«Moon» Review: A Mirage of Luxury and Control (MUBI)

Luxury and comfort can be seductive — even disarming — for a while. But once it becomes clear that they’re masking something more sinister, the revelation can hit hard. That’s precisely what happens to Sarah (Florentina Holzinger), a retired mixed martial arts fighter trying to find her footing after a punishing defeat — the one that opens the film. With her career on the ropes, and few students to keep her afloat, Sarah is facing the quiet extinction of her profession.

Then comes an unexpected offer — not unlike a retired footballer being courted by a Saudi club. She’s invited to Jordan for a month to train three sisters in MMA, at the request of their brother. It’s a sharp left turn in her life, but Sarah doesn’t have many options, so she accepts. From the start, everything feels surreal: she’s placed in a luxury hotel with all expenses covered, chauffeured daily in a sleek high-end car to the family’s remote palace. But once she arrives, things start to feel… off.

First, there’s the NDA (Non-Disclosure Agreement) she’s required to sign, forbidding her from speaking about anything she sees or experiences in the house. Her phone is confiscated, there’s no wi-fi, and communication with the outside world is cut off. The three sisters she’s meant to train are wealthy, aloof, and seemingly uninterested in learning. But Sarah, stranded and dependent, has no choice but to press on. Slowly, she begins to sense that there’s more to this household than meets the eye — and what begins as mild discomfort soon escalates into simmering tension and outright menace.

Moon, the new film by Sonne director Kurdwin Ayub, allows these unsettling vibes to simmer rather than explode, at least until its final act. As viewers, we start to pick up on things before Sarah does. Part of that is perspective: the film offers subtitles when characters speak Arabic, but Sarah is excluded from those conversations. As she enjoys brief bursts of pleasure — alcohol, hotel flirtations, dreams of escape — she remains unaware of the full extent of the danger. There are hints everywhere: the aggressive, musclebound bodyguards, the sisters’ odd dynamics, the men lurking on the periphery. But the reckoning comes, eventually. And when it does, it’s no longer possible to pretend everything’s fine. As The Clash once put it, the only question left is whether to stay or go.

Moon unfolds as a taut, quietly disturbing exploration of cultural dissonance, gender dynamics, and the illusion of choice. Sarah, a Westerner indulging in small rebellions — drinking, flirting, seeking nightlife — is continually confronted with invisible boundaries she doesn’t fully understand. Misogyny, surveillance, and control simmer beneath the surface, but Ayub resists the urge to turn this into a conventional thriller. Instead of shocking twists and explicit violence, the film leans into ambiguity and restraint. That choice may strike some as too subdued, but it’s what gives Moon its uneasy power. When the film ends, you may not know exactly how to feel. Neither does Sarah.