‘Magic Hour’ - Review
Magic Hour presents itself as a familiar story about midlife reinvention, but through the combined vision of director Jacqueline Christy and star Miriam Shor, it evolves into something far more nuanced — a gentle rebellion against narratives trying to establish guardrails around creativity.
Harriet (Miriam Shor) is a suburban New Jersey woman whose dormant filmmaking dreams have calcified into resignation, brought about by the passage of time. But when Harriet secretly enrolls in film school, forced to lie to her dismissive husband and distant teenage daughter, she does not experience a traditional, linear triumph over adversity. Jacqueline Christy’s feature debut is far more concerned with being genuine, ultimately offering a gentle meditation on creative community, the bravery of imperfection, and the credibility of leading through kindness rather than fear.
Christy draws from her own experience at NYU’s graduate film program, framing the film’s narrative with a lived-in authenticity. The film understands that Harriet is not necessarily a hero; she’s just someone who has been forced to spend her life apologizing for existing. Harriet’s self-doubt, her fear of failure, and her quiet desperation to prove she still has something to say, are exaggerated but honest reflections of Christy's own experiences pursuing her filmmaking dreams later in life. “She’s an externalization of all my doubts,” Christy admits in an interview with FilmSlop, “I wanted to show what it’s like to confront the voices that tell you it’s too late, your dream is too crazy, no one cares.”
In tandem with Christy’s vision and vulnerability, Miriam Shor brings Harriet to life by injecting pieces of herself into the role. Sharply contrasting with her most recent role as the intensely confident Diana Trout in Younger, Shor brings a raw vulnerability to Harriet that feels both personal and universal. Her Harriet moves through the world like someone who has forgotten the weight of her own body. That level of honesty that elevates moments where Harriet is able to reclaim her voice, particularly in a scene where she realizes her own creative surrender has become a mold for her daughter’s diminished ambitions. This quiet scene acknowledges the ways we unconsciously pass on our own fears and limitations to those we love. “It’s a wake-up call,” Shor reflects in an interview with FilmSlop. “She sees how her choices have shaped her daughter’s life, and it forces her to confront her own fears.”
Magic Hour rejects the “art at all costs” mentality that so many films about creativity glorify. Instead of glamorizing tyrannical auteurism, it highlights the idea that ambition can and should coexist with kindness. This ethos isn’t just embedded in the narrative; it’s fundamental to the creation of the film itself, ingrained within Christy’s approach to filmmaking, with both director and star describing a set built on collaboration and vulnerability.
Magic Hour references the elusive hour that photographers hunt for when the natural light attains perfection. It’s an apt metaphor for the film’s larger suggestion that moments of transformation aren’t bound by age or circumstance, but by our willingness to embrace imperfection and create through those moments anyway. Harriet’s most defining moment isn’t a climactic triumph: it’s a scene of her lying on a sidewalk for a student film, laughing through her embarrassment. Shor’s performance gives life to the film’s ethos: creation is an act of surrender.
To craft something meaningful, one must both pursue and embrace imperfection—whether that arises from mistakes or moments of vulnerability.
In a world that often equates cruelty with vision and confidence with competence, Magic Hour tenderly shows love to the artistic journey and the inevitable imperfections that arise along the way. In a society that prizes youth, this film reminds us that the deepest creative epiphanies often come not from the certainty of youth, but from the hard-won clarity that comes with understanding one’s voice.