The Eyes of My Mother: A Portrait of Isolation and Monstrous Innocence
The Eyes of My Mother is a haunting descent into solitude, grief, and inherited violence. Directed by Nicolas Pesce in his feature debut, this 2016 black and white psychological horror is as visually stark as it is emotionally unsettling.
Set in rural America, the film follows Francisca, a young girl raised in near isolation by her Portuguese mother, a former surgeon, and a distant father. When a stranger brings violence into their home, it shatters Francisca’s already fragile reality. What follows is not a conventional horror narrative, but a slow, poetic meditation on loneliness, obsession, and the blurred boundary between compassion and cruelty.
Shot entirely in monochrome, every frame of the film feels like a still photograph—haunting, empty, and cold. The lack of color strips away distraction, leaving only shadows, silence, and suffering. There are no jump scares, no pounding soundtrack. Just quiet dread.
Kika Magalhães gives a chilling performance as Francisca, portraying her with eerie stillness and tragic vulnerability. She is not evil in the traditional sense—she simply does not understand the world as others do. Her acts of violence are ritualistic, almost tender. She seeks connection, but does so by controlling, silencing, and preserving.
The Eyes of My Mother is horror in its purest form—not about monsters, but about isolation. About what happens when a soul grows in the dark, untouched by empathy. It leaves you not terrified, but disturbed—deeply and quietly.
This is a film that whispers its horror, then lingers like a fading nightmare. Beautiful, brutal, and unforgettable.
