FILM OF THE WEEK: Four Mothers - reviewed by Roe McDermott

There’s a unique, unspoken bond between Irish mammies and their sons - a relationship built on fierce love, sharp humour, and an often maddening level of mutual dependence. When queerness enters the equation, that dynamic can shift in unexpected ways. Darren Thornton’s Four Mothers takes this deeply familiar relationship and expands it into a moving, insightful, and sharply funny meditation on caregiving, identity, and the evolving nature of family.

Thornton’s film is a triumph of warmth, wit, and emotional depth, blending comedy with a poignant exploration of caregiving, queer identity, and the quiet, unseen struggles of aging women. The film navigates the delicate terrain of family duty and personal sacrifice, all while delivering a sharp and heartfelt story that resonates deeply.

At its centre is Edward (James McArdle), a gay YA novelist stuck in a cycle of self-doubt and responsibility who's caring for his fiercely independent yet physically dependent mother, Alma (a captivating Fionnula Flanagan). His already-complicated life is thrown into further disarray when his three closest friends (Gearoid Farrelly, Gordon Hickey and Rory O’Neill, aka Panti Bliss) - also gay men, all of whom are carers for their aging mothers - leave town for Maspalomas Pride, unceremoniously dumping their mothers on Edward’s doorstep and entrusting them to his care. What follows is a riotously funny yet deeply tender examination of obligation, resilience, and the ways in which queerness shapes familial roles and expectations.

Thornton and his brother/co-writer Colin Thornton (who created A Date For Mad Mary) draw from personal experience of their own mother’s struggles towards the end of her life, crafting a narrative that is rich with authenticity and heart. Four Mothers never reduces caregiving to a burden nor does it romanticise its struggles. Instead, it highlights the absurd, tender, and sometimes frustrating moments that come with looking after loved ones. Echoing the Italian gem Mid-August Lunch, which similarly explores the unexpected bonds formed between a reluctant caregiver and a group of older women, Four Mothers brings a uniquely queer and Irish perspective to this timeless story of responsibility and connection.

One of the film’s most moving sequences unfolds as the four mothers, now forming their own reluctant sisterhood, share their versions of their sons’ coming out stories – a unique flip on the coming out trope. These women - mostly widows, shaped by the Catholic Church and the rigid social norms of their youth - have had to learn and unlearn, to watch their country transform alongside their children. Some recall moments of quiet acceptance, others of resistance and slow understanding, while others speak of their late husbands’ reactions, regret lingering in the spaces between their words. It’s a powerful moment that underscores how much Ireland has changed over a single generation - and how much these women have changed with it.

Edward, meanwhile, struggles to articulate the significance of his own work. His debut novel is finding viral success in America, yet every attempt to discuss it in interviews sees him veer into themes of intergenerational trauma, colonialism, and inherited pain - ideas that feel deeply relevant to his experience but are met with polite resistance from publishers who want him to keep things light. This internal battle between expressing hard truths and making his work more palatable is mirrored in the film itself. Four Mothers doesn't shy away from serious themes, but it carries them with a lightness that makes its truths all the more affecting. Thornton’s script is deft in its ability to layer humour and melancholy, allowing the weight of history, duty, and unspoken emotions to surface naturally without feeling heavy-handed.

McArdle delivers a beautifully nuanced performance, capturing Edward’s quiet turmoil, reluctant devotion, and underlying yearning for a life beyond caregiving. Flanagan, in a wordless role as Alma communicates via text-to-speech technology on her iPad, commands the screen with a presence that is both imperious and vulnerable, perfectly embodying the contradictions of a woman fiercely clinging to her independence while needing more help than she’s willing to admit. The ensemble cast brings warmth and levity, making the friendships at the film’s core feel lived-in and real.

Beyond its humour and heart, Four Mothers offers a sharp commentary on the overlooked phenomenon of queer caregiving, particularly the expectation that LGBTQ+ individuals without children will step into the role of family caretaker. Thornton approaches this reality with both incisiveness and empathy, highlighting the societal assumptions that dictate whose lives are deemed available for such responsibilities – which can often translate to “not important enough as is.” The film also shines a light on the invisibility of older women, particularly those who have lived their lives in service to their families, only to find themselves sidelined in their later years.

Visually, the film embraces a style reminiscent of classic comedies, yet it remains deeply personal and intimate. Its richly textured interiors and tight framing draw the audience into the characters' worlds, emphasizing the closeness and, at times, claustrophobia of their relationships. The film’s pacing allows humour and melancholy to coexist, capturing the bittersweetness of caring for someone you love while trying to hold onto your own dreams.

Four Mothers is a film as funny and light as it is profound. It is a love letter to caregivers, an ode to chosen family, and a meditation on the evolving nature of love, acceptance, and identity. It acknowledges the past, embraces the present, and looks toward a future where care is not just an obligation, but an act of deep, reciprocal love. Thornton has crafted something truly special – a quiet gem that is affecting, deeply funny, and ultimately hopeful film.

Watch, laugh, call your Mam, hold your friends close. We all need each other more than we think.

• In cinemas now.