What was supposed to be a tense examination of justice and the consequences of a verdict delivered years earlier ultimately remains too surface-level, barely scratching the depth of its central themes over the course of its 96-minute runtime.
Written by Mariane Tremblay
Someone’s Daughter is director Wiebke von Carolsfeld's newest psychological thriller, and as a former law student, I was really intrigued by the premise of the movie. However, I find myself very conflicted about its outcome.
When Sam (Pascale Bussières, Ma Vie en cinémascope), a criminal defence lawyer, finds herself kidnapped and abandoned on a remote island along with former client Paul (François Arnaud, Heated Rivalry), who she previously cleared of sexual assault charges, Paul’s behaviour forces Sam to question the man she once defended. As they make their way through the unrelenting Canadian wilderness and as doubt gives way to fear, Sam finds herself facing a choice no lawyer should ever have to make.
Director Wiebke von Carolsfeld has expressed her desire to write this movie, alongside Doug Taylor, because women still struggle to be believed in a justice system that all too often favours those who tell the better story. Sadly, the truth isn't as important as convincing a judge to believe your version of events. And 'Someone's Daughter' puts that dilemma at the centre of its story.
One thing is for sure: we should always believe and support victims of sexual assault. Someone's Daughter tries to showcase the outrageous reality these stories so often take on. As if society’s tendency to doubt victims wasn’t enough, the justice system often ends up failing them more than anyone else. Which is absolutely devastating.
One of the key foundations of the Canadian criminal justice system is the presumption of innocence. The accused doesn’t have to prove they’re innocent — they [technically] are, until proven guilty beyond a reasonable doubt. While I do understand why that principle exists, in sexual assault cases, it can often feel like it’s working against victims. Prosecutors have to prove guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. But what happens when it’s just two people, with no witnesses? Who will ever know what really happened?
"I heard your story, and it was good, but not perfect. Clients tell me perfect stories all the time. Perfect versions of themselves doing all the right things. That’s a red flag."
The film reminds us that if a story is convincing enough, the accused can get away with it — the criminal justice system can be that "broken." If you want some sort of justice, civil court is often your best option. The standard of proof is lower — it’s decided on a balance of probabilities, meaning it’s more likely than not that something happened. It’s 50 plus one. And ultimately, a civil lawsuit allows the victim to collect damages for the harm caused by the assault, which is typically not possible in criminal court. But why should that be enough? Money can’t erase what happened. Money can’t buy peace of mind. And how do you even put a price on trauma? And the worst part is that if the accused isn’t convicted in criminal court, they can simply walk away. No criminal record. No probation. Most definitely no prison sentence. Which means no real punishment whatsoever.
What’s even more unsettling in those cases are the defence lawyers. Their job is to protect their clients’ rights and, frankly, their best interests. Some of them don’t even care whether their client is guilty or innocent — it’s all about being convincing enough and winning the case. And in Someone's Daughter, what makes it even more interesting — and perhaps even more unsettling — is that the defense lawyer is a woman representing a man accused of sexual assault. And that's actually her specialization. That choice immediately creates an emotional conflict. As a woman, I found myself instinctively questioning how she could defend someone accused of such a crime, even while knowing that every person is entitled to legal representation, which is another one of the key foundations of our justice system. The tension between emotion and principle is precisely what makes the film's moral questions compelling.
"And you did believe me, right? My job is to advocate for my clients in the court of law. I leave judgment to those more qualified."
All the legal stuff aside, I do understand what the director was trying to do. I really do. And on paper, it was a good idea and should’ve been a great way to showcase all those injustices. However, I think the film would’ve benefited from a much more ambiguous and layered approach. It opens with some incredibly dramatic scenes, but then slowly unravels into what feels like watching two people hiking through the woods, only for its point to finally come together in the last few minutes. I genuinely needed more. And I think the film required more. More drama, more ambiguity, more darkness —something that would shake the audience, make them uncomfortable, and genuinely challenge them.
What was supposed to be a tense examination of justice and the consequences of a verdict delivered years earlier ultimately remains too surface-level, barely scratching the depth of its central themes over the course of its 96-minute runtime. Instead of fully engaging with the moral and psychological implications of its premise, the film gradually shifts into something else. And that’s where I struggled the most. Given what Sam knows about Paul, I couldn’t [fully] understand why the film steers their dynamic in a sexual direction. And why she would fall for it in the first place. I know those men (or should I say those psychopaths) are usually quite charismatic, hiding their true nature to make women fall for them, but as a lawyer specialized in sexual assault cases, I feel she should've known better. They were stranded only for a matter of days, yet the transition from survival tension to physical attraction feels rushed and, more importantly, unearned. The issue isn’t that complicated emotions can’t exist in extreme situations, but that the film never takes the time to explore this contradiction. Rather than using their dynamic to dig deeper into justice and moral ambiguity, it ultimately feels like a narrative choice that distracts from the much more compelling questions the film initially raises.
Comments
Post a Comment