With If You Are Afraid You Put Your Heart into Your Mouth and Smile in the Forum section and Sorda (Deaf) in the Panorama section, this year's Berlinale program features two films that each explore the lives of a deaf woman and mother and their respective environments. Both films received the CICAE Art Cinema Award, awarded by the International Confederation of Arthouse Cinemas, which aims to bring outstanding films to arthouse cinemas. Additionally, Sorda was awarded the Panorama Audience Award, determined this year by around 28,000 votes. If You Are Afraid You Put Your Heart into Your Mouth and Smile also won the Jury Award of the Teddy Awards, the Berlinale's queer film prize. The representation of this theme in both films highlights the importance of the subject matter and underscores that the perspectives of deaf people remain underrepresented — while also revealing a strong interest in seeing more of these stories.
For Austrian director Marie Luise Lehner, this is her feature film debut, whereas Spanish filmmaker Eva Libertad has completed her second feature film with Sorda. In this article, I offer insights into both films.
Self-Determination: If You Are Afraid You Put Your Heart into Your Mouth and Smile
The Austrian production If You Are Afraid You Put Your Heart into Your Mouth and Smile focuses primarily on the mother-daughter relationship from the perspective of 12-year-old Anna. The film explores the beginning of her adolescence as she starts at a new school and simply wants to fit in. "Why do we always have to be different in everything?" she yells at her mother, Isolde, in a moment of frustration. It is not just her mother’s deafness that sets her apart from others but also their financial situation at home. At the start of the film, we see the two of them sharing a bed. Also, Isolde cannot afford the school ski trip and instead tells the teacher that Anna is sick. This makes Anna a reluctant accomplice in something she is uncomfortable with. Director Marie Luise Lehner wanted to highlight the predicament of many Austrian families who cannot afford the hundreds of euros required for annual ski trips, sometimes for multiple children, and instead resort to excuses such as illness.
If You Are Afraid You Put Your Heart into Your Mouth and Smile repräsentiert also zum Einen eine „normale“ Geschichte des Heranwachsens, mit Thematiken, in denen sich jede:r wiederfinden kann, wie der Frage der Zugehörigkeit. Zum Anderen geht es um gesellschaftliche Problematiken wie Klassenunterschiede. Und zu einem weiteren, sehr wichtigen Teil begleiten wir die Perspektive der Mutter. Ihre Rolle ist keinesfalls reduziert auf die Gehörlosigkeit, sondern ist facettenreich dargestellt. Ihre Bedürfnisse werden hervorgehoben und als wertvoll behandelt. So häufig vermittelt unser westliches Weltbild, dass Mütter für ihre Kinder alles zurückstecken müssten. Hier jedoch wird Wert darauf gelegt, dass sie ihre Bedürfnisse ausleben kann. Dass ein eigenes Bett, das Ausleben von Intimität und Sexualität wichtig für ihre Selbstbestimmtheit ist.
Furthermore, the film conveys additional themes with a sense of authentic normalcy: abortion and a woman's right to self-determination, trans people as parents, and a girl falling in love with another girl.
Anna is also given a critical perspective: she is not in love with Paul; she wants to be Paul. What exactly she means by this is left open to interpretation. Is it the realization that Paul is financially better off than she is? That as a white boy, he is forgiven for everything and enjoys greater freedom? This statement ensures that her youthful, female role is not reduced to romantic attraction, as is often the case in coming-of-age films, but instead highlights her impressive capacity for reflection. A refreshingly layered representation of a young woman, still too rare in film.
Beyond its plot and character portrayals, this queer-feminist film thrives on its sound design. In scenes without background music, ambient sounds are more prominent than in other films—the chirping of birds, the noise of children in the courtyard. Sounds that would typically fade into the background are emphasized here, immersing the audience in an altered sensory experience that aligns with the theme of deafness. At the same time, the film features text-heavy, catchy pop music by predominantly queer artists, reinforcing and playfully interacting with the film's narrative. In a Q&A, Marie Luise Lehner expressed her enthusiasm that subtitles make it harder to ignore song lyrics, further confronting the audience with the film's feminist themes. The combination of immersive soundscapes and dynamic, meaningful music lingers long after the film ends.
Toward the end of the film, it feels as though the director attempted to incorporate one too many social critiques. A new theme is introduced but not given enough room to develop fully. This suggests that Lehner, aware of the privilege of making this film, sought to address as many socially relevant topics as possible in her debut. However, given the film's overall coherence, this criticism is minor and her ambition understandable.
For me, Marie Luise Lehner's debut falls into a category of films that improve upon reflection. While watching, I was momentarily distracted by the performances of some teenage supporting characters. In retrospect, such details fade, and the film's powerful message and heartfelt portrayal of its protagonists prevail. A compelling film about belonging and exclusion shaped by societal structures, offering valuable insights into the lives of deaf individuals while making an important contribution to queer and feminist cinema. It is also well-suited for younger audiences.
Silent Separation: Sorda
In Sorda we follow a young couple: Ángela, who is deaf and pregnant, and Héctor, who is hearing and eagerly anticipating their child. Before birth, it is impossible to determine whether the baby will be deaf or hearing. Even afterward, it can take up to three months for a definitive diagnosis. What begins as an unshakable, loving relationship slowly unravels as misunderstandings arise—a profound disconnect only differing perceptions of the world can create.
The film opens with Ángela and Héctor’s deep and authentic relationship. They are affectionate, and their bond is their safe haven. Ángela has a deaf friend group in which Héctor is always welcome, and she thrives in her job. Héctor is the epitome of a supportive partner who respects her autonomy. All of this is disrupted when their daughter is born.
The intense depiction of Ángela’s traumatic birth experience underscores how deaf individuals are often left behind in a world designed for the hearing. Though Héctor is present, complications push him out of Ángela’s line of sight. He can no longer interpret for her. No one attempts to use gestures to communicate what she must do. She is shouted at by medical staff whose mouths are hidden behind masks—no chance of lip-reading. A violent, distressing experience that deeply impacts the audience.
The true drama unfolds when it becomes clear that their daughter can hear. Héctor’s visible relief marks the first crack in their equal partnership, making Ángela feel devalued and burdensome. As Héctor immerses himself in caring for their daughter, Ángela feels increasingly alienated and useless. Her parents delight in their hearing granddaughter, while Ángela struggles to keep up in conversations where no one adjusts for lip-reading.
The relationship with her daughter is even more dramatic. When Óna cries, Ángela tries to soothe her using sign language, but her daughter is best comforted when spoken to—a need that Ángela cannot understand, as she has never experienced it herself. She feels completely alienated from her daughter, rejected, unsupported by her partner, and out of place in society. Sorda takes its time, giving the scenes enough space to unfold and fully capture the protagonist’s perspective. At its peak, this culminates in intense scenes where the audio track is reduced to what Ángela perceives: muffled sounds. This auditory experience becomes increasingly oppressive and claustrophobic, allowing the audience to fully immerse themselves in Ángela’s perspective.
Ángela is played by Miriam Carlo, the sister of director Eva Libertad. She is deaf herself, and her worries about becoming a mother—along with the experiences of other deaf mothers—shaped the film’s narrative. This wealth of lived experience is reflected in the film, which creates such a multi-dimensional character in Ángela. She is both confident and assertive, yet also deeply overwhelmed by this completely new life situation, where all her previous coping mechanisms fail. A sentiment that is not only applicable to deaf mothers - on the contrary, hearing women can also struggle with their new role. At the same time, much like the deaf mother in If You Are Afraid You Put Your Heart into Your Mouth and Smile , Angela in Sorda is not reduced to her deafness but is primarily portrayed as an independent woman and in her new role as a mother grappling with the challenges of motherhood—who also happens to be deaf.
A compelling, multi-layered film with nuanced characters that pulls the audience into the world of this young family.
