Honeyjoon Surfs the Tides of Grief During a Mother-Daughter Getaway

Written and directed by Lilian T. Mehrel, Honeyjoon follows June (Ayden Mayeri) and her Persian-British mother, Lela (Amira Casar) as they travel around the picturesque Azores islands of Portugal with their tour guide João (José Condessa), a charming surfer who works at the hotel where they are staying. Surrounded by the islands’ breathtaking beauty and the easy joy of everyone around them, June and Lela find themselves unable to escape the rut they’ve both fallen into on this trip. The anniversary of the man they both lost, June’s father and Lela’s husband, hangs over their trip, casting a shadow over them. In fact, it is the entire purpose they are there. The two women are there to remember the fond memories June’s father had on the islands and scatter some of his ashes in a special place.

Lela is consumed by grief in other ways, not just because of the passing of her husband. She spends downtime following the political state of Iran and reading headlines about women being persecuted for simple pleasures in life. She grieves a country that is ever changing, and unlike the home she used to know. Unlike her mother, who is carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders, June just wants to live life.

Honeyjoon is a lovely film that casts a wide net across its brisk seventy-minute runtime. It explores the strain within a mother-daughter relationship, examines the generational divide between its two leads, and reflects on grief in all its complicated, ever-shifting forms. It is a film about the strain in a mother-daughter relationship; it tackles generational differences, politics, and grief in all their many layers. Often, when a film takes on so many themes, some inevitably receive more attention than others, leaving the audience wishing certain ideas had been explored more deeply or feeling as though a piece of the story is missing. That is never the case with Honeyjoon. Mehrel braids its themes together with remarkable care, leaving no strand out of place. Its exploration of grief, generational divides, and the complexities of a mother-daughter relationship is so seamlessly intertwined that each strengthens the others. The result is a story that feels deeply authentic, capturing the messy, contradicting yet interconnected nature of real human experience.

There are ebbs and flows to grief and this is something that a film like Honeyjoon understands deeply. It understands that it manifests in a multitude of ways no matter how great the loss. Lela and June may be mourning the same person, but they experience that loss in profoundly different ways. June attempts to outrun her grief, often masking it with humor. There is a determination to live life, have fun but also at the same time avoid talking about real feelings. Meanwhile, is shaped by her past, reflection, and the need to share her feelings even if it isn’t an appropriate time according to her daughter. The film never frames one approach as healthier than the other. Instead, it gently observes the friction that emerges when two people love the same person, lose the same person, and yet learn to live without them in entirely different ways.

What makes Lela and June’s journey through grief even more interesting is seeing it through the political lens. It’s the kind of familiar existential grief you only get from consuming every single terrible news headline to stay informed. Lela’s sorrow extends beyond the intimate confines of family and memory. It is shaped by displacement, identity, and the weight of a world that often demands resilience in the face of ongoing injustice. The film never treats these experiences as separate from her personal grief. Instead, it understands how political realities can become intertwined with private loss, informing the way Lela moves through the world and relates to those around her. 

June’s relationship to it is more indirect and generational. However, her journey is no less significant. She handles her mother’s doom-scrolling in the same way they handle their personal loss, trying to find the light and the strength rather than dwell in the sorrow. Every moment where Lela wants June to cover up or change her clothes, its clear that she is carrying the emotional residue of histories that shaped her family while trying to forge her own identity.

Much of the film’s success rests on the shoulders of Mayeri and Casar, who share a wonderfully natural chemistry. Together, they create a mother-daughter dynamic that feels genuinely lived-in. The frustrations they share with one another are quiet; they carry a sting of familiarity from years of shared history. There is a deep tension that is perfectly executed that makes you feel as if there are so many words they want to say and yet remain unspoken. They know exactly how to wound one another because they know each other so intimately, and it is that painful truth that makes their relationship feel so authentic. Mayeri delivers some of the strongest work of her career, effortlessly balancing deadpan humor with a grief that lingers just beneath the surface. Casar is equally compelling as Lela, portraying a woman determined to hold herself together while slowly confronting a future she never envisioned, both in her life and in a country she used to call home.

​The peaceful center of the film is João, who is portrayed wonderfully by Condessa. In many ways, he acts as their north star, helping each of them navigate the grief, uncertainty, and emotional distance that have left them feeling adrift. He offers something different to each woman, meeting them where they are without attempting to solve their problems for them. Through him, both June and Lela begin to see new possibilities for themselves and for one another.

Anchored by exceptional performances and a script that understands the complexities of love and loss, Honeyjoon recognizes that sorrow comes and goes in waves, and that healing often begins when we allow ourselves to drift toward one another rather than away.