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Ah Girl synopsis: “Singapore, 1994. Ah Girl is a curious 7-year-old girl. Since her parents separated, she lives in a small flat with her younger sister, Ah Tian, her easygoing Pa who works nightshifts, and her irritable Grandmother. They see their needy and unreliable Mum on weekends. One weekend, drunk Mum asks if Ah Girl wants to live with her when she gets a bigger flat. This question disrupts Ah Girl’s sense of the world, and the rest of the film unfolds as she struggles with the decision. She becomes increasingly aware that her family life is far from normal.”

Being a big sister is a responsibility that doesn’t get enough credit. It’s also a responsibility the girls who receive the title don’t ask for. But the best big sisters embrace being a guiding light for their younger siblings, protecting them when they need it and pushing them to build confidence. The best example of this in film this year is Ah Girl, from writer-director Ang Geck Geck Priscilla. It shows just how resilient young girls are, especially in a broken home. Filled with truly stunning performances, Ah Girl is easily the year’s most charming and tearful slice of life.

It’s 1994 Singapore, and Ah Girl (Ong Xuan Jing) is like most seven-year-old girls around her. She likes having her hair long and talking about spiders with a boy she has a crush on. But beneath the surface, a little girl is dealing with truths she shouldn’t have to, and adults lie a lot. Her life isn’t easy: she looks out for her little sister, Ah Tian (Sydney Wong), while her father, Ah Pa (James Seah), works nights and her grandmother, Ah Ma (Doreen Toh), lives with declining health. Their situation isn’t ideal: Ah Girl and Ah Tian’s mother, Mummy (Carrie Wong), live in a small apartment with her new boyfriend, Uncle Sam (Benjamin Heng). The family isn’t wealthy, and as their day-to-day life shifts, Ah Girl confronts the adults in her life about how unfair it is for children growing up in chaos.

For the entirety of Ah Girl’s runtime, I was either on the brink of tears or wiping them away as they flowed. This tugs at my big-sister heartstrings; Ang has crafted a film that shows the depths of a sisterly bond in their most fragile moments. The film’s main conflict erupts when Ah Pa decides that to ease their financial stress, Ah Tian will be adopted out to a couple close to the family. Ang shows how stern Ah Pa is in making this choice; he sees no reason to ask anyone’s permission, especially Ah Girl’s. I sobbed along with Ah Girl as she begs and pleads with her father; it’s a moving moment in the film that stays with you throughout. It reflects Ang’s control of the film’s tone; there are pure moments of joy between these sisters that make their separation a painful scene to endure. Anyone who has had to suck it up as a big sister for the sake of your younger siblings’ well-being will appreciate Ang’s graceful execution.

Throughout Ah Girl, the family’s dysfunction and dynamics show children navigating life in two homes. They move from their somewhat permanent apartment with their grandmother and father, where they have few toys, to the bare apartment of their mother and uncle, with no trace of their presence. It also shows the toll constant stress has on someone like Ah Girl, who learns she has no freedom unless she makes her own future. Ang shows how little the sisters have over themselves, down to the boyish haircuts forced on them. With a rotating roster of girlfriends entering their father’s life, and the unpredictable nature of their mother’s presence, these two have to grow up in a world that sees them more as an obstacle than a cherished loved one. But the film isn’t just doom and gloom; it also offers beautifully constructed scenes of Ah Girl finding her own voice and interests.

Each performance is perfectly cast, but Ah Girl and her little sister Ah Tian truly make the film. As an older sister, Ah Girl looks out for her sister, but Jing’s performance exudes the small-but-mighty persona her character has. She comes up with many mischievous ways to hide her little sister from being taken, and Jing’s headstrong yet delicate performance makes us root for her even when she makes dangerous choices for a child. Audiences will have no choice but to cheer her on as she fights for her own freedom. Wong as Ah Tian amplifies the emotional stakes, and her bubbly personality shines as the youngest of the pair. Ang crafted two little girls who reflect the harsh reality of low-income households and the disconnect that occurs in broken homes. Jing and Wong bring so much to the film, especially with Ang’s spectacular writing.

Ang handles a family that is anything but conventional. Yet she doesn’t ask the audience to judge them; instead, she asks them to empathize. We are placed in the shoes of a seven-year-old, seeing these moments from her perspective while already knowing that adults will lie to children. But we see directly what that does to a child: it instantly makes them lose trust. How it makes them question everything they are told going forward. Though we understand why adults in Ah Girl’s life withhold the harsh realities of their situations, it still makes us wonder whether telling the truth might be less harmful. Ang’s thoughtful writing carries a heartfelt optimism that pays off if viewers are willing to stay judgment-free

Needless to say, Ah Girl is a moving display of the power of sisterhood. It shows how impactful traumatic childhoods are, and how quickly little girls fight for autonomy. Performances that will knock your socks off, the film is an unconventional coming-of-age story and one of the year’s most compelling surprises.

Ah Girl had its North American premiere at the Toronto International Film Festival.

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