Foreigner is more than a promising debut—it’s an intimate one. Safai wanted to see herself on screen, and in doing so, she has created a mirror for countless others. Whether you were a teenager in 2005 or a tween navigating TikTok culture today, the film’s exploration of belonging and identity resonates deeply. Beneath the horror and Y2K gloss lies a truth many know all too well: blending in can feel like survival, but it often comes at the cost of losing parts of who you are.

“With Die Blonde, fitting in with your friends is as easy as 1-2-3.”

It’s 2005, and Yasamin Karimi (Rose Dehgan) has just arrived in a quiet town in British Columbia, leaving Iran behind for what she and her family hope will be a fresh start. At 15, she’s desperate to blend in with her classmates; she wants to be more Canadian, less Iranian, and less of anything.

No one commands more attention than Rachel Stanford (Chloe Macleod), the school’s perfectly polished queen bee (accompanied by two minions (Talisa Mae Stewart and Cassie Collis) who are almost indistinguishable copies of herself ). Soon, Yasamin begins changing everything—from her wardrobe to her hair, switching from speaking Farsi to favoring English, even refusing to bring homemade food to school—determined to erase anything that might mark her as different, convinced this is the only way the other kids will accept her.

But the more she distances herself from her Iranian roots, the more she awakens a dark, ancient force—one that grows stronger the harder she tries to bury her true identity.

Ava Maria Safai’s Foreigner—originally pitched as Mean Girls (2004) meets The Exorcist (1973)—is a bold debut from a writer-director-producer-editor (honestly, I have to say Safai’s work on this film is nothing short of impressive—wearing so many hats and delivering on all fronts is incredible) with a clear vision. She describes the film as one made for tweens, specifically teenage girls just dipping their toes into horror for the first time, but it carries an emotional resonance that spans generations (you can relate to this film no matter how old you are or what your background is, because at some point, everyone tries to brush off a part of themselves to blend in and be accepted by others).

Imagine Mean Girls (2004) meets Smile (2022) and Carrie (1976). Yes, it’s pink, glossy, and Y2K-coded, but there’s a slow, creeping darkness beneath the surface. Safai uses horror not for jump scares (though there are a few) but as a metaphor for the psychological effects of assimilation, cultural erasure, and intergenerational trauma.

The supernatural element in Foreigner is less about a literal monster and more about the way shame can feel alive—feeding on self-denial, swelling as Yasamin chips away at the parts of herself that don’t fit in. Her Iranian heritage is not just a detail; it’s the foundation of the story, a connection she keeps trying to break free from until it pulls back with terrifying force.

One of the film’s strengths lies in how deeply it immerses you in the early 2000s, making the era’s bubblegum pop culture feel less like a backdrop and more like an integral part of the story. From “Blondes Have More Fun” magazine covers to the ubiquitous low-rise jeans, Foreigner nails a time obsessed with impossible beauty standards. Rachel and her clique resemble glossy, mass-produced dolls—too perfect, almost robotic—making the pressure to conform feel all the more chilling.

It’s (sadly) no surprise that Yasamin is drawn to this “ideal.” Everything shifts when she discovers “Die Blonde,” a box of hair dye promising that fitting in is as simple as 1-2-3. Rachel’s assurance that blonde hair “will look beautiful with your complexion” carries the weight of both a compliment and a subtle erasure. The transformation scene is quietly unsettling and grounded, exposing the slow, painful process of losing oneself.

Safai doesn’t just linger on high school drama. Some of the most moving moments come from Yasamin’s interactions with her grandmother, who speaks in gentle Farsi and carries the weight of their family’s history. These scenes are warm, textured, and grounding—a reminder of what Yasamin risks losing in her desperate pursuit of social acceptance. The horror works because the stakes aren’t about life or death—they’re about identity.

Thematically, Foreigner is razor-sharp. It asks: How do you fit in when everything about you stands out? The answer—according to Canadian teen culture circa 2005—is to bleach, straighten, and silence yourself until you’re indistinguishable from the crowd. But Safai makes it clear this pressure is universal, especially for girls of color growing up in predominantly white spaces. The deeper Yasamin assimilates, the more she loses control—not just of her identity but of her own body, as the supernatural force tightens its grip.

What makes the film even more impressive is that everyone delivers an incredible performance, especially considering many cast members are either non-actors or appearing in their first or second roles. This raw authenticity adds a powerful layer of sincerity that resonates beyond the screen.

Moreover, Foreigner perfectly blends the glossy, bubblegum aesthetics of the early 2000s with a creeping, atmospheric horror that unsettles just beneath the surface. The film captures the era’s obsession with image and conformity yet subverts it through the slow-building dread and emotional weight of its narrative—making it a unique hybrid of nostalgic Y2K style and haunting psychological horror.

If I have one note, it’s that I wasn’t the biggest fan of the VFX. While serviceable, the digital effects lack the tactile, visceral punch that practical effects might have delivered. Ironically, Safai seems to agree—there’s a sense she knows this story would thrive even more with physical, in-camera horror moments to match its grounded emotional core. Given her talent, I wouldn’t be surprised if her next project leans more into practical effects.

Despite its darker undercurrents, Foreigner remains quietly compassionate. Safai wanted to make a horror movie for tweens, and you can feel that in how she balances tension with moments of sweetness. For many young viewers, their first encounter with horror is also a first step toward catharsis—seeing fears and insecurities made visible, then confronted. There’s something deeply empowering in recognizing the monster for what it really is.

The film’s ending is both hopeful and bittersweet. Yasamin returns to her roots, embracing what feels most authentic—even if it means facing exclusion, as no one at school wants to talk to her anymore. She also becomes a Canadian citizen, symbolizing a complex new identity that bridges her past and present. In a quietly powerful moment, she shares a knowing glance with another girl clearly navigating a similar path of belonging and self-acceptance. This nuanced conclusion underscores that identity is ongoing, complicated, and deeply personal.

Foreigner is more than a promising debut—it’s an intimate one. Safai wanted to see herself on screen, and in doing so, she has created a mirror for countless others. Whether you were a teenager in 2005 or a tween navigating TikTok culture today, the film’s exploration of belonging and identity resonates deeply. Beneath the horror and Y2K gloss lies a truth many know all too well: blending in can feel like survival, but it often comes at the cost of losing parts of who you are.

Grade: B+

Oscar Prospects:
Likely:  None
Should be Considered: None

Where to Watch: TBA