Things are going so well at the beginning of Mouse that it’s easy to forget it’s a movie about grief. High school best friends Minne (Katherine Mallen Kupferer) and Callie (Chloe Coleman) look forward to their senior year. Callie bears the confidence of a gifted drama kid. Minnie is good at math. Prophetically, Callie’s boyfriend Brad (Beck Nolan) declares: “Senior year is the best year of our lives, so fucking live it up!”
Clearly something bad is about to happen, but Mouse doesn’t rush it. The movie’s title card appears 25 minutes in, so if you know enough to anticipate tragedy, you could spend that time wondering what doom could happen here. We’re not going to reveal the specifics in this review, because it’s possible to discuss the themes without it, but if you want to avoid spoilers you shouldn’t even watch the movie’s trailer.
Screenwriter Kelly O’Sullivan, who co-directed and co-produced Mouse with her partner Alex Thompson, has given audiences a simple, yet stunning, coming-of-age story, structured around a refreshingly honest exploration of grief.
The impactful event happens offscreen, and information about it unfolds across numerous imperfect interactions. Adult characters flounder, consumed by their own sorrow, and leave the students adrift. The exception to this is Mr. Murdaugh (David Hyde Pierce) who delivers a masterclass in tired-but-wise drama teacher. His remark of “are you insane?” to a particularly tasteless student project idea was both hilarious and affirming.
Along the same line, Mouse makes use of earnest teen dialogue to hit comedic notes in a way that fans of Lady Bird (2017) or O’Sullivan’s other films, like Ghostlight (2024) or Saint Frances (2019), will appreciate. It’s not a comedy by any means, but there’s no need for realism to stay completely somber.
These characterizations and the story’s overall small scope are some of Mouse’s major strengths. The people it portrays behave in ways that are both expected and uniquely cringe-worthy. Its archetypes are unconventional but recognizable: heathrob with swoopy hair, self-obsessed religious student, ultra-cool lesbian who works at a video rental store, among others. Though a minor role, Kat (Iman Vellani) is particularly charming, and the small but vocal club of those demanding Vellani in queer roles will be elated by her worldly, grief-laced horniness.
Within its message on grief, Mouse hits two notes we found particularly wise: First, even self-centered assholes using tragedy to get attention are grieving on some level. No one comes out completely unscathed. We can have room for their grief and also remind them not to be assholes.
The second idea is arguably Mouse’s main point. When we lose someone, it’s common to want to become that person, on some level, by focusing on shared similarities or taking up their interests. O’Sullivan’s story cautions viewers against forgetting who they are. Especially in instances of losing a loved one, don’t forget all the things about you that person loved.
Mouse hits its marks admirably, telling a story that is not new, but a worthwhile revisit for a culture that doesn’t talk about death enough. As we enter the season of Hallmark holiday movies, reality may not be on your wishlist, but if grief in the aftermath of tremendous loss sounds like your jam, Mouse has what you crave.
Mouse opens at Living Room Theaters, 341 SW 10th, Fri Nov 13, 120 minutes, rated R
