There is a line in Honeyjoon about happiness arriving in waves. It is a simple idea, but one that quietly becomes the heartbeat of Lilian T. Mehrel's wonderful feature debut. Some films about grief focus entirely on the darkness. Others rush too quickly toward healing. Honeyjoon understands something far more honest. Grief is rarely a straight line. It arrives unexpectedly. It retreats. It crashes back in. Sometimes it shows up in tears. Sometimes it shows up in laughter. Sometimes it appears while sharing a hotel room with your mother and realizing there may not be a more complicated relationship on Earth. Beautiful, funny, tender, romantic, and deeply human, Honeyjoon is one of the most pleasant surprises I have seen this year and very likely one of my favorite films of 2026.
Written and directed by Lilian T. Mehrel, the film follows Persian Kurdish mother Lela and her American daughter June as they travel to the Azores following a devastating family loss. Both women arrive carrying grief, but they approach it from entirely different directions. Lela wants to process it one way. June wants something else entirely. The result is a story built around generational differences, cultural identity, family expectations, and the awkward reality that even the people who love each other most often struggle to understand one another. That setup may sound familiar on paper, but Mehrel approaches it with such warmth, specificity, and emotional intelligence that it never feels formulaic.
What impressed me most is how confidently Mehrel balances so many different emotional registers at once. This is a film about loss, but it is also about pleasure. It is about family, politics, romance, memory, identity, and the strange ways people try to keep moving forward after life changes forever. That is an ambitious amount of thematic ground to cover for any filmmaker, let alone someone making her first feature. Yet somehow it all feels remarkably effortless. The film never strains to announce its ideas. Instead, it allows them to emerge naturally through conversation, behavior, and the constantly evolving dynamic between its characters.
As somebody who has always been a complete sucker for stories centered on family relationships and human connection, Honeyjoon hit me particularly hard. The relationship between June and Lela feels lived in and authentic. They frustrate each other. They misunderstand each other. They embarrass each other. They love each other deeply. Mehrel captures that unique mother daughter dynamic where every conversation can shift from heartfelt to hilarious within seconds. Some of the funniest moments in the film emerge from situations that feel painfully recognizable. The kind of exchanges where you simultaneously want to laugh and hide under a table.
The performances are a huge reason why the film works as beautifully as it does. Ayden Mayeri delivers outstanding work as June, finding the perfect balance between vulnerability, frustration, humor, and longing. There is a natural quality to her performance that makes every emotional beat land. Quite frankly, Ayden Mayeri is a star. Amira Casar is equally wonderful as Lela, bringing depth, complexity, and immense warmth to a character who could easily have been reduced to familiar archetypes in less capable hands. Together they create the emotional center that keeps the film grounded no matter where the story goes. Their chemistry feels effortless, and every scene they share carries emotional weight.
Then there is João, the philosophical tour guide who becomes an important presence throughout the journey. What I appreciated about the film is that it never treats him as simply a romantic device or narrative shortcut. Instead, he becomes part of the larger conversation the film is having about healing, perspective, and learning how to live with uncertainty. There is a beautiful sincerity to many of the discussions surrounding happiness, loss, and finding meaning in a world that often feels overwhelming. One particular conversation about whether true happiness even exists lingered with me long after the credits rolled. The answer the film arrives at is simple, but perhaps that simplicity is exactly what makes it resonate.
Visually, Honeyjoon is absolutely gorgeous. The Azores provide a breathtaking backdrop, but Mehrel never treats the location like a postcard. The landscapes become extensions of the characters' emotional journeys. The vast oceans, rolling hills, and endless horizons mirror the themes of movement, healing, and reflection that run throughout the story. The cinematography consistently finds beauty without feeling overly polished or artificial. There is a freshness to the imagery that perfectly complements the film's emotional honesty. It is the kind of movie that makes you want to book a flight immediately while simultaneously calling someone you love.
What also struck me was the way the film acknowledges how political realities and world events quietly seep into personal relationships. Without ever becoming heavy handed, Honeyjoon recognizes that grief does not happen in a vacuum. The world continues moving around us. News cycles continue. Political struggles continue. Personal identities continue evolving. Those larger forces subtly shape how people process pain, memory, and belonging. It adds another layer of richness to a story already filled with emotional complexity.
If I have any criticism, it is that a few moments occasionally drift toward familiar territory. Certain observations about grief and healing may feel recognizable to audiences who have seen similar character driven dramas before. But honestly, it never bothered me much. In fact, those moments often worked because the film understands something essential about grief itself. Sometimes the truths we need most are the ones we already know but need to hear again. Mehrel approaches those ideas with enough sincerity and emotional intelligence that they never feel hollow.
More than anything, Honeyjoon reminded me why I love independent cinema. It is personal without feeling self-indulgent. Thoughtful without becoming pretentious. Funny without undercutting its emotional core. It understands that joy and sadness are not opposites. They are companions. They coexist. They arrive together. They leave together. And then, when you least expect it, they return.
Like the waves that become such a meaningful metaphor throughout the film, Honeyjoon ebbs and flows between laughter, heartbreak, romance, reflection, and hope. By the end, I found myself not only moved by the story on screen, but reflecting on my own experiences with family, grief, and the small moments of happiness that help carry us forward.
Here is to independent filmmaking. Here is to new voices. And here is to Lilian T. Mehrel, whose debut feature announces the arrival of a filmmaker worth paying very close attention to. Honeyjoon is funny, moving, compassionate, and quietly profound. A lovely reminder that even in our darkest moments, life still offers reasons to laugh, dance, connect, and keep riding the wave when it comes.
Honeyjoon releases in Theaters on June 19, 2026.
