There’s a unique discomfort in Audrey that grabs you from the start. In this pitch-black comedy, living vicariously through someone else’s achievements goes beyond a typical parental pastime; it becomes a fixation.
In Audrey, Ronnie Lipsick is a mother who’s anything but ordinary. When her daughter Audrey, a promising acting talent, unexpectedly falls into a coma, Ronnie decides to fill her shoes—literally—stepping into Audrey’s life, roles, and ambitions.
Jackie van Beek as Ronnie is brilliant, making you laugh and cringe at once as she embodies a mother forcing her own unfulfilled dreams onto her daughter, holding onto them as if they’re her own lifeline. Van Beek’s performance brings a layered authenticity to the role, showing a woman who’s more vulnerable and desperate than you might initially believe.
Ronnie is a poignant reminder of irrelevancy in a fame-hungry world. A former actress, her faded dreams of stardom drive her to push daughter Audrey (Josephine Blazier) into an acting career, using Audrey’s potential as a way to reclaim a piece of her own lost identity. It’s a satire on ambition and identity that cuts deep, as we witness Ronnie stumbling through this false narrative. Her hunger for the life she never had but always wanted for her daughter becomes downright sinister, and you can’t help but feel both sympathy and horror as she spirals further into her borrowed life.
What’s satisfying is how the director layers the film with a humor that’s dark but somehow oddly liberating. While Ronnie’s story is cringe-worthy, it’s also fascinating—a reminder of the human desire to be “seen” and to matter, even if it means using another person’s existence to get there. The film plays with cruel themes, especially in how the family’s dysfunction bubbles to the surface. From the dismissive father (played with a dry wit by Jeremy Lindsay Taylor), who features in a subplot equally as awkward, to the wheelchair bound youngest daughter (Hannah Diviney) attempting to navigate teenage life and family oddities, Audrey captures the intricate web of strained relationships, unfulfilled desires, and the awkward humor that often surfaces when life goes utterly wrong.
The humor in Audrey is relentless and unabashedly dark, to the point where you may find yourself laughing at things that would feel inappropriate anywhere else. Ronnie’s journey to reclaim a sense of purpose through her comatose daughter’s life is both hysterically absurd and deeply unsettling. Director Natalie Bailey doesn’t pull any punches, pushing the audience into uncomfortable laughter that often leaves a lingering guilt. The film’s darker tones continually escalate, taking the absurd premise to unexpected places that make you wonder if Ronnie might actually “succeed” in some strange way. This unpredictability is one of the film’s strongest points, constantly subverting expectations and reminding us that sometimes reality is stranger—and crueler—than fiction.
The characters themselves are a mix of unlikeable yet compellingly real individuals. Ronnie’s antics may seem exaggerated, but van Beek’s nuanced performance grounds them in a painful reality. You can’t quite hate her, even as she crashes further into an identity not her own. Each performance feels spot-on, from Blazier’s tragically sidelined Audrey to Hannah Diviney’s younger sister Norah, who embodies both envy and frustration with a maturity beyond her years. These characters aren’t designed to be liked, but instead empathised with, and that’s precisely what makes them work.
In the end, Audrey is a uniquely dark experience. Bailey has created something both bold and uncomfortable—a story that’s not afraid to laugh in the face of familial bonds and dreams deferred. Audrey is less about seeking fame and more about clinging to a sense of self-worth, no matter how distorted. It’s a black comedy film that’ll leave you laughing, wincing, and possibly wondering why you enjoyed it as much as you did.
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