‘Josephine’ Review: Beth de Araújo’s Fearless Crime Drama Will Make Your Blood Boil – And It Should
If Beth de Araújo’s “Soft & Quiet” was a brass-knuckled jab, her follow-up, the 2026 Sundance premiere “Josephine,” is her title-winning haymaker.
Fearlessness is Araújo’s superpower, evident in the filmmaker’s unflinching approach to confronting gut-wrenching topics. Here, she views the world’s cruelty through the eyes of an eight-year-old. We watch as a bubbly, bouncy little tyke grows frozen and jaded toward humanity, when she should be frolicking, unworried, and beaming with enthusiasm.
But somehow it’s not a hopeless film. Araújo’s heartbreaking anti-coming-of-age flick folds ghost-story agony into an infuriating condemnation of our American justice system, all shouldered by a monumental performance from its teeny-tiny lead.
Mason Reeves stars as Josephine, a soccer-loving San Francisco girl who is as adorable as she is loved. One Sunday morning, endorphin-addict Damien (a career highlight for Channing Tatum) takes his daughter on their routine Golden Gate Park run. Josephine darts ahead, playfully trying to outpace her father. But Damien doesn’t immediately find Josephine, and while the giddy kiddo hides behind a tree, she witnesses a violent rape in broad daylight. Even worse, she’s the only person who can bring the suspect to justice. What unfolds is a megaton-heavy tale about how crimes have ripple effects, and how women are failed by society on a generational scale.
Where “Soft & Quiet” employs shock-and-awe tactics to make its point, Josephine lays its cards bare for all to see. It’s a stone-faced, powerfully sturdy film driven by emotions that fester inside its knee-high protagonist. You’ll feel helpless watching Josephine search “rape” on a smartphone, or turn on the male gender as a whole, as her parents take opposing stances on how to explain what she saw. There’s a fragility that hangs over the family, caught between Damien’s “life isn’t fair” speeches and his wife’s maternal instincts to protect her baby’s innocence (Claire, played with tenderness and grace by Gemma Chan).
Harshly, but impressively, Araújo’s second feature comes with no padding. It’s a tempest of rotten feelings that rages within Josephine. Reeves is phenomenal as the title witness, so genuine in her underage curiosity, yet mature beyond her years. She’s the perfect tool to cut through society’s bureaucratic excuses and voice protest. She questions everything, from the court system’s ineffective civilian protections to the existential dread that follows us like rain clouds.
Her stunned face, that faint voice, as she learns that convicted rapists could only get 3 to 8 years — these lines of dialogue are where Reeves shines. She’s young enough to have no filter, coming for defense attorneys, detectives, and even her parents in these crystal clear moments of bluntness that sting like psychological killshots.
Even better, Araújo manipulates haunted-house elements to show that crimes are not isolated events. Josephine sees “Greg the Rapist” (Philip Ettinger) everywhere she goes. He’s this specter in the background, interacting like an imaginary friend. It’s the sickening representation of how traumatizing crimes can alter someone’s life, and the baggage that’s saddled and unshakable. Cinematographer Greta Zozula frames these paralyzing shots of Josephine and Greg in her safe spaces, maybe eating her Oreos or playing with her rodent pet. Greg becomes a part of her life — an apparition who will not vanish. It’s frightening beyond words, and a brilliant tweak on horror dynamics laid atop the stress-inducing danger thrills that emerge as Josephine’s family copes with the very real possibility that Greg knows their address.
Through Josephine, Araújo can unleash biting commentary against the workings of those institutions meant to keep us safe. It’s as simple as Greg pleading “Not Guilty” and being released on bail pretrial. Josephine’s small but mighty brain can’t comprehend why this vile human can walk around freely after doing what he did.
She hears the same bullshit answer from the case’s lead detective about a lack of evidence and the D.A.’s refusal to prosecute unless it’s a slam dunk. Araújo’s dialogue for Josephine cuts through red tape with the most basic lines of questioning, unable to comprehend why a “bad” man isn’t paying for his actions. Absolutely devastating stuff that will have you seething red, because this knee-high toddler can expressively simplify the ridiculousness of suspects being given more protection than victims or witness parties.
Be warned, Josephine will make your blood boil — and it should.
As much as Araújo channels the tragic depiction of innocence robbed, Josephine is about the patriarchal hardships of being a woman in contemporary culture. Chan’s motherly instincts juxtapose with every woman’s back-of-mind fears, bubbling over in this achingly raw montage that simultaneously cuts between Claire’s elegant performance as a professional dancer and Josephine’s self-defense lessons.
Damien’s frustrated outbursts that deride “fairness” are what shape his kin into this miniature furnace of resentment; a broken child now confused by sex for pleasure or trusting an entire gender. All these unanswerables manifest in breathtaking scenes that go so far as to have Josephine clutch a pair of scissors, and we’re not sure if she’ll actually use them. The image of her tiny fist balled tight, clenched with white knuckles, as she avoids making eye contact with Greg while on the witness stand—these are indelible illustrations that tear your soul to shreds.
Josephine is, without question, the powerhouse knockout of the 2026 Sundance Film Festival. Beth de Araújo is a filmmaker without compromise; a heat-seeking missile of filmic provocation and trailblazing visions. The cast is phenomenal, including a weighty dramatic turn from Tatum stuck between masculinity and empathy, but it’s Reeves who steals the show. Expect a tough, almost unbearably ruthless experience (with a massive trigger warning), but it’s that mark of boldness behind the camera that solidifies Araújo as a perennial filmmaker to watch. Bring seventy tissues, a stress ball, and your strongest will. Josephine is a special, hard-to-stomach yet immaculately handled movie that demands your attention, and is already in contention for best movie of the year.
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