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(Review) YOUR MOTHER YOUR MOTHER YOUR MOTHER: The Blood that Pays and the Milk that Sustains

By. Professor Horror

A man came to the Prophet and asked, “Who deserves the best of me?” The Prophet said, “Your mother.” The man responded, “Then who?” To which the Prophet responded, “Your mother.” The man asked again, “Then who?” and the Prophet repeated, “Your mother.”

Mahershala Ali plays Latif, a Muslim man devoted to his wife, his children, and his faith and culture, and he supports all of them by killing others. Working as a hitman, Latif believes his actions are justified because he kills bad men, and the money he earns goes toward feeding his children. It's a rather convenient arrangement, at least as far as Latif is concerned, until his wife suddenly dies and he's left raising three children while trying to maintain a profession that doesn't exactly accommodate the demands of single parenthood. Bassam Tariq's YOUR MOTHER YOUR MOTHER YOUR MOTHER might look like another action movie about a highly trained killer taking on seemingly impossible odds (and there's certainly plenty of that to enjoy) but it's also a surprisingly tense thriller in which finding something to feed a hungry baby can be just as stressful as surviving a gunfight (especially when you are trying to do both at once). Beneath the wonderfully choreographed violence and occasional absurdity, however, is a story about motherhood, grief, and the enormous role women play in keeping a family together, even when the people around them don't fully recognize it.

The film establishes Latif's rather unusual work-life balance almost immediately. After murdering his intended target in a public restroom, he digs through his bag for cleaning supplies, pulling out diapers and baby wipes along the way. It's a small, humorous detail that tells us quite a bit about the man we're watching, particularly how his responsibilities as a father are never far from his mind, even when he's busy killing someone. Throughout the film, Tariq brings these two worlds together, suggesting that Latif doesn't necessarily separate his work from his family life because, as far as he's concerned, one makes the other possible. His employer, Mike Mahmoudi (Laith Nakli), provides him with jobs he can justify as necessary or even righteous, although that distinction becomes increasingly difficult to maintain when Mike orders him to protect his nephew Hatty (Abubakr Ali), a pornography producer targeted by the fanatical Korean American pastor Hwan Yoon (John Cho). It's a rather messy situation for a man who believes he's doing God's work by killing bad people, especially when everyone involved seems to have a different idea of what makes someone good or bad.

Whatever moral compromises Latif makes outside the home, he's always been able to return to a family life held together by his wife, Khadijah. Unfortunately, that arrangement comes to an abrupt end when she dies, leaving Latif to figure out how to raise three children while continuing his rather unconventional line of work. In a montage, we watch him attempt to juggle his responsibilities as a hitman and a single father, going through the motions of everyday life while his increasingly solemn voiceover tells a very different story. Beneath his determination to keep moving forward is a man who is completely lost, struggling with his grief and growing increasingly angry with the God he has spent his life serving. Things become even more complicated when his infant daughter, Aziza, proves unable to tolerate formula, leaving breast milk as her only reliable source of nourishment. Latif turns to milk banks, members of the mosque, and just about anyone else who might be able to help, but whatever he manages to find rarely lasts more than a day or two before the search begins all over again. For a man accustomed to solving problems through money, intimidation, or violence, discovering that he can't even reliably feed his own daughter is a particularly frustrating reminder of how little control he actually has.

John Malkovich plays another man with plenty of blood on his hands in WILD HORSE NINE, Martin McDonagh's dark comedy about two aging CIA agents. He's funny, surprisingly lovable, and responsible for things that should probably make us hate him. Unfortunately, knowing what someone has done doesn't always make it any easier to stop liking them.

This constant struggle to keep Aziza fed also gives the film much of its tension, particularly as Latif's professional obligations continue pulling him away from the children who need him. Although YOUR MOTHER YOUR MOTHER YOUR MOTHER advertises itself as an action film (which it certainly delivers), I would argue that it functions just as effectively as a thriller. Latif moves around Houston haunted by memories of his late wife and hunted by men who expect him to continue doing their bidding, all while worrying about where his daughter's next meal will come from. When the violence does arrive, it is wonderfully choreographed (and Ali's preparation for the now-canceled Blade reboot certainly wasn't wasted). The sword fights are especially entertaining, with Ali looking perfectly at home swinging a blade at anyone unfortunate enough to get in his way, even if there aren't quite as many action sequences as the marketing might lead audiences to expect. What makes these confrontations particularly entertaining is the almost controlled niceness they take on because, quite frequently, there's a baby on board. Whether Latif is torturing a man in the back of his toy-filled, grocery-getting station wagon or dodging a spray of bullets with Aziza strapped to his chest, Tariq finds humor and tension in watching a man trained to kill attempt to exercise some restraint. There's something oddly endearing about watching a man capable of such extraordinary violence struggle with the same everyday frustrations as any other parent, and I couldn't help thinking of Tony Soprano (another man who could commit murder one minute and worry about his children's problems the next). Like Tony, Latif discovers that being able to intimidate or kill just about anyone doesn't make parenting any easier, although Latif seems far more willing to question what being a good father actually means.

For all the blood Latif spills throughout the film, it's another bodily fluid that ends up giving him the most trouble: breast milk. After all, Latif makes his living by cutting, stabbing, and destroying the bodies of other people, and in a rather literal sense, he has fed his children through the blood of others. Every violent act helps put food on the table, meaning that the destruction of one life contributes to sustaining another. Blood and milk are both bodily fluids, but we tend to associate them with very different things. Blood, particularly when spilled through violence, suggests injury and death, while breast milk is associated with nourishment and the preservation of life. Yet both have played an important role in keeping Latif's family fed, even if one has received considerably more recognition than the other. When Khadijah dies and Aziza can no longer receive the milk she needs, however, Latif discovers that all the blood he's spilled (and all the money he's earned from spilling it) cannot provide the one thing his daughter desperately needs. There's something deeply ironic about a man who can kill another person in seconds discovering that keeping his own daughter alive requires considerably more effort than anything his profession has demanded of him.

I find this relationship between blood and milk particularly interesting because it challenges the way we traditionally understand what it means to provide for a family. Latif has always believed that his contribution was the most difficult because it required him to risk his life, while Khadijah's responsibilities remained largely invisible within the everyday routines of their household. Yet the film places these two forms of bodily labor alongside one another, asking us to consider why the violence associated with masculinity is treated as a sacrifice while the nourishment associated with motherhood is simply expected. Of course, the film isn't suggesting that motherhood can be reduced to breastfeeding, but milk becomes a particularly effective way of illustrating how much work goes unnoticed when it's something women are assumed to provide naturally. And while Latif's profession depends upon his ability to control the bodies of others, his daughter's survival now depends upon the generosity and cooperation of people he cannot simply intimidate into helping him. For a man accustomed to solving his problems with a sword, that's a rather significant adjustment.

Surprisingly, for a film with relatively few prominent female characters, YOUR MOTHER YOUR MOTHER YOUR MOTHER offers a compelling examination of women's contributions to family and community, particularly through the absence of Khadijah. Yet I don't think the film is interested in presenting motherhood as some mystical ability that men can never understand. Instead, it asks what happens when a man finally recognizes the importance of work he had considered secondary to his own. This becomes particularly interesting in Latif's relationship with his eldest daughter Fatiha (Adia), whose own grief is complicated by the changes she is experiencing as a teenager. Adia gives a wonderful performance, capturing the frustration of a young woman who loves her father but is beginning to recognize his flaws, particularly as she struggles to reconcile the beliefs she has been raised with against the realities of the world around her. Her questions about faith and morality become increasingly difficult for Latif to answer (especially when he is questioning many of those same beliefs himself). Mahershala Ali is especially effective in these quieter scenes, allowing us to see the exhaustion and uncertainty beneath a man who otherwise carries himself with such remarkable control. Together, Ali and Adia create a relationship that feels wonderfully lived-in, full of affection but also the frustrations that emerge when a parent and child are struggling to understand one another.

Perhaps that is what makes YOUR MOTHER YOUR MOTHER YOUR MOTHER such an interesting examination of fatherhood, despite a title that repeatedly emphasizes the importance of the mother. The religious teaching from which the film takes its name asks us to recognize the sacrifices made by mothers, but Latif's experiences suggest that recognizing those sacrifices and understanding what they actually involve are two very different things. For all its emphasis on motherhood, I would argue that the film is ultimately more concerned with Latif's relationship with his daughters, particularly as he struggles to understand what they need from him following their mother's death. Aziza needs nourishment that he cannot provide on his own, while Fatiha needs a father who can listen to her questions without expecting to have all the answers. Neither problem can be solved through the violence that has defined his life, and neither daughter can simply be protected from the consequences of losing her mother. Latif may have spent years believing that his willingness to kill for his family was the greatest sacrifice he could make, but YOUR MOTHER YOUR MOTHER YOUR MOTHER suggests that the real sacrifices were happening at home all along, largely unnoticed by the man who thought he was doing the hard part.

Maika Monroe has a rather different approach to childcare in VICTORIAN PSYCHO, playing a governess whose impeccable manners conceal some truly murderous thoughts. Zachary Wigon's darkly funny period horror makes a convincing case that the most dangerous woman in the house might also be the one everyone expects to behave herself.