The Girl Who Wouldn’t Stop Believing

Read Time:5 Minute, 9 Second

MOVIE REVIEW
Happy Birthday
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Genre: Drama
Year Released: 2025
Runtime: 1h 31m
Director(s): Sarah Goher
Writer(s): Sarah Goher, Mohamed Diab
Cast: Doha Ramadan, Nelly Karim, Hanan Motawie, Khadija Ahmed, Hanan Youssef
Where to Watch: shown at the 2025 Tribeca Film Festival

RAVING REVIEW: With a final frame that will stick with you forever, the strength of HAPPY BIRTHDAY lies in its quiet defiance. Sarah Goher’s feature debut unfolds in Cairo, where one girl’s attempt to celebrate her friend’s birthday becomes an act of resistance against an entire social order. What begins as a seemingly gentle story about childhood friendship soon reveals itself as something far more piercing — a confrontation with the invisible systems that define who is allowed to dream and who is not.

The film follows Toha, an eight-year-old girl who works as a “maid” (yep, it may seem odd, but it works) for a wealthy family. She lives within their walls, cleans their home, and raises their daughter, yet she remains unseen — both part of their world and excluded from it. Played by Doha Ramadan in her first role, Toha radiates a sense of wonder that never feels performative. She doesn’t understand inequality as theory; she experiences it as heartbreak. Every gesture, every expression, comes across as instinctive rather than staged —a reflection of Goher’s direction, which allows innocence to coexist alongside pain without forcing either. I would argue that Ramadan deserves an Oscar nomination, at the very least.

Toha’s story revolves around her friendship with Nelly, the young daughter of her employers. Toha wants to make Nelly’s birthday special — an act that seems simple, even joyful, until it exposes the gap between affection and ownership. Through Toha’s eyes, the viewer witnesses a world where kindness is conditional and compassion has limits. The way she tries to contribute — helping plan decorations and more — isn’t treated as servitude in her mind but as inclusion. When that illusion shatters, the loss is devastating precisely because it feels so small and human.

Sarah Goher’s screenplay, co-written with Mohamed Diab, avoids moralizing. Instead, it builds an emotional world defined by absence. Laila (Nelly Karim), Nelly’s mother, is burdened by her own collapsing marriage and the pressure to maintain appearances. Her every decision comes from exhaustion rather than cruelty. Karim’s performance is restrained, capturing the quiet panic of a woman torn between empathy and social expectation. Hanan Motawie, as Nadia, the grandmother, represents the old guard of Egyptian respectability — the kind that prizes hierarchy over humanity. Her calm dismissal of Toha’s presence lands harder than any overt act of cruelty.

Mina Samy’s score supports this world rather than leading it. It’s sparse, allowing silence to occupy space until the music becomes almost subconscious. The editing by Ahmed Hafez maintains a deliberate pace that mirrors the emotion of childhood: long stretches of stillness interrupted by bursts of wonder or pain. Nothing feels rushed, which is exactly why it hurts when joy collapses.

Ramadan’s performance anchors everything. She embodies Toha’s longing without ever appearing coached. When Toha’s joy turns to confusion — when the household that relied on her suddenly reminds her of her place — the moment arrives without melodrama. She doesn’t cry for the camera. She simply looks lost, and in that stillness, the film captures something universal: the instant a child understands the concept of inequality.

One of the film’s most affecting choices is how it uses celebration as contrast. Birthdays are meant to be about belonging, yet for Toha, it becomes the moment she learns she never truly belonged. The sequence where she attempts to return to the house, hoping still to share in the party she helped make possible, might be one of the most quietly devastating scenes of the year. No music cues tell the viewer what to feel; the image of a little girl on the outside, listening to laughter that isn’t hers, says everything.

The film’s ending refuses the easy purification of wish fulfillment. There’s no miraculous reversal, no last-minute act of kindness to make things right. Instead, Toha finds something quieter: self-awareness. Her wish — a candle she never gets to light — becomes symbolic of everything she’s been denied. Yet it also stands for her persistence. In a society that would prefer she remain invisible, she insists on existing anyway.

By the end, the film leaves you both heartbroken and grateful. It’s a reminder that cinema doesn’t need spectacle to move us; it only needs truth. HAPPY BIRTHDAY gives that in abundance — a deeply human portrait of inequality told through the eyes of someone too young to understand it, and too brave to ignore it.

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[photo courtesy of FILM SQUARE, FOXXHOLE PRODUCTIONS]

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