Josephine is not a movie that I would recommend going into blind, as I mistakenly did.
Written and directed by Beth de Araújo, Josephine feels painfully timely. As the world currently reacts to the “Cornell 7” rape allegations made by a Jane Doe, Beth de Araújo’s film feels uncomfortably real. Too real. But it is also an important film, and one that I think will receive a lot of love and praise following its premiere at the London Film Festival.
Josephine opens with its titular character, wonderfully played by Mason Reeves, temporarily separated from her father during a park run. In those few moments alone, she stumbles across a man attacking and raping a woman. When her father, Damien (Channing Tatum), eventually finds her, he chases after the attacker and helps the police with his capture. From there, the film becomes less about the crime itself and more about the aftermath of Josephine witnessing it.
Following the release of Sorry, Baby last year, there appears to be a section of Hollywood increasingly interested in stories that do not simply depict sexual assault, but examine its ripple effects on victims, their families and the people who witness the consequences. These films are interested in what sexual violence does to vulnerable people and how trauma can extend beyond the person directly involved.
Unlike Sorry, Baby (2025), Josephine does not shy away from showing the harrowing assault. We see Greg’s attack in a way that is deliberately difficult to watch. Araujo’s decision to show the attack is then contrasted with Josephine’s parents’ constant attempts to avoid discussing what she has witnessed, believing that by avoiding the subject, they are somehow protecting her from something she has already seen. And this is where the parents become frustrating. Particularly her father, Channing Tatum’s’ character, Damien.
They repeatedly question how they should approach the conversation, whether Josephine is too young to understand, and whether talking about it might cause more harm, but what exactly is “too young”? And how can a child be protected from something that has already happened in front of her? Tatum’s Damien, confidently tells his young daughter that what she witnessed would never happen to her, but Araujo brilliantly explores the idea that this is not a promise that any parent can really make, especially in a world where gendered violence is so prevalent. It is an instinctive thing for a parent to want to reassure their child, but Josephine questions whether reassurance without honesty can actually protect them.
There is also an interesting choice in the screenplay when Damien discovers the assault. Rather than speaking to the victim, his immediate instinct is to run after the accused, and even when captured, he does not check in on the then nameless victim. It is a small but telling character choice. His attention is immediately placed on catching the perpetrator, while the emotional needs of the woman who has just been attacked are left in the background.
The first time we see Greg after he is captured, Josephine visualizes him sitting inside her bedroom, and the imagery is haunting. She sees him everywhere. His presence becomes a manifestation of her trauma, with the film effectively externalizing what is happening inside Josephine’s mind, allowing us to see how one moment has completely altered her perception of the world around her.
Even her perception of her father begins to change. Josephine is a young girl who does not yet understand the complexities of consent or the distinctions between the men involved. In her mind, Damien and Greg become intertwined. They are both men, both are physically larger than her, and both are now connected to the violence she has witnessed. The man who once represented safety is suddenly difficult for her to separate from another man who represents danger. It is truly devastating to see how she behaves towards her father. It’s an upsetting depiction of how trauma can distort a child’s understanding of trust and safety, even when the person standing in front of them is the parent trying to protect them.
Mason Reeves is the heart of Josephine. This is truly her film. The entire narrative runs through her character, and Reeves delivers a memorable child performance. It is heartbreaking watching Josephine try to process something that she doesn’t have the language or emotional tools to understand. We see her discover words that truly no child should ever have to learn. Her fear, confusion and isolation are so communicated by Reeves
Channing Tatum also delivers one of his greatest performances as a flawed father who genuinely has no idea how to navigate what his 8-year-old daughter is experiencing. In some ways, Damien contributes to the very culture the film is interrogating by refusing to talk about sexual violence, his lack of competence in supporting Josephine’s erratic behaviours, and by desperately trying to hide from something he believes he can shield his daughter from. But he is also, simply, a father trying his best, and I think that is what makes his character so interesting and so real. Josephine suggests that sometimes being a good parent means recognising when your usual instincts are no longer enough and adapting your approach to what your child actually needs.
Tatum’s performance is brilliantly contrasted by Gemma Chan, who plays a mother carrying her own difficult past. We slowly watch her become increasingly triggered by what is happening around her, with the film quietly revealing through its subtext that she was once a victim herself. The film doesn’t need a lengthy exposition to tell us this. Chan’s performance paired with Araújo brilliant screenplay does the work.
At its core, Josephine is a tale of avoidance. A story about a lack of communication, beating around the bush and desperately trying not to say the thing that everyone knows has happened. In many ways, this mirrors society’s own tendency to censor ourselves when confronted with difficult subjects. We avoid talking about sexual violence because the conversation is uncomfortable, and it would mean people examining what role we each play in this conversation. We worry about exposing children to difficult realities, while simultaneously failing to acknowledge that children are already exposed to them. Josephine refuses to participate in that avoidance.
Araújo’s screenplay is incredibly thoughtful in the way it chooses its words – every word is so thought out and cared for in how it contributes to the story. Even Damien’s observation that “fair” is not a real thing, but something society has “made up”, speaks to the film’s wider questioning of justice, morality and the expectations we place on the world around us.
The courtroom scene is so effective. It is brilliantly shot as a long take with a handheld camera, making it feel messy, intimate and immersive. We aren’t simply watching Josephine in the courtroom; we feel trapped there with her. The handheld filming captures the suffocation of the experience, allowing the scene to become almost as overwhelming for the audience as it is for Josephine.
I also loved the decision not to show the final verdict. I’m not sure it particularly matters, and I don’t think it would fit the story Araújo is trying to tell. If Greg is convicted, then the ending almost feels too neat and sugarcoated. If he is acquitted, the film risks becoming unbearably hopeless. By refusing to give us that answer, Josephine leaves us with something much more complicated – the reality that although justice is something to always strive for, it does not always provide closure, and everyone involved remains affected, regardless.
And that is ultimately what makes Josephine so affecting. This is not a film about giving us easy answers. It is not interested in telling us that everything will be okay. Instead, it asks uncomfortable questions about how we speak to children about violence, how we protect them, and whether silence can ever truly be protection. Sometimes the most dangerous thing we can do with difficult subjects is refuse to talk about them
Josephine is one of the best films of the year, and an important viewing for everyone of age. It is a brilliant exploration of parental protection, communication, and the way society avoids difficult conversations.
