Miscommunication has never felt more pronounced than in the directorial debut of Nicola Rinciari’s A Mosquito in the Ear. The barrier of communication is more indicative of not just a culture clash between Western and Eastern values and understanding, but of an inability to separate the fantasies and reality of uprooting an orphaned girl from an indian orphanage by an American couple who’ve not taken it upon themselves to educate themselves on indian customs and traditions. At one point in the film, the child in question remarks how listening to her new American parents speak in English feels like having a mosquito in the ear.
Throughout Rincari’s narrative, you can understand the annoyance of having to endure the messy incompetence of two adults yearning to be parents, tripping over themselves for a child who has no interest in or say in understanding their culture. As far as she is concerned, they’re in her home, but she didn’t invite them; they invited themselves and wish to uproot her.
That sounds like ignorance; it’s innocent ignorance rooted in underestimating the sad reality that many orphaned children in developing countries, such as India, face when being uprooted to a “better” home. Yet, Rinciari’s film is not a cynical takedown of such idealistic notions; the couple in question, played wonderfully by Jake Lacey and Nazanin Boniadi, are well-meaning and earnest, if not a little naive and over their heads, in adopting a young girl they haven’t met or interacted with. What follows is a heartfelt, bittersweet reflection not just on parenting, but on customs and acclimation through empathy and patience.
Andrew (Lacey) and Daniela (Boniadi) have waited six years to adopt little Sarvari (Ruhi Pal) from an orphanage in Goa, India. They have an idealistic shine to their beaming faces, as they’re enthusiastically guided by the head nun of the facility, Sister Aruna (Mickey Singh). They may as well look and sound like oblivious tourists, wandering through market shops and vendors with helpless looks on their faces. Luckily, they have a helpful guide and mentor of their own in Sister Aruna, who oversees and helps their transition to connecting with Sarvari. All is well at the orphanage, as Sarvari is shy but welcoming her new white parents (they even gift her with a stuffed tiger she calls Billy). Sarvari can only understand and speak Hindi, yet the parents clearly haven’t taken any language courses or learned phrases to break down the cultural barrier.
As Andrew, Daniela, and Sarvari leave the crowded, rundown orphanage, the unassuming personality in Sarvari drops, as she’s unruly in her behavior, screaming to be let out, refusing to eat anything but ketchup, and even biting down on glass cups. Daniela fares a little better, as Sarvari trusts her to help her to the bathroom and sleep beside her, but Andrew has no luck connecting. The film consists not only of the parents’ understanding of who the little four-year-old girl they’re adopting is, but also the harsh realities of parenting with the intense, day-to-day patience necessary for someone as deeply hurt and closed off as Sarvari.
The couple faces setbacks in helping Sarvari be ready for custom visits, having her approved for travel, tending to her sickness, and adjusting their lives around their adopted daughter. Daniela’s connection with Sarvari helps her feel closer and develop the bond she craves. Yet, the lack of investment in Andrew keeps her isolated in feeling insecure about tending to Sarvari, despite Andrew’s best efforts. Saravri has a favorite, and it will take a lot of trust and security to feel comfortable around Andrew.
The bulk of the film is a gradual process of not only understanding the hardships of parenting, but learning and integrating indian culture and traditions into Sarvari’s life. She feels a close kinship to her country, despite being one in a million orphaned children. It’s her birthright, and Rincari’s storytelling is an emotional tanglement of raw, bitter truths coupled with beautifully honest performances and a lived-in filmmaking that depicts an India that’s as bustling and chaotic as it is tranquil and peaceful.
Much credit goes to Kai Dickson’s striking cinematography that combines sweeping camera work of the bustling street markets with the still countryside of Sarvari’s homeland. It’s not just a cultural inconvenience for the parents; it’s an immersion into Sarvari’s life.
The film’s core strength lies in the trio of performances, catapulting it into an affecting family drama. Lacy and Boniadi’s chemistry as aloof, sympathetic parents imbues them with a tremendous amount of understanding. There’s never a malicious bone showing on the surface, yet their relationship takes on the stress of inviting a third member into their dynamic. Boniadi is tenderly affectionate, having an immediate connection with Sarvari. Daniela’s caring warmth cracks when she feels alone and unable to be the mother she imagined in the beginning. But Boniadi’s performance signals a pillar of motherly strength that naturally grows the more time spent wrangling both Sarvari and Andrew’s emotional vacancy.
Lacy’s performance is the most challenging, often veering into cold obliviousness, ignoring Boniadi’s cues for help, yet there’s a lot of heart layered in Andrew. He means well and desperately tries to assist Daniela, yet never takes charge to alleviate her stress. Andrew’s arc culminates in a harrowing sequence, searching for a lost Sarvari in a big city street market after a chaotic interaction where she tests their limits. It’s a mark of the dramatic evolution Andrew goes through that Lacey manages to be sympathetic, regardless of his shortcomings.
Between Omaha (2026) and Michael (2026), there’s been no shortage of child performances that can immediately steal their respective films. Ruhi Pal is no different, having the difficult task of being both impenetrable and distant, yet by design to protect her heart. At a glance, Sarvari has gone through a lot, yet this isn’t a film in which she’ll dump exposition for the cathartic appeasement of her parents; she may never trust her new adoptive parents, but she can begin the process of feeling safe and empathizing with them as caregivers.
It’s here that Pal’s performance is an incredible display of restraint and complexity bubbling underneath a tough exterior of melancholy and pain. Even though Sarvari is afforded moments of unalloyed joy, Rinciari directs her in a way to imply an undertone of fragility, that it can go badly, and she needs to be defensive every moment.
Based on the autobiography by Andrea Ferraris, A Mosquito in the Ear never sacrifices its measured storytelling for theatrics. While Sarvari’s emotions feel loud, and the arguments between Andrfew and Daniela are sensible, no one’s humanity is weaponized by Rincari’s screenplay. Even Sister Aruna couldn’t be portrayed as a callous headmaster trying to offload this poor child to a clueless couple filled with self-righteousness. Aruna has levels that have made her a direct and sincere leader in helping parents see these children less as props and more as people.
Rincari doesn’t reinvent the wheels of culture clashing or delve into tropes of a white savior helping the downtrodden black and brown children. Like an international couple adopting an indian girl, the complexity expands to the film’s text. No one is saving anyone — it’s an opportunity for two opposite ends of the globe to have a tough, difficult conversation about each other’s perceptions and attitudes, but reaching a mutual understanding of devotion and endearment. One can hope that a semblance of a family can emerge from that hard process, yet Rincari’s A Mosquito in the Ear is a genuine attempt to realize a grounded family, stripped of idealization and rooted in solace.
Review Courtesy of Amritpal Rai
Feature Image Credit to Persimmon via MUBI