Age, Identity, and Saying What Matters

Read Time:4 Minute, 49 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
Confessions of a Menopausal Femme Fatale
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Genre: Comedy, Drama, Poetry, Stand Up
Year Released: 2025
Runtime: 1h 41m
Director(s): Jonathan Jewell-Chatten
Writer(s): Satori Shakoor
Where to Watch: available on-demand starting June 12, 2025, via Amazon Prime, Apple TV+, and Google Play. Pre-orders begin June 1 on iTunes for Apple TV+

RAVING REVIEW: There’s something galvanizing about a performance that doesn’t wait for permission to tell its truth. CONFESSIONS OF A MENOPAUSAL FEMME FATALE doesn’t ease its way into vulnerability—it bursts in with humor, and a kind of creative control that feels earned. What begins as a return to a former home evolves into a much deeper excavation of identity, self-perception, and the fallout that comes with life changes that are too often pushed to the margins. This isn’t a special-interest project aimed at a niche audience—it’s a bold, sharply crafted spotlight on stories that rarely get told.

Rather than unfolding in tidy, chronological order, the story is more like a psychological montage. There’s a reason for that: the emotional journey here isn’t linear, and the storytelling perfectly reflects that. Shakoor doesn’t guide the viewer through neatly labeled chapters—she drops them into memories and leaves them to ride the emotion. That decision gives the film a documentary-like authenticity while still hitting the paces of a well-constructed character arc.

The return to Hawaiʻi is the spark, but the show’s true subject is the long trail of poignant debris that surfaces when you stop ignoring it. This isn’t about memories in a scenic location—it’s about confronting the things we pack away until a sudden spark brings them back with intensity. That sets off a journey that covers grief, addiction, mental health, and self-acceptance, delivered in a way that mixes with creative range. The result is more dynamic than a confessional—a performance that asks you to sit with your truths while she sits with hers.

What keeps it engaging is how Shakoor modulates tone without losing focus. There’s a quality to her delivery that channels her background in live music and stage work. She can swing from a disarming punchline to a grounded moment of silence and then back again without losing the pulse. The result is less about watching a performance and more about being pulled into emotion.

Comedy becomes a deliberate tactic, not a fallback. The jokes hit because they’re smart, not because they’re safe. Shakoor doesn’t tiptoe around the discomfort of aging or the erasure that comes with it. Instead, she leans into the discomfort, frames it with punchlines, and uses those moments of laughter to open space for truths. It’s a balancing act—humor without detachment, intimacy without sentimentality—and she walks it confidently. The laughter feels earned, not forced.

You’re never sure whether you’re watching a theatrical production, a stand-up routine, or a documentary monologue—and that’s part of the appeal. The format shifts with the mood, and that unpredictability makes each moment feel fresh. While the core remains consistent, the presentation evolves to meet it.

CONFESSIONS OF A MENOPAUSAL FEMME FATALE doesn’t end with a clean conclusion or a triumphant realization. It lets the disorder exist, and that choice preserves its integrity. Life doesn’t offer act-three revelations or smooth fade-outs, and this project doesn’t pretend otherwise. Instead, it builds tension by acknowledging the work that continues even after the credits roll.

This one finds its lane in the larger conversation around storytelling formats and narrative representation. It doesn’t rely on traditional pacing or structure. It moves with the rhythm of reflection, breaking when necessary and accelerating when the moment calls for it. That refusal to conform is part of what gives it such resonance. The performance isn’t just about telling a story—it’s about telling it on its terms.

Ultimately, the experience is as raw as it is reflective. It stays with you because it doesn’t try to package pain or triumph in ways that feel artificial. Instead, it leaves space for discomfort, ambiguity, and unresolved emotion. That honesty gives it weight. And the skill with which it’s presented makes it worth sitting with, long after it ends.

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[photo courtesy of CONFESSIONS OF A MENOPAUSAL FEMME FATALE, THE SECRET SOCIETY OF TWISTED STORYTELLERS, BLACK PEPPER STUDIOS]

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