Watching A Letter to My Youth felt like stepping into a small, contained world that slowly reveals its emotional weight. This Indonesian Netflix original, directed by Sim F., is a restrained drama that focuses less on spectacle and more on the slow, careful process of healing. It tells a familiar story in broad terms — two wounded people finding connection, but what makes it engaging is the sincerity of its execution and the patience it shows in letting its characters grow. By the time the film ended, I felt that I had spent meaningful time with these people, even when the pacing occasionally tested my attention.
The story centers on Kefas, a teenage boy living in an orphanage, whose reputation is built around defiance, anger, and constant troublemaking. He steals, skips chores, and pushes every adult figure away before they get close enough to disappoint him. Opposite him is Simon, a quiet, emotionally guarded caretaker who has recently joined the orphanage staff. He approaches his job with discipline and distance, clearly carrying his own unresolved pain. Their early interactions are built on conflict, with Kefas testing Simon’s limits and Simon struggling to respond without falling back into emotional withdrawal. This friction becomes the engine of the film, driving not just the plot but also its emotional rhythm.
What stands out most is how carefully the movie handles this relationship. It avoids easy shortcuts and lets the bond form gradually, through small gestures and shared silences rather than dramatic confrontations. There is a strong sense of restraint in the writing, which suits the characters. Instead of heavy dialogue explaining their trauma, the film allows body language, facial expressions, and pauses to do much of the work. This gives the performances room to breathe, particularly from Theo Camillo Taslim as Kefas and Agus Wibowo as Simon. Taslim captures the volatile mix of fear, anger, and longing that defines Kefas, making him sympathetic without softening his rough edges. Wibowo, meanwhile, brings quiet depth to Simon, conveying emotional fatigue and guarded kindness with minimal theatrics.
The orphanage setting plays a significant role in shaping the tone. It is not romanticized, nor is it presented as bleak misery. Instead, it feels lived-in and imperfect, filled with small routines, everyday noise, and emotional undercurrents. The presence of other children adds texture to the story, offering moments of warmth, humor, and occasional chaos. These side characters never overshadow the central relationship, but they provide a fuller sense of community and belonging, reinforcing the idea that healing often happens collectively rather than in isolation.
Cinematography is another strength. The film favors soft lighting, natural colors, and unhurried camera movement, creating a visual language that matches its emotional pace. There is a sense of calm observation in how scenes are framed, allowing viewers to sit with the characters rather than rush them toward narrative milestones. The camera often lingers just long enough to let emotion settle, whether it’s in the quiet of an empty hallway, the subdued energy of shared meals, or the stillness of late-night conversations. The soundtrack supports this approach, using gentle, understated music that enhances rather than dictates emotional response.
The film also benefits from its thematic clarity. At its core, A Letter to My Youth explores how unresolved childhood pain can shape adult behavior, and how understanding, patience, and shared vulnerability can interrupt that cycle. The title itself becomes meaningful as the story progresses, reflecting on the idea of writing to one’s younger self, offering the compassion and guidance that were missing at crucial moments. This concept is woven into the narrative without feeling forced, allowing the message to emerge naturally through character development rather than explicit moralizing.
That said, the movie is not without its flaws. The most noticeable issue is its pacing, which, while often effective, occasionally drifts into sluggishness. At just over two hours, the runtime feels slightly excessive, particularly in the middle section where emotional beats begin to repeat themselves. Several scenes convey similar information about Kefas’s emotional state, and while this reinforces his internal struggle, it could have been achieved more economically. Trimming a few moments might have tightened the overall flow without sacrificing depth.
There is also a degree of predictability in how the story unfolds. From early on, it is clear that conflict will soften into understanding, and that both characters will experience some form of emotional breakthrough. While this does not undermine the emotional impact, it does limit the element of surprise. Viewers familiar with character-driven dramas may find certain plot turns easy to anticipate, particularly in the film’s final act. The resolution, while heartfelt, leans toward emotional comfort rather than narrative risk, opting for reassurance instead of complexity.
Another minor limitation lies in the development of some supporting characters. Although the other children in the orphanage add warmth and realism, a few of them feel more like narrative devices than fully realized individuals. Their backstories and emotional arcs are hinted at but not deeply explored, which sometimes makes their moments of crisis or joy feel slightly underdeveloped. Expanding these roles could have enriched the emotional tapestry of the film, adding more layers to the central theme of collective healing.
Despite these issues, the film's emotional honesty consistently pulls it back into compelling territory. One particularly effective sequence involves Kefas confronting fragments of his past, where the film allows silence, restrained acting, and visual storytelling to carry the weight of the moment. These scenes demonstrate the director’s confidence in subtlety, trusting the audience to connect the emotional dots without overt explanation.
Ultimately, A Letter to My Youth succeeds because it understands the power of patience. It does not rush emotional growth or force dramatic peaks. Instead, it allows change to occur slowly, in believable increments. The evolving dynamic between Kefas and Simon feels earned, rooted in shared vulnerability rather than sudden emotional shifts. Their relationship becomes less about mentorship and more about mutual recognition, which gives the story a refreshing sense of emotional equality.
By the time the final scenes arrive, the film has built a quiet resonance that lingers beyond its closing moments. It may not reinvent the genre, but it handles its familiar elements with care, sincerity, and technical skill. For viewers willing to embrace a slower pace and emotionally grounded storytelling, A Letter to My Youth offers a thoughtful, tender experience that stays with you, not through dramatic spectacle, but through small, honest moments of connection.
Final Score- [8/10]
Reviewed by - Anjali Sharma
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Publisher at Midgard Times