’s fears encroach on her life. Also, for all its darkness, the film is not without occasional touches of humor.

Throughout, it is impossible not to wonder why Pansy is the way she is. She is, in some way, unwell and unwilling to seek treatment. But there must be something more. What happened in her past to make her this way? The storyline naturally gravitates toward resolving this question. Admirably, Leigh does not pretend that longstanding issues can be solved with a single revelatory conversation, though one cathartic scene lands effectively. He also chooses to tease Pansy’s backstory rather than fully reveal it.

After all, why should we assume that a single event from her past, or a diagnosis, can fully explain her behavior? And yet it is here that Leigh’s eye for detail falters. The hints he drops do not coalesce into a convincing psychological portrait. Instead, they feel haphazard, leading to dead ends of speculation rather than a compelling ambiguity. The film withholds too much, failing to give its revelations poignancy or impact.

Nevertheless, the final scene is one of immense power. It reframes the film’s recurring questions about responsibility toward loved ones from an entirely new angle. Hard Truths may prove especially divisive, yet Leigh remains a compelling, if not always fully convincing, storyteller.