THE STORY – In the final days of Ceaușescu’s Romania, Maria, 10, becomes the last witness to her sister’s mysterious disappearance and must find the courage to grow up in a collapsing world.
THE CAST – Emma Ioana Mogos, Marina Palii & Igor Babiac
THE TEAM – Mihai Mincan (Director/Writer)
THE RUNNING TIME – 104 Minutes
From its opening moments, “Milk Teeth” promises intensity and psychological tension. Ten-year-old Maria, played by Emma Ioana Mogoș, watches her older sister Alina leave to take out the trash and vanish without a trace. The setup suggests a gripping narrative, yet what follows is a slow, uneven exploration that often tests the viewer’s patience. Scenes stretch deliberately and the emotional beats frequently fail to land, leaving the story feeling more like an exercise in style than a compelling depiction of grief. The initial shock of Alina’s disappearance creates immediate stakes, but the film rarely sustains that tension, drifting instead into long sequences of aimless observation that, while visually striking at times, struggle to convey narrative or emotional depth.
Mihai Mincan situates the film in the waning days of Nicolae Ceaușescu’s dictatorship in 1989 Romania, attempting to link Maria’s private tragedy with the broader historical context. On paper, the idea of a child’s trauma as a mirror for societal upheaval is compelling, yet the political dimension remains largely atmospheric, a shadowy backdrop that never fully exerts influence on the narrative. References to Romania’s uncertain future, the collapse of rigid systems, and the “lost generation” motif remain underdeveloped, rendering the historical frame decorative rather than substantive. The setting has potential to add layers of complexity, but the film often treats history as scenery rather than as a force shaping the characters’ lives.
The performances are uneven, exacerbating the film’s struggles. As Maria’s mother, Marina Palii delivers a commanding, emotionally resonant portrayal of quiet desperation, providing some of the film’s most affecting moments. Emma Ioana Mogoș, tasked with carrying nearly the entire film from Maria’s perspective, is directed toward a largely monotone performance. While her expressions occasionally convey confusion or fear, they rarely provide the emotional nuance needed to anchor the story, leaving a persistent distance between audience and protagonist. Secondary characters, including the father, neighbors, and investigating officer, remain peripheral, offering glimpses of grief and bureaucratic frustration but little narrative weight to balance Maria’s muted perspective. Their presence hints at larger societal concerns, but the film fails to leverage these moments into fully realized emotional or political commentary.
The film alternates between craftsmanship and self-conscious style. George Chiper-Lillemark’s handheld, low-angle cinematography immerses viewers in Maria’s perspective, creating a childlike lens on a grim reality. Nicolas Becker’s sound design – muffled, tense, and often near-silent – emphasizes her isolation and attempts to replicate the way a child might process a confusing, frightening world. Yet these techniques sometimes verge on indulgence. Extended sequences of wandering, long silences, or dreamlike shadows frequently fail to advance plot or deepen understanding, leaving viewers waiting for a payoff that never fully arrives. Alina’s disappearance, which could have anchored the narrative with mystery and suspense, is resolved almost immediately, leaving the story to revolve around aftermath rather than investigation. Attempts at symbolic or surreal imagery, from dark factories to nocturnal shadows, are intermittently striking but rarely cohere into meaningful narrative or thematic statements, creating a sense of stylistic overreach.
Pacing is perhaps the film’s most consistent flaw. Its extreme deliberation favors observation over momentum, which may feel meditative to some but tedious to most. Sequences intended to evoke tension or grief, such as Maria’s silence, her mother’s searching, and shadowy industrial spaces, often stretch beyond their emotional payoffs. The careful, impressionistic approach, rather than enhancing themes, risks alienating viewers who expect a clearer dramatic arc. Maria’s muted perspective further limits the film’s emotional core, and while the parents’ storylines are more engaging, they cannot fully compensate. Scenes meant to provide catharsis or historical resonance, like family arguments, conversations with authorities, or subtle signs of societal transition, rarely achieve the depth or clarity needed to satisfy the audience. The tension between private loss and public upheaval is established as a theme but is never convincingly explored.
The title “Milk Teeth”, evoking the inevitability of growing up, hints at larger themes of loss, maturation, and societal change. Yet these motifs are undercut by narrative ambiguity and a lack of dramatic progression. Surreal interludes, dreamlike imagery, and ambiguous sequences often feel decorative rather than functional. Moments that might provide emotional resonance, such as Maria’s encounters with shadows, her quiet reflections, or glimpses of daily life under a decaying regime, often feel like atmospheric exercises rather than narrative or thematic necessities. Even when the film touches on psychological or historical complexity, the impact is muted. Scenes of bureaucratic futility, parental despair, or Maria’s fleeting attempts at comprehension are minimally dramatized, leaving the audience with a sense of incompleteness. The final act gestures toward resolution and reflection but arrives after prolonged narrative inertia, offering only subtle thematic closure and little emotional satisfaction.
Ultimately, “Milk Teeth” is technically competent but narratively unsatisfying. Its historical setting, central premise, and occasional visual and auditory flourishes suggest potential, yet the film consistently fails to deliver. The pacing is glacial, the central character is written and directed to be unengaging, and narrative arcs are underdeveloped. While the film may appeal to viewers interested in slow, atmospheric European art cinema, for most it is tedious and frustrating. The story of a young girl grappling with her sister’s disappearance, a premise with inherent emotional power, is undercut by monotony, stylistic excess, and an inability to translate promise into fully realized cinematic impact. In the end, “Milk Teeth” feels like a missed opportunity: a film with a potent emotional kernel that struggles to find form or voice.
