The Queen of My Dreams Review: A Thoughtful Dramedy That Time-Travels

      Note: This review was initially published as part of our TIFF 2023 coverage. The Queen of My Dreams is set to release in theaters on June 20.

      The apple seldom falls far from the tree, and religion often misleads that apple and tree to believe otherwise. This truth is evident in Mariam (Nimra Bucha) and Azra (Amrit Kaur) in Fawzia Mirza’s Pakistani-Canadian dramedy, The Queen of My Dreams. Both were rebellious in their youth, eager to carve out their own paths beyond the constraints of Islam or their parents. Yet, they both find themselves limited by those very confines through culture, generational trauma, and guilt.

      However, the film isn't a bleak exploration of these themes. Not really. While it deals with the premature death of Azra's father and Mariam’s husband, Hassan (Hamza Haq), the tragedy primarily serves to highlight the fractures in their complicated mother-daughter relationship, equally revealing the love that exists beneath the surface. Despite Mariam's adherence to traditional conservatism now, she was just as independent and deceptive as Azra was at her age. We discover this not through stories, but through witnessing the events unfold.

      This is achieved through a clever technique where most actors portray two characters, whether as different individuals or two versions of the same person, referencing a Bollywood film featuring Sharmila Tagore. This convention establishes a strong connection between the women across the decades: the story starts in contemporary Nova Scotia and soon shifts back to 1969 Pakistan, where Mariam (now played by Kaur) must meet prospective husbands while secretly dating Hassan (Haq in his younger years).

      In this context, we see their similarities, as Azra also keeps her own partner, Rachel (Kya Mosey), hidden from her parents due to her mother's disapproval of homosexuality as a devout Muslim. Mariam concealed her relationship because she intended to leave Pakistan and knew her mother would object to her marrying someone planning to move abroad. The customs of the old country ignite her desire to assert her independence, and in many ways, these same traditions spark the same urge in Azra when Mariam embraces them in a misguided quest for redemption.

      We observe this transformation through another timeline shift back to the ’80s, where Ayana Manji portrays Azra during her journey of self-discovery. The film cleverly oscillates between different time periods, with each scene adding layers of context to what has come before. Alongside the familial drama, there's a clash of traditions as the present-day Azra struggles to grieve her father in a manner she feels she should. The gendered implications deepen the emotional weight, highlighting that religion can cause as much pain as it alleviates. She is denied the chance to love a woman or to wash her father’s body simply because she isn’t a man. Why is that significant?

      This story possesses significant depth. More than one might expect initially, as Kaur performs an entire number from that Bollywood film for her girlfriend before a humorous montage shows Azra avoiding answering the phone—culminating in a moment of painful regret. The tension between nature and nurture emerges strongly, as love is overshadowed by trivial grievances stemming from indoctrination that blinds many from recognizing what truly matters: happiness.

      Mariam yearned for her parents to accept her desire to marry the man she loves so fiercely that she misrepresented their intentions, yet she judges and prevents her own daughter from doing similarly. Does she prefer to remain estranged as she did with her own mother, repeating past mistakes? Mirza’s film refrains from providing definitive answers or judging those who refuse to inquire, instead presenting these dilemmas so that the characters acknowledge the inherent hypocrisy. Hopefully, this awareness can break the cycle—if not for the characters, then for the audience who may find themselves reflecting on their own lives.

      The Queen of My Dreams had its premiere at the 2023 Toronto International Film Festival.