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The Queen of My Dreams

MOVIE REVIEW
The Queen of My Dreams

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Genre: Comedy, Drama
Year Released: 2023, 2025
Runtime: 1h 36m
Director(s): Fawzia Mirza
Writer(s): Fawzia Mirza
Cast: Amrit Kaur, Nimra Bucha, Hamza Haq, Ayana Manji, Gul-e-Rana, Ali A. Kazmi, Meher Jaffri, Kya Mosey, Areeba Suleman, Shamim Hilaly, Danish Irshad, Sameena Nazir, Zarqa Naz
Where to Watch: in select theaters June 20, 2025


RAVING REVIEW: From its opening moments, where a woman dances through the beats of a beloved old movie in her small Toronto apartment, it’s clear this isn’t just a story about mourning or tension—it’s about rediscovery, identity, and how the pieces of our past still shape who we become. What begins with a death unexpectedly pivots into a multi-decade exploration of love, culture, memory, and how complicated the mother-daughter bond can be when identity and tradition clash.


This story doesn’t stick to one timeline—it weaves together snapshots of three eras, bouncing between late-60s Pakistan, rural 80s Nova Scotia, and the cusp of a new millennium in Toronto. It’s not just a stylistic choice; this structure lets the characters’ decisions resonate across decades. There’s a deliberate attempt to show how the ghosts of former selves influence lives, and even when those shifts between past and present move quickly, they reflect how real memory works: nonlinear, spontaneous, and emotionally loaded.

Casting one performer to play the protagonist and her mother’s younger self is a major creative swing. This choice gives the film its core, as you witness similar energies manifest in very different ways depending on time and context. The daughter is impulsive and sharp-edged, while the younger mother radiates excitement and uncertainty, like watching someone head straight into adulthood with eyes wide open. Their physicality and energy separate them, yet the shared quirks and attitudes are unmistakable. Later, a different actress picks up the role of the present-day mother, grounding the character with lived-in silence and a kind of restrained heartbreak that says more than dialogue could.

The daughter’s queerness isn’t treated like a twist or a source of shock—it’s just part of her. When she returns to Pakistan after her father’s death and is quietly pushed aside during the funeral rituals, the moment speaks volumes about how certain identities can still be erased by cultural protocol. We understand her distance from her mother, but the tension with the broader culture remains largely implied.

One of the strongest elements is how the environments reflect inner emotion. Pakistan glows with deep color palettes—sunlight flooding courtyards, sharp reds and golds dancing through wedding scenes—while Nova Scotia feels muted and cold, often bathed in overcast greys. Toronto falls somewhere in between, capturing the characters’ in-between status as someone rooted in tradition but pushing toward something else. Including musical junctures—nods to Bollywood cinema that pop up throughout—and acts as an emotional shorthand. They aren’t distractions but ways for the characters to express things they don’t say aloud. When used sparingly, this stylistic flourish can elevate a story, and that’s exactly the case here.

The directorial style feels confident but not showy. There’s a clear affection for genre and nostalgia, but the filmmaker doesn't let that affection drown out the personal moments. It’s a tricky thing, balancing sentimental throwbacks with grounded emotional storytelling. At times, especially during transitions between decades, that balance slips. A few segments rush by too quickly, and there’s an occasional sense that we’ve missed the connective tissue between emotional beats. Slowing things down—just a little—might have given more weight to key moments of reflection or confrontation.

The film's refusal to villainize either the mother or daughter elevates it. Both are flawed, both are hurt, and both are trying to reconcile love with expectations. There's a moment early on when the daughter admits she once idolized her mother, but that admiration faded when she couldn’t live up to who her mother wanted her to be. That idea of love distorted by expectation is never far from the surface. And while the ending doesn't offer a dramatic transformation, it leans into something more honest: growth, not resolution.

The film’s emotional range, vivid presentation, and grounded character work make it easy to connect with. The lead carries the story with subtle shifts in tone and energy, while the supporting performances hold their own across different decades. Watching a story about generational tension and identity that doesn't fall back on melodrama is refreshing. Instead, it leans into nuance and contradiction, recognizing that people and relationships change.

This isn’t a story that ties every narrative thread into a perfect knot. It ends with understanding rather than closure, which may feel unsatisfying to some but suits the nature of real-life relationships. Life rarely offers full-circle moments; more often, we get fragments, gestures, and fleeting connections. This film captures well the quiet, sometimes clumsy ways we reach for each other over the years.

At the heart of it all is the recognition that our parents were once young, confused, and idealistic, too. Their choices weren’t perfect, and neither are ours. But there's something powerful in acknowledging that cycle: seeing yourself reflected in someone you once thought you had nothing in common with. That’s where this story lands—with complexity, care, and just enough levity to keep it accessible.

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[photo courtesy of WILLA, PRODUCT OF CULTURE]

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Chris Jones
Entertainment Editor

Chris Jones, from Washington, Illinois, is the Mail Entertainment Editor covering Movies, Television, Books, and Music topics. He is the owner, writer, and editor of Overly Honest Reviews.