Earth Mama Programme Notes

 

‘Do you want to feel? Do you feel that?’ She lets her son press a hand against her bump, before pulling out two mood rings, still in their packaging with the plastic pulled taut; one for her daughter, one for him. This way, she’ll always know how they feel —wherever they are.  

Writer/director Savanah Leaf’s debut feature Earth Mama unpacks the struggles of poor, Black mothers in a system designed for their failure. In San Francisco’s Bay Area, pregnant single mother Gia (Tia Nomore) is closely monitored by authorities, with two children currently in foster care. It’s a poetic and poignant watch that firmly establishes Leaf as an emerging talent of a defiant compassion and unrelenting brilliance. 

Cinema is not unaccustomed to narratives of young pregnancy or parenthood - Juno (2007) and Precious (2009) remain contemporary classics, a canon Earth Mama undeniably joins — but Leaf also builds on her own work. Short documentary The Heart Still Hums (2020), co-directed by Leaf and actor Taylor Russell, explores the struggles of several mothers navigating poverty and addiction, while an unforgiving care system looms at large. Leaf’s younger sister — adopted at birth after testing positive for methamphetamine — features throughout, voicing her thoughts on adoption and childhood while happily sprawled by a river bank.

Taking such narratives under a fictional lens is no mean feat, an achievement Nomore undeniably contributes to. In her debut feature, hip-hop artist Nomore astounds. This pregnancy is hard, this motherhood is hard, and, in quiet moments of resilience, Nomore carries this difficulty with a grace which does not diminish. Oftentimes, Gia is stubborn; but Nomore captures each pushback — a frustrated look away, a non-committal shrug — with a subtle empathy. Her performance is exacting and generous; Leaf’s bold casting delivers. 

Filmed in 16mm with starkly little coverage, each scene is made up of minimal, focused shots. In this simplicity, there’s an intimacy. Gia’s face fills the screen — a little sweaty, framed by flyaway edges. It is, after all, only Gia who carries this weight in its entirety. Despite such difficulty, Leaf chooses a visual softness in the earthy tones and pink hues, a reminder that there is beauty here, and there is love. In different hands, such tenderness may slip into romanticisation; but Leaf’s grip on this story ensures that the raw edges remain exposed, just enough. 

Leaf evidently has an interest in how family life — however fractured — is captured on film; and, as such, it’s fitting that Gia works in a portrait shop, often frequented by new and expecting families. But proximity to the idyllic is not the idyllic itself. There are no photoshoots for Gia; no family portraits upon painted pastel skies. It is painful to witness her capture lives on film that are so distant from her current reality.  

Despite Gia’s hardships, the narrative unfolds without plot twists — Earth Mama is not looking for shock factor. Instead, Leaf opts for a slowness that allows for a greater depth of emotion. Particularly, Gia’s addiction is handled with a precise care, mentioned only briefly until she relapses. Drug use doesn’t define Gia or her narrative — and Earth Mama knows this. 

As she lies alone in surgery post-labour, the cries of her newborn celebrated by unknown medical staff, Gia clutches the umbilical cord, hopelessly, desperately. Leaf’s direction is acute, and painfully so. For Gia, there is only this severed physical connection — and it is far from enough. Although Earth Mama doesn’t infantilize Gia, it certainly leaves us hoping for someone to mother her and to hold her.  

It takes a village to raise a child but, try as it might, Gia’s community has its own issues, with further peripheral instances of drug use and poverty. Support worker Miss Carmen (Erika Alexander) tries her best, guiding both Gia and the narrative, bringing a prospective family into frame. All deep relaxation and thoughtful pauses, Miss Carmen offers much needed stability and support. Indeed, at times, Gia views her as a classic, all too clinical authority figure — no care, all responsibility. But Leaf is a filmmaker keen to avoid easy and common characterisations. Miss Carmen’s grief and anger is palpable as she sits by Gia’s hospital bed in the wake of an irreversible decision. Here, service provision is not detached or unfeeling; Miss Carmen cares.  

Simultaneously, Earth Mama does not shy away from the weighty controversy of adoption itself. 'They try to take our culture, they try to take our freedom, and you know they’ll try to take our babies too,' says Trina (Doechii), Gia’s close friend. For Trina, keeping one’s child is both an act of faith and rebellion. But it is such a lot to carry one’s history — violent and ongoing — and Gia simply doesn’t have time to consider it. Engaging with the wrought complexities of Blackness and adoption in the USA, Leaf displays commitment to ambiguous truths — however heavy. 

Beyond waiting rooms and California motorways, nature provides an escape. Gia closes her eyes, re-opens, and the concrete upon concrete is replaced with red oaks, unending and strong in their quiet. Later, she sees herself walking amongst the forest, each tree trunk holding her and her stomach within the frame for just one second of safety. But Leaf is sure not to present nature as an antidote for systemic state oppression and neglect. While the film’s end sees Gia appear in court to request unsupervised time with her children — a small step in the journey towards full custody — it also sees her newborn baby adopted, following a relapse during pregnancy. Nature can heal us and hold us; but, as the credits roll upon Gia swimming in a sunset-speckled late, it is clear that there are structures and systems that bear stronger. 

A slow and tender film, Earth Mama establishes Savannah Leaf as a distinctly assured and empathetic filmmaker. Its unfaltering, strenuous love will stay with audiences for some time. 

4 December 2023