Don’t Call Me Mama Review: Migrant Affairs 

Lust, trust and creativity are at the center of Don’t Call Me Mama, Nina Knag’s formulaic yet compelling directorial debut.

The story unfolds in a nondescript village (interiors were shot in Bergen, exteriors a bit further away in Odda, in the south-west of the country), where 48-year old Eva (Pia Tjelta, Mongoland) is a well-liked high school teacher and the wife of the mayor, Jostein (Kristoffer Joner, Mission: Impossible – Fallout). On the outside, it’s all good, but from the very first scene there’s an unstated tension between the two spouses, with Eva specifically not trusting Jostein like she used to. A handful of scenes later, we learn it’s because he was once hit by a bout of adultery with one of his staffers. 

As part of her volunteering to support Jostein’s campaign, Eva is tasked with teaching a class of asylum seekers. One of them is the 18-year old Amir (Tarek Zayat, Enforcement), a Syrian refugee who, due to a misunderstanding about where he was going to end up, speaks a broken form of Danish that is close enough to Norwegian (the two languages are very similar in written form, less so when spoken). The young man shows great promise, particularly in the field of poetry, and Eva starts mentoring him to help with his prospects within the Norwegian system. And while there is some occasional distrust, the overall bond between the two is strong. 

So strong, in fact, it unsurprisingly turns sexual. And while she’s partly driven by a desire to get back at her husband, Eva is also genuinely smitten with her younger lover. She particularly enjoys engaging in illicit trysts in the local swimming establishment, the water acting as a symbol of his new life in Europe and her bodily reawakening. Of course, such brazen lustfulness is at high risk of detection, which would be damaging for both parties. 

There are unwitting echoes of Michel Franco’s Dreams, which premiered a few months ahead of Don’t Call Me Mama at the Berlinale and also deals with a love affair between a Caucasian woman in her 40s and a younger man with a questionable immigration status. This is perhaps an indication of a certain flow in the zeitgeist when it comes to contemporary stories about refugees and asylum seekers, mixed with the most classic of love triangle narratives. 

The trappings of the plot may be familiar, particularly in the increasingly formulaic third act when the web of lies starts to untangle, but they are nonetheless compelling thanks to the three central performances: Zayat continues to evolve as a talented young Danish performer (he was cast because it was difficult to find an experienced Norwegian actor with the required Middle Eastern origin), and Tjelta shines in a role that should earn her more international attention. Her chemistry with both of her male scene partners is affecting and genuine, and her scenes with Joner gain additional poignancy via their shared working history and background (they were paired because they’re both from Stavanger and speak the same dialect). 

Working in tandem with cinematographer Alvilde Horjen Naterstad (also making her feature debut), Knag captures the overflow of powerful emotions through agile, handheld close-ups which immortalize every nuance of the actors’ facial expressions and highlight the significance of the original Norwegian title. Rather than cheekily referring to the age gap between Eva and Amir, Se meg (“look at me”) encapsulates the need to be seen and appreciated that drives both protagonists, while also perhaps hinting at the questions that will remain unanswered as the film is shot entirely from Eva’s point of view. It therefore forces us to look at her even when we find ourselves wondering what may be going on in the other characters’ heads.

Don’t Call Me Mama had its World Premiere at the Karlovy Vary International Film Festival on July 9, 2025.