I stepped into Rumah Untuk Alie, intrigued by the promise of a heartfelt narrative, and for the most part, I walked away moved and sometimes a little frustrated. This Indonesian drama unfolds with a sincere, unfiltered gaze at a child’s world torn apart by grief and misplaced resentment. It’s a portrait of pain, yes, but also a testament to quiet determination and an exploration of how one child searches for acceptance in a home that has all but rejected her.
Anantya Rezky Kirana as Alie delivers a performance that anchors the entire film. She is the living pulse of the story; her eyes carry a world of weight that words could never capture. The restraint she shows as an actor elevates her role far beyond what’s written on the page. With every pause, lowered gaze, and hesitant step, she translates her character’s loneliness into something palpable. Her ability to evoke empathy is the film’s greatest strength and the reason the story resonates long after the credits roll.
The setup is stark: Alie, unfairly blamed for her mother’s death, is alienated not only at school but also at home, where her father and brothers treat her as an unwanted presence. The premise is potent and grim, but within that darkness, the film suggests a longing for tenderness that feels honest and compelling. Director Herwin Novianto avoids excessive sentimentality; he does not manipulate the audience into tears with artificial cues. Instead, he lets the story breathe through its silences and its quieter, more painful details.
Yet, in trying to pour all of Alie’s suffering onto the screen, the film occasionally overreaches. Some confrontations between Alie and her family slip into melodrama, performed with a theatrical edge that undercuts the subtlety the film otherwise handles so well. The cruelty from her brothers and father is often so sharp and one-dimensional that it risks losing credibility. As a viewer, I wanted moments of restraint, a flicker of hesitation, a crack in their hostility, something to show that they, too, are human and not merely obstacles in Alie’s path.
That, in fact, is the film’s biggest weakness: the portrayal of Alie’s tormentors. They are written as flat figures of anger and rejection, carrying resentment without much exploration of their own grief. With a more layered approach, the family could have been a complex mirror of how grief festers differently in each person. Instead, they often come across as plot devices designed solely to keep Alie in a state of despair. This lack of nuance occasionally cheapens the otherwise authentic emotional impact.
Still, the film succeeds in its exploration of weightier themes: familial blame, lingering grief, and the resilience of a child who cannot even name what she’s feeling. Alie’s quiet perseverance reflects how children often bear burdens too heavy to articulate, longing for forgiveness and belonging in a household that withholds it. The film does not provide easy answers, and that’s part of what makes it effective: it leaves you questioning the line between responsibility and cruelty, between forgiveness and indifference.
Several moments stand out with remarkable clarity. A school scene, in which Alie is asked to write about the difference between a “house” and a “home,” captures the entire essence of the story in a single, restrained gesture. The weight of her answer is devastating without being dramatic, and it lingers because of its simplicity. That moment reminded me that powerful storytelling often lives in the smallest details, not in loud emotional crescendos.
The technical craft of the film deserves praise. The cinematography frames Alie’s isolation with a delicate hand, lingering shots, muted color palettes, and soft lighting envelop the audience in her world without overexplaining it. The score supports this mood by subtly weaving itself into scenes rather than overpowering them. Together, the visual and auditory choices preserve the emotional balance, never letting the story collapse into sentimentality.
What impressed me most was how the film balances bleakness with glimmers of hope. It never feels indulgent in its sadness; instead, it portrays the survival of a girl who continues to imagine that she might one day find love and belonging. The film’s restraint in offering resolution is also notable. Rather than neatly tying up its threads, it leaves open space for reflection on forgiveness, on resilience, and on how children navigate wounds inflicted by those closest to them.
That said, the pacing is uneven. Some stretches feel like repetitions of earlier scenes, circling around Alie’s suffering without deepening our understanding. It occasionally left me longing for narrative progression for Alie to move, even symbolically, towards a different space. The final act also leaves the audience with more ambiguity than clarity. While I appreciate the open-endedness, the conclusion might frustrate those who were hoping for a tangible emotional breakthrough. The ambiguity works if you lean into it, but for some viewers, it may feel like the story ends just when a resolution is due.
Despite these imperfections, the film’s emotional core remains intact. It made me reflect on the invisible burdens children carry and the cruelty adults can enact when blinded by grief or bitterness. More importantly, it highlighted the small, silent gestures, rare glimpses of kindness that can mean everything to a child struggling to feel seen.
So here’s where I land: Rumah Untuk Alie is not flawless, but it doesn’t need to be. It is a quietly powerful family drama anchored by a luminous central performance and a director who understands that human stories don’t require excess. Its impact is uneven, yes, and its characters outside Alie could have been drawn with more complexity. But the film as a whole left me with more empathy than frustration. It lingers because it asks a question that doesn’t have a neat answer: what does it take for a child who has been so deeply hurt to still believe she belongs somewhere?
In the end, Rumah Untuk Alie is less about cinematic bravado and more about emotional truth. It doesn’t offer the satisfaction of catharsis, but it offers something else: a fragile, aching portrait of hope that persists even when everything else is lost. And for that alone, I’m glad I watched.
Final Score- [7.5/10]
Reviewed by - Anjali Sharma
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Publisher at Midgard Times