On a warm and sunny May bank holiday in 2003, I had one of those rare days that truly changes your life forever. I sat in my bathroom, hands shaking as two pink lines emerged on the pregnancy test I was holding.

I was 38, single and broke. This pregnancy was the result of a brief relationship which had only amounted to four dates. Shell-shocked as I was, I laughed out loud in a moment of joy I knew there was no coming back from. Nine months later I gave birth to my son Jim.

My old Nokia still holds the text thread of the three years I was in touch with Jim’s dad. My messages began “I had a great time last night”, and ended “Have you got the results yet?” He had requested a paternity test when Jim was two. A week later we both received the results. The probability that he was Jim’s biological dad was 99.99%. This news prompted a final reply from Jim’s dad: “Yes, I got the results … I’m moving to Spain.”

We didn’t hear from him again for over a decade. Unable to combine motherhood with my previous career as a TV director, I quit my job overnight. I got a job teaching filmmaking and was out of the film industry for over a decade.

I began filming my son Jim as he grew up. I recorded hundreds of hours of footage, capturing each twist and turn in Jim’s life, from the thumbs-up he gave me during my first scan, to his first day at college.

Jim is 21 now. Filmed over 20 years, my feature documentary Motherboard charts the highs and lows of solo motherhood. It explores how Jim and I navigated him meeting his dad for the first time at 13, closely followed by my breast cancer diagnosis and Jim’s party-hard late teens, when tempers frayed and doors slammed.

When I was making Motherboard I burnt through any books, films and TV that I could find, exploring solo motherhood. Many repeated the same old tabloid cliches and movie tropes of single mums. They were victims or martyrs, their only moment of joy watching the sun set over their estate before the bailiffs turned up.

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In I’ll Show Myself Out: Essays on Midlife and Motherhood (2022), author and comic Jessi Klein writes that: “Motherhood as a story, is so infrequently told, because the world tells us that what mothers do is unremarkable and unimportant.” She goes on to explore the structure of the hero’s epic journey in Hollywood blockbusters, in which the (usually male) hero embarks on a quest and returns home transformed.

Klein turns this formula on its head. “Motherhood is a hero’s journey, it’s not a journey outwards to the most fantastic, farest-flung places, but a journey inwards, downwards to the deepest parts of your strength.”

My own film, Motherboard, and several of the films that inspired me, follow the trope of the hero’s journey. But the key difference is that the director is often the hero and the author of her own story. The following films and TV series capture the pain, happiness, chaos and comedy of the hero’s journey that is motherhood.

1. Lollipop (2024)

Director Daisy-May Hudson recently developed her own experiences of being homeless with her mum and younger sister into her feature drama debut. Lollipop tells the story of Molly, a young single mum who loses custody of her kids after a short stay in prison. The joy of the film is that it’s the polar opposite to the broken single mums we see in Ken Loach’s Ladybird, Ladybird (1994) and Cathy Come Home (1966).

In Hudson’s entirely female cast, Molly and her best mate Amina are fierce single mums who transform the obstacles they face into laugh-out-loud moments of comedy. These are single mums that are flawed, impulsive, powerful, funny and, most importantly, believable.

2. Better Things (2016)

Better Things is a TV series, written by and starring Pamela Adlon, based on her own experiences of being a single mum to her three teenage daughters in LA. There’s a great scene in the final series where Adlon’s character, Sam, is being examined by her doctor who asks her if she’s stressed out because she has “too many errands to run”.

She replies:

“No, no. Errands are, like, groceries and going to the post office, it’s the real mum stuff … Soccer club sign-ups and dance classes and tutors and tuition payments and parent-teacher conferences and schools and camps that I have to get them into, mean girl issues with my youngest at school and birth control with my oldest and cruelty from my middle daughter. And then there’s my own mom, who is driving me nuts … And I am definitely going through menopause. So, yeah, Dr. Babu, it’s, like – it’s a lot.”

3. Boyhood (2014)

Richard Linklater’s Boyhood often comes up when critics are reviewing Motherboard. It’s a film I love. Filmed over a decade, it depicts the childhood and adolescence of Mason Evans (played by Ellar Coltrane).

“I always described it as a film about growing up”, Linklater told the Guardian, “But it’s also a film about parenting”. Linklater was probably the first director I encountered whose character of a single mum (played by Patricia Arquette) felt real to me.

Patronising empowerment

I listened to a podcast recently in which Adlon challenged the words that are often used to describe Better Things. “Brave”, “raw” and “vulnerable” come up constantly.

Critics and audiences often tell me that I’m brave. It can feel condescending. I’ve never heard the word attributed to Linklater’s Boyhood. What sets myself and Adlon apart from Linklater, is that we are both single mothers ourselves.

As politicians continue to obsess over the recent statistic that “more boys have smartphones than dads”, families with absent fathers will continue to be seen as tragic and flawed. But single mothers are not a problem to be solved. Lollipop, Better Things and Motherboard are all proof of Klein’s belief that “a mother’s heroic journey is not about how she leaves … but about how she stays”.

French director Jacques Audiard’s “Emilia Pérez” first made waves among critics at the Cannes Film Festival in May 2024, when it won multiple awards. It went on to receive 10 Golden Globe nominations, winning four, including best musical or comedy.

“It is so beautiful to see a movie that is cinema,” gushed Mexican director Guillermo del Toro. Another Mexican filmmaker, Issa López, who directed “True Detective: Night Country,” called it a “masterpiece,” adding that Audiard portrayed issues of gender and violence in Latin America “better than any Mexican facing this issue at this time.”

The film is a musical about a Mexican drug lord named Manitas del Monte, played by trans actress Karla Sofía Gascón. Del Monte hires a lawyer to facilitate her long-awaited gender transition. After her surgery, she fakes her death with her lawyer’s help and sends her wife, Jessi, played by Selena Gómez, and their children to Switzerland. Four years later, Manitas – now known as Emilia Pérez – tries to reunite with her family by posing as Manitas’ distant cousin.

So why is it bombing among Mexican moviegoers?

Modest research into a ‘modest’ language

As a scholar of gender and sexuality in Latin America, I study LGBTQ+ representation in media, particularly in Mexico. So it’s been interesting to follow the negative reaction to a film that critics claim has broken new ground in exploring themes of gender, sexuality and violence in Mexico.

Many of the film’s perceived errors seem self-inflicted.

Audiard admitted that he didn’t do much research on Mexico before and during the filming process. And even though he doesn’t speak Spanish, he chose to use a Spanish script and film the movie in Spanish.

The director told French media outlet Konbini that he chose to make the film in Spanish because it is a language “of modest countries, developing countries, of poor people and migrants.”

Not surprisingly, an early critique of the film centered on its Spanish: It uses some Mexican slang words, but they’re spoken in ways that sound unnatural to native speakers. Then there’s the film’s overreliance on clichés that border on racism, perhaps most egregiously when Emilia’s child sings that she smells of “mezcal and guacamole.”

Of course, an artist need not belong to a culture in order to depict or explore it in their work. Filmmakers like Sergei Eisenstein and Luis Buñuel became renowned figures in Mexican cinema despite being born in Latvia and Spain, respectively.

When choosing to explore sensitive topics, however, it is important to take into account the perspective of those being portrayed, both for accuracy’s sake and as a form of respect. Take Martin Scorsese’s “Killers of the Flower Moon.” The director collaborated with members of the Osage nation to further the film’s historical and cultural accuracy.

Glossing over the nuance

“Emilia Pérez” centers on how violence stems from the corruption prevalent in Mexico. Multiple musical numbers denounce the collusion between authorities and criminals.

This is certainly true. But to many Mexicans, it feels like an oversimplification of the issue.

The film fails to acknowledge the confluence of factors behind the country’s violence, such as U.S. demand for illegal drugs stemming from its opioid crisis, or the role that American guns play in Mexico’s violence.

Professor and journalist Oswaldo Zavala, who has written extensively about Mexican cartels, argues that the film perpetuates the idea that Latin American countries are solely to blame for the violence of drug trafficking. Furthermore, Zavala contends that this perspective reinforces the narrative that the U.S.-Mexico border needs to be militarized.

The musical features few male characters; the ones who do appear are invariably violent, and this includes Manitas before undergoing their transition. The cruelty of Manitas contrasts with Emilia’s kindness: She helps the “madres buscadoras,” which are the Mexican collectives made up of mothers searching for missing loved ones presumed to be kidnapped or killed by organized crime. One of these collectives, Colectivo de Víctimas del 10 de Marzo, criticized the film for depicting groups like theirs as recipients of money from organized crime and beneficiaries of luxurious galas attended by politicians and celebrities.

The group’s leader, Delia Quiroa, announced that the group would send a letter to the academy to express its condemnation of the film.

Backlash on multiple fronts

These political and cultural blind spots have spurred a backlash among Mexican moviegoers.

When the movie premiered in Mexico in January 2025, it bombed at the box office, with some viewers demanding refunds. Mexico’s Federal Consumer Protection Agency had to intervene after the movie chain Cinépolis refused to honor its satisfaction-guarantee policy.

Mexican writer Jorge Volpi called the movie “one of the crudest and most deceitful films of the 21st century.”

Trans content creator Camila Aurora playfully parodied “Emilia Pérez” in her short film “Johanne Sacrebleu.” In scenes filled with stereotypical French symbols such as croissants and berets, it tells the story of an heiress who falls in love with a member of her family’s business rivals.

While some viewers have nonetheless praised “Emilia Pérez” for its nuanced portrayal of trans women and the casting of a trans actress, the LGBTQ advocacy group GLAAD described it as “a step backward for trans representation.”

One point of contention is the musical number Emilia sings, “medio ella, medio él,” or “half she, half he,” which insinuates that trans people are stuck between two genders. The movie also seems to portray the character’s transition as a tool for deception.

A social media viper pit

Meanwhile, Gascón’s historic nominations as the first trans actress recognized by the Oscars and other awards have been overshadowed by her controversial statements.

She made headlines when she accused associates of Brazilian actress Fernanda Torres of disparaging her work. Torres is also an Oscar nominee for best actress.

The latest controversy began in late January 2025 when Gascón’s old social media posts resurfaced. The now-deleted messages included attacks on Muslims in Spain and a post calling co-star Selena Gómez a “rich rat,” which Gascón has denied writing.

“Emilia Pérez” is limping into the Oscars. Netflix and Audiard have distanced themselves from Gascón to try to preserve the film’s prospects at the annual Academy Awards ceremony.

It could be too little too late.

How can universities build better relationships with the communities around them? Academia is increasingly considering this question. And finding innovative ways to demonstrate value and connect with wider society.

This was on my mind when I learnt about a fascinating collaboration between the police and aspiring, young filmmakers at the University of Sunderland, which shows the power of research as a tool for public good.

I work for Universal Impact, The Conversation’s commercial subsidiary, and we recently travelled to the northeast to give a training course to University of Sunderland researchers on how to identify, and communicate with, different audiences for their work.

Whenever we work with academics, I’m reminded of the quality and diversity of research taking place all around us – stretching, in this case, from preventing liver damage to boosting performance in modern pentathlon.

After the course, we built on the training with a mentoring programme for a group of researchers including Adelle Hulsmeier, who leads the university’s screen performance BA programme.

I’m a bit of a movie buff. So I was interested to learn about the unique initiative Adelle runs, bringing together young people and police around an unexpected common ground – film.

Here’s how it works. Northumberland Police suggests themes, students make short films inspired by those themes, and the films are then used as education and training resources.

Like many of my favourite directors, Adelle believes it’s possible to address some of the most pressing social issues through storytelling.

A new approach

The project comes as public trust in the police is in decline, particularly among members of Gen Z (broadly, those born between 1996 and 2010).

Children and young people are also disproportionately affected by crime, often as victims of the most serious offences. But these films offer an opportunity to change the narrative.

And as the Labour government is proposing “respect orders” to address the UK’s 6.7 million annual offences — which cost taxpayers £58.9 billion in 2023-24 — this novel approach seems particularly timely.

Over the past 11 years, more than 1,000 students have worked on at least 50 films, covering topics such as sexual exploitation, domestic violence, male rape and “county lines” drugs trafficking.

The films’ influence extends far beyond the university. They have been integrated into training programmes for police officers, healthcare workers, teachers and other professionals.

Community engagement

The collaboration was born of a desire to make issues of crime and policing widely accessible, with Adelle striving to bridge the gap between academic learning and societal impact.

In 2019, the project received the Collaborative Award for Teaching Excellence from Advance Higher Education, recognising the initiative’s outstanding contribution to education and community engagement.

The programme has also been praised by former Labour MP and Victims’ Commissioner Dame Vera Baird, who described the films as an effective way for the police to “transmit messages in a way that we cannot”.

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Meanwhile, the project is also an opportunity for students to develop critical skills and gain invaluable industry experience.

By empowering students to tackle real world social issues, the University of Sunderland is not only preparing them for the future but also helping to shape a safer, more empathetic world.

This partnership is a testament to the mutual benefits that come from universities and public sector organisations working collectively towards common goals that support their local communities.

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At Universal Impact, we offer specialist training, mentoring and research communication services – donating profits back to The Conversation, our parent charity. If you’re a researcher or research institution and you’re interested in working together, please get in touch – or subscribe to our weekly newsletter to find out more.