The Search for Mia Becomes Something Else

Read Time:5 Minute, 11 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
Mia
–

Genre: Thriller, Drama
Year Released: 2024, 2025
Runtime: 1h 21m
Director(s): Luis Ferrer
Writer(s): Luis Ferrer
Cast: Shah Motia, Emiliana Jasper, Julie Lucido, Eden Ferrer, Tim Willis
Where to Watch: releasing July 8, 2025

RAVING REVIEW: MIA opens with a missing person and unspoken grief, but it quickly signals that what’s missing might go far beyond just one girl. Luis Ferrer’s psychological thriller walks a tightrope between trust and paranoia, grounding its tension in a family teetering on collapse. Rather than succumbing to genre spectacle or cheap thrills, the film turns inward, lingering in dark rooms, whispered conversations, and silent glances that speak louder than any chase scene ever could. Normally, I dislike movies shot with minimal lighting, but it works to the film's benefit in nearly every way.

This is not a thriller that tries to outpace you. Instead, it invites discomfort and suspicion. You’re never told exactly what to think, and Ferrer makes that choice feel intentional rather than evasive. What results is a slow-simmering mystery that occasionally threatens to stall but pulls you back thanks to its emotional undercurrents and strong lead performances.

Emiliana Jasper’s work as Emma stands out immediately. She doesn’t deliver her role with broad strokes, but with restraint. You can feel the unease pulsing just below the surface in nearly every scene she’s in. She isn’t given many big, sweeping monologues, but that doesn’t mean her character lacks depth. Instead, she carries the weight of the film through hesitation and barely-controlled outbursts that make you second-guess her as much as you sympathize with her.

Opposite her, Andrés Montiel plays Aaron, a father whose composure feels more suspicious the calmer he becomes. Ferrer wisely avoids labeling him a hero or a villain, forcing the viewer into an uneasy space. Is Aaron a man being destroyed by guilt and a failing marriage, or is he the architect of something more sinister? The script lays out enough to keep either interpretation alive for most of the runtime.

What gives MIA its edge is its refusal to provide immediate catharsis. Ferrer’s script leans into ambiguity, sometimes almost too much, but the commitment to tone and mood is clear. It’s as if the filmmaker is more interested in the ripple effects of trauma and suspicion than the event itself. That decision works in some ways, particularly for viewers who prefer conflict and dread over exposition or fast plotting.

Visually, the film accomplishes a great deal with very little. Ferrer leans into natural lighting, washed-out color palettes, and uncomfortably long takes to evoke a sense of surveillance—we’re intruding on something. The cinematography has a raw quality that perfectly suits the mood. Even the sound design avoids overplaying its hand, often stripping away music to highlight silence or the crackle of a house not quite at rest.

MIA isn’t trying to be explosive or revelatory. It’s much more of a character study, only loosely wearing the skin of a thriller. The core mystery is never treated like a puzzle to be solved but rather as a lens through which we view how grief and doubt corrode people from the inside out. One of the boldest moves Ferrer makes is the lack of a clear moral center. You’ll likely switch allegiances between Emma and Aaron multiple times, not because the film tricks you, but because both characters are so obviously broken. Their pain feels authentic. And in that realism, MIA asks a question that lingers longer than any twist could: What does trauma do to memory, trust, and the stories we tell ourselves just to survive?

There’s a lot of promise here. As a low-budget effort, it punches far above its weight. It’s also confident in its approach, especially for a filmmaker still early in his career. What it lacks in polish or pacing, it often makes up for in commitment and vision. Jasper’s performance is one to watch, especially if she continues to explore characters with this much complexity.

There’s a coldness to parts of the script that hold us at arm’s length when we’re craving a little more vulnerability or catharsis. Whether that’s a flaw or a feature will depend entirely on the viewer’s tolerance for ambiguity. It’s hard not to respect the choices made here. MIA is a patient, psychological drama that resists spoon-feeding and lets discomfort lead. That won’t work for everyone, but it does mark Ferrer as a director with a voice worth following. And if nothing else, it reminds us that the scariest thing in the world isn’t always what’s in the dark—it's often the person sitting next to you who swears they didn’t see a thing.

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[photo courtesy of BREAKING GLASS PICTURES, FILM//PROTEGO]

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