‘Cause when you think of unbalanced evil hellspawn, doesn’t maternity come to mind? I’m still trying to get over the title here. Isn’t it just a tad irresponsible to call a horror film “Mama?” I suppose it’s equally as responsible as telling a tale about a psychopathic serial killer and naming it or “Santa” or “Dalai Lama” or “Ice Cream.” And when those things actually happen, I’ll feel better about this title.
So you got a pair of feral orphan girls in the wild. In a murder-suicide gone bad, dad takes them to Blair Witch territory and is about conclude his evil when a Stevie Nicks specter takes him out, sparing the girls, aged one and three. Nobody finds them … until the five years later when the script calls for it. And the girls are alive, well, repulsive, aggressive and weird. Now, who is to say what well-adjusted means? They hang out in a cabin, living on cherries and filth. Their nurturer is an evil ghost the girls both call “Mama.” Aw. Now don’t be hasty, is that 
really so bad? When Uncle Luke (Nikolaj Coster-Waldau) finds them, sure the kids are a level of disgusting reserved for war prisoners, but they seem healthy and happy … if a little paranoid.
But nooooooooo, we just can’t leave well enough alone. Luke and his Joan-Jett-wannabe-galtoy Annabel (Jessica Chastain) take the girls in. Mama comes with them. And with her come some pretty good “if you’re here, then what’s there?” moments. Mama is distinctly corporeal and visible when she wants to be, which is often enough for several good scares. And she is jeeeeeeeeealous! My is she jealous. She immediately removes the doting Lucas, but in an almost humorous irony leaves Annabel alone. Tattoed rocker Annabel doesn’t give a damn about the kids, see? Mama sees her as no threat.
And hence, we set up a weird dynamic by which two therapy-for-life children share a large house with a kindly-but-evil-murderous nurturing corporeal spirit of pure rage and a punk rock token. Careful, Joan Jett. Don’t develop any feelings for those kids; you’ll hate yourself for loving them, because Mama is watching. And so are we.
Two orphans growing far from city cries
Found one day by their uncle, “surprise!”
With them comes their caretaker/wraith
Dammit, can’t find a good rhyme with “wraith.” Maybe something about “ye have little faith?” Naw. Screw it.
Rated PG-13, 100 Minutes
D: Andrés Muschietti
W: Neil Cross, Andrés Muschietti & Barbara Muschietti
Genre: Evil nurturer
Type of person most likely to enjoy this film: Joan Crawford
Type of person least likely to enjoy this film: Social service workers
