"Three Women" arrives in Spanish cinemas as one of the most talked-about titles in recent Tunisian cinema, a work that moves between intimate drama, family history , and quiet political commentary. Beneath its surface as a domestic tale of grief, the film gradually reveals a whole system of silences, guilt, and hidden violence that mark the lives of three generations of women and those who deviate from the norm.
Behind the project is Leyla Bouzid, a French-Tunisian director who had already garnered acclaim with "A Tale of Love and Desire ," and who here shifts the focus to a homecoming fraught with open wounds. "Three Women" premieres in Spain on May 22, following its screening in the Official Selection of the Berlinale, where it competed for the Golden Bear and attracted attention for its treatment of homosexuality in a country where it is still persecuted by law. The result is a restrained, warm, and understated film that prioritizes atmosphere and glances over explicit dialogue.
Technical specifications and release context
The film arrives in Spain under the title "Tres mujeres" (Three Women), although its original title is "À voix basse" (literally, "in a whisper"), a very significant choice that encapsulates its approach to secrets and truths that cannot be spoken in public. In some international markets, it is also known as "In a Whisper."
Directed and written by Leyla Bouzid, one of the most interesting voices in new Tunisian cinema , the film is a co-production between France and Tunisia and falls within the drama genre, with a strong emphasis on the family storyline. The cinematography is by Sébastien Goepfert, who opts for a warm, diffused light, while the music is by clarinetist Yom, whose melancholic jazz accompanies the protagonist's intimate exploration.
The cast is led by Eya Bouteraa as Lilia , a Tunisian engineer living in Paris, and Hiam Abbass as her mother, Wahida. They are joined by Marion Barbeau (Alice), Feriel Chamari (Hayet), Salma Baccar (Grandmother Néfissa), and Badis Galaoui as one of the police officers involved in the investigation. The film runs for 113 minutes and is distributed in Spain by Lazona Pictures.
The film premiered worldwide in the Berlinale's Official Selection , in a year particularly marked by works with a strong political, feminist, and social charge. There, it shared the stage with titles such as "Soumsoum," "The Night of the Stars," "Saccharine," and "No Good Men," reinforcing a program focused on identity, gender, and geopolitical conflicts. In this context, Bouzid's film fits perfectly: the political doesn't appear as a slogan, but rather as something filtered through the intimacy of the home.
One detail that adds another layer of meaning: the film is dedicated to Leyla Bouzid's mother, who died during filming . This dedication resonates deep within a film that observes its female characters with both immense tenderness and severity, and that reflects on what is passed down from mothers to daughters, both in the form of affection and fears.
Plot of "Three Women": grief, return and secrets
The story begins with a plane landing at Tunis-Carthage airport . On board are Lilia and Alice, two young women who live together in Paris. To Lilia's family, Alice is nothing more than "a roommate," that convenient label used to avoid naming what truly binds them: a stable romantic relationship that Lilia doesn't dare reveal to her family.
The reason for the trip is the funeral of Uncle Daly, Wahida's younger brother and the son of Grandmother Nefissa . He was found dead in suspicious circumstances, naked in the street, and the official version speaks of a violent incident under investigation by the police. The family gathers at their home in Sousse, a coastal tourist city in eastern Tunisia, to observe six days of mourning according to tradition.
From the outset, Bouzid places Lilia in a territory of friction: she leaves Alice in a hotel to avoid raising suspicion , moves through her childhood home amidst memories, closed doors, and prayers, and clashes with a mother who watches her askance and a grandmother more concerned with decency than with the pain she carries. The house, filmed in the director's grandmother's actual home, becomes a veritable map of memories, of rooms where every gesture seems to conceal something no one wants to name.
Meanwhile, Daly's death begins to reveal its own hidden history . Veiled comments, neighborhood rumors, and later, an increasingly intrusive police investigation gradually uncover that her uncle was gay, frequented clandestine circles, and led a life the family preferred to ignore. The love letters he never sent, which Lilia discovers as the days go by, serve as a painful legacy she is unwilling to repeat.
From there, "Three Women" adopts an almost episodic structure, following the six days Lilia spends in Susa . Each day intensifies the pressure: the police raid Daly's environment, more interested in punishment than in solving the case; the family clings to hypocrisy to avoid social scandal; and Lilia finds herself drawn into a double investigation—that of her uncle's death and that of her own ability to live without hiding who she is.
Far from being a conventional thriller, the film uses elements of police procedural and intimate melodrama as emotional drivers. What matters is not so much discovering a "culprit" as understanding what has made this impunity possible, what mechanisms of silence, fear, and violence allow such a death to be covered up instead of being solved.
Three generations of women: inheritances, guilt, and contradictions
The Spanish title, "Three Women," focuses on the female genealogy that structures the film: grandmother, mother, and daughter . Each embodies a distinct way of relating to tradition, religion, reputation, and desire, and together they form a chain that transmits fears and silences as much as affection.
Grandmother Nefissa, played by Salma Baccar, embodies the rigidity of a faith and a social order that justify control . She mourns her son in private, but outwardly maintains an ironclad facade: her priority is that nothing tarnish the family's appearance and honor, even if it means denying who Daly truly was or who her granddaughter is. Her curt commands, her fixed gaze, and her obsession with appearances make her the guardian of the status quo.
In between these two extremes is Wahida, Lilia's mother, brought to life by the outstanding Hiam Abbass . A doctor, urban, supposedly modern, she embodies the most painful contradiction: she silently accepted her gay brother, but resists openly accepting her daughter. From the very beginning, she knows that Alice is much more than a friend, but she opts for silent negotiation, for that unspoken pact of "don't say anything and I'll pretend I don't know." Her evolution, built on minimal gestures and domestic scenes, is one of the most nuanced in the film.
The third member of the triangle is Lilia, who embodies the generation that no longer wants to live in silence . An engineer , independent, and living in Paris, she has enjoyed a sexual freedom unthinkable in her hometown, but upon returning home, she discovers that this path comes at a price. The film follows her journey from complicity in silence—introducing Alice as a roommate, accepting that she stays in a hotel—to the decision to stop hiding, even if it means breaking with part of her social circle.
Around this core is Hayet, the spinster aunt played by Feriel Chamari , a figure who embodies both rebellion and resignation. She openly supported Daly, siding with the most vulnerable, yet she too is trapped within the very hierarchies she seeks to challenge. Her presence reinforces the idea that simply being "in favor" of freedom is insufficient if fear of judgment paralyzes any genuine action.
The brilliance of Bouzid lies in the fact that no female character is reduced to a stereotype . The grandmother isn't just the conservative villain, the mother isn't simply a coward, and the daughter doesn't appear as the perfect heroine. They are all contradictory, vulnerable, and human, and this prevents the film from becoming a pamphlet for or against any particular side. The conflict lies in how patterns of silence are repeated from one generation to the next, even as circumstances change.
Desire, family and the weight of the law: the political dimension
One of the film's key points is how it links desire to the legal and social context of Tunisia . Unlike other countries in the region, the North African nation often projects an image of modernity and secularism: tourist cities, professional women, and a religiosity that is barely visible in daily life. However, Bouzid reminds us that beneath this facade, a deeply homophobic legal framework continues to operate.
The most striking example is the constant presence of Article 230 of the Tunisian Penal Code , which punishes sodomy and homosexual acts with sentences of up to three years in prison. It is not cited as a mere fact, but rather its influence is evident in police behavior, in families' fear of being found out, and in the precariousness of the clandestine spaces where queer men and women meet.
In the film, the police force functions almost as an extension of the family's hypocrisy . The detectives investigating Daly's death seem more interested in finding evidence of his homosexuality to criminalize him than in clarifying what really happened. The scene in which one of his lovers is arrested while Lilia visits him perfectly encapsulates this logic: the law is used as a tool of intimidation and blackmail, not as an instrument of justice.
The line spoken by one of the characters, “ They should have told us about their sexual orientation ,” is one of the sharpest barbs in the script. That “should have” makes the victim guilty for not having confessed something that their own community would have condemned. It's impossible not to think of cases like the murder of Samuel Luiz in Spain or so many hate crimes that have marked recent European sensibilities; the film engages with that memory without explicitly naming it.
At the same time, Bouzid links Daly's story with that of Lilia and Alice, whose relationship is marked by two very different understandings of freedom . Alice, French, is impatient with the need to hide, tends to underestimate the real danger of coming out in Tunisia, and at one point makes the mistake of barging into her family home without considering the consequences. Lilia, who knows the situation well, knows that in her country saying "this is who I am" without apologizing can still come at a very high price.
All of this gives the film a clear social relevance, beyond its cinematic value . Works that address love and sex between men from Arab countries are not common, and even fewer stories about lesbians in those contexts. "Three Women" fills this gap in representation, offering a complex perspective that neither idealizes nor demonizes, but rather attempts to understand how desire, fear, and shame are organized within a specific society.
Visual style, atmosphere, and use of silence
Formally, "Three Women" moves between everyday realism and a light touch of emotional suspense . Bouzid doesn't rely on big plot twists or extreme dramatic turns; his interest lies in the atmosphere of the house, in the glances exchanged in the hallway, in what goes unsaid in seemingly trivial conversations while preparing tea or serving coffee to guests.
The camera often maintains a certain distance from the characters, with shots that allow them to breathe and move within the frame . This delicate mise-en-scène creates a sense of intimacy that, paradoxically, is accompanied by a slight coldness: what we see is painful, but it isn't emphasized with melodramatic excesses. This restraint can be perceived as a virtue or a limitation, and in fact, some critics have pointed out that a certain emotional distance means that some scenes that should be more harrowing fall short.
The warm light, filtered through blinds and curtains, contributes to creating chiaroscuro effects on the women's faces . There's a persistent idea that the women are always half-lit, half-seen, as if half of what they feel and think had to remain in shadow. Goepfert's photography avoids easy exoticism: Susa is shown as a modern, touristy, recognizable city, far removed from the orientalist postcard image.
At times, Bouzid introduces subtle touches of magical realism or dreamlike imagery : Daly's almost spectral appearance during Lilia's sleepless nights, a childhood memory that flashes in the car's rearview mirror, the image of a bird released inside the house. These symbolic gestures don't disrupt the overall tone; rather, they reinforce the feeling that the past continues to walk among the living and that the dead demand to be recognized as they were.
The treatment of silence is perhaps one of the film's greatest strengths. Bouzid films silence as a space of truth , a place where what is left unsaid carries more weight than any words. There are scenes in which a simple exchange of glances between mother and daughter, with hardly any words spoken, has more dramatic impact than an entire speech. This emphasis on suggestion fits with the original title, "À voix basse" (In a Low Voice), and with the intention of showing how internalized censorship operates.
Not everything works equally well: some critics have pointed out that the pacing falters in the middle section , with a second half less inspired than the powerful introduction to the conflict. They've also noted certain musical and visual emphasis that perhaps wasn't necessary, and an epilogue that, for some viewers, explains more than needed than was already clear during the six days of mourning. Even so, the atmosphere built throughout the film leaves a serene and very honest impression.
Performances and character development
If anything sustains "Three Women" from beginning to end, it's the acting, especially from the three leads . Eya Bouteraa delivers a very believable Lilia, far from the perfect heroine: she doubts, contradicts herself, is afraid, and at the same time possesses an inner stubbornness that drives her to avoid repeating her uncle's fate. Her way of containing her emotions and only erupting at very specific moments connects perfectly with the film's overall tone.
Hiam Abbass, for her part, brings to Wahida a disarming mix of wounded dignity, maternal love, and cowardice . She's not a monstrous mother who simply rejects her daughter, but someone who has spent her entire life balancing what she feels and what she believes she "should" do. Many of the film's most powerful scenes rely on her silences, on how she looks at Lilia while pretending not to know, on how her body tenses when Alice enters the house and the house of cards threatens to collapse.
Marion Barbeau, as Alice, embodies the external, European perspective that struggles to grasp the extent to which the Tunisian context shapes every gesture . Her character could have remained a caricature of a liberal Frenchwoman who comes to lecture, but Bouzid grants her her own contradictions and insecurities: she too makes mistakes, she too fears losing Lilia, she too carries her own expectations.
The rest of the female cast reinforces this ensemble feel: Salma Baccar imbues the grandmother with an imposing presence without needing lengthy speeches; Feriel Chamari transforms Hayet into an endearing and tragic figure, rebellious in her own way but unable to completely break free from the family order. The male characters, by the director's conscious decision, remain in the background: the police officers are faces of the system; the brothers, absent shadows; and Daly, a specter whose life is reconstructed through letters, rumors, and memories.
This narrative choice underscores the idea that, in this story, it is the women who uphold and who can shatter the pact of silence . They are also the ones who bear the burden of maintaining a semblance of normality, of cooking, receiving visitors, and organizing mourning while grappling with an inner turmoil they are rarely allowed to verbalize.
Critical reception and place in Bouzid's filmography
Following its run at the Berlinale and its theatrical release, "Three Women" has been hailed as a step forward in Leyla Bouzid's career , more mature and politically astute than in her previous works, without losing her penchant for intimate drama. Critics and audiences alike have highlighted the delicate way in which she portrays the relationship between Lilia and Alice, far removed from sensationalism or a desire to provoke, and the complex way in which she addresses the figure of the mother.
Many commentators have also emphasized the importance of a film like this being released in Tunisia , where it has been commercially screened since the end of April. In a country where homosexuality remains a crime, the mere existence of a film that addresses it openly within the framework of a family drama is already a political statement. Without becoming a pamphlet, the film thus aligns itself with a contemporary Maghrebi cinema that increasingly explores the tensions between tradition and modernity, especially concerning the female body and freedom.
Compared to "A Story of Love and Desire," where Bouzid explored male sexual awakening and the clash between desire and tradition through Arabic erotic poetry , here the approach is darker and more deeply rooted in Tunisian legal and social reality. The conflict is no longer merely internal or sentimental, but directly political: anyone who deviates from the norm is in danger, and the state apparatus is ready to remind them of this.
Some critics do point out, however, that the film doesn't quite dazzle in terms of formal innovation and that some of its symbolic touches (that brief second trip to Susa as a kind of recap, certain stylized shots) feel somewhat repetitive. Even so, the overall impression is of having witnessed an intimate and honest work, one that perhaps doesn't break new ground but does leave a gentle and lasting impression.
Beyond the nuances, "Three Women" stands as a key piece in recent Tunisian cinema and is highly recommended for those who enjoy slow-paced films focused on characters and atmosphere . It doesn't seek grand catharsis or definitive answers; instead, it leaves the viewer with uncomfortable questions about family, guilt, impunity, and everyone's right to live without masks, even if it means breaking with part of what has shaped us.
At the end of the film, one is left with the impression of having accompanied Lilia on a profoundly political and emotional journey of self-discovery , of having entered a house where silences weigh more than words and where three generations of women negotiate, in their own way, how much they are willing to sacrifice to maintain the appearance of normalcy. Not all wounds heal, nor are all reconciliations consummated, but a crack opens for love and freedom to find their way, even if it comes at the cost of accepting a new solitude whose nature—whether refuge or exposure—remains uncertain.