Perayaan Mati Rasa (2025) Review: A Moving Indonesian Drama About Family, Grief, and Letting Go

 

Perayaan Mati Rasa | 2025 | 2h 5m
Genre: Drama / Music | Country: Indonesia
Directors: Umay Shahab, Reka Wijaya
Writers: Junisya Aurelita, Santy Diliana, Yusuf Jacka
Cast: Iqbaal Dhiafakhri Ramadhan, Umay Shahab, Unique Priscilla
IMDb: 6.9
My Rate: 9/10

Ian feels increasingly distant from his family because he believes he has failed to achieve what his younger brother has. But the deeper truth is that Ian is the one who keeps withdrawing because he has not yet reached the expectations he has set for himself. Then, loss reminds him of what family truly means.

Warning

Contains scenes of violence, strong language, alcohol, and smoking.

Sometimes life does not give us one problem at a time. It gives us several at once, until we no longer know which one to deal with first. Perayaan Mati Rasa (2025) understands that kind of exhaustion very well. It tells the story of Ian, a young man who is already struggling to prove himself, only to be hit by loss after loss until remaining strong starts to feel impossible.

Ian (Iqbaal Dhiafakhri Ramadhan) is trying to pursue his dream of becoming a musician. But the dream comes with another burden: his family's expectations. He constantly feels that his younger brother, Uta (Umay Shahab), is more successful and more capable of meeting those expectations. His father, a sailor who is rarely home, also makes Ian feel as though there is always an emotional distance between them.

Instead of getting closer to his family, Ian starts creating distance.

He spends more time with his friends, looking for auditions and opportunities to perform with their band, Midnight Serenade. But even that dream is uncertain. Their performances have not really brought them the success they hope for, and the fear of failing is always there.

Then one night, everything gets worse.

Their performance ends in chaos, and unfortunately, Ian's father is there to see it. He tries to calm Ian down and talk to him, but Ian sees his father's words as another form of pressure. He feels misunderstood rather than supported.

A cold war begins between them.

Even after his father apologizes through a voice message, the conflict remains unresolved. Before they can properly talk things through, his father has to return to sea.

And then life starts attacking Ian from every direction.

The band's audition fails again. His mother suddenly suffers a heart attack and needs surgery. Then Ian receives devastating news: the ship captained by his father has sunk in a storm.

One problem becomes another, and another.

Ian has no real time to process any of it. With his mother still recovering, he and Uta decide to hide their father's death from her. The brothers have to work together to protect their mother while carrying their own grief at the same time.

Ironically, that shared secret becomes the beginning of something they had lost for a long time: their relationship as brothers slowly starts getting better.

But just when they begin to find their way back to each other, another storm arrives.

That is what makes Perayaan Mati Rasa so emotionally exhausting in a good way. The film does not allow Ian—or the audience—to breathe for very long. There is always another problem waiting. Some viewers may feel that there is simply too much happening in one movie, and I can understand that criticism. But personally, I think that overwhelming quality also makes the story feel real.

Because life does not always organize our problems neatly.

Sometimes we lose a job while dealing with family conflict. Sometimes a relationship breaks down while someone we love is in the hospital. Sometimes we are already emotionally exhausted when something else happens that we never saw coming.

We do not get to choose the order.

One of the things I particularly appreciate is the way the film uses the depth of the ocean as an analogy for Ian's emotions. The deeper he goes, the heavier the pressure becomes, until eventually he reaches a point where he feels like there is nothing left to hold on to.

That analogy is simple, but effective.

The dialogue also has an artistic quality that adds to the emotional atmosphere of the film. Rather than making every feeling completely explicit, some emotions are expressed through carefully chosen words and imagery.

Music, unsurprisingly, becomes one of the most important parts of Perayaan Mati Rasa. Ian and Midnight Serenade perform several songs throughout the story, and the songs are not treated as meaningless background decoration. They become part of the storytelling.

I also appreciate the effort put into creating those songs. They were actually released on Spotify, which makes the band's musical identity feel more serious and complete rather than something created only for the sake of the movie.

The music often feels like an extension of the characters' emotions. When the characters are happy, devastated, uncertain, or longing for someone, the song choices help carry those feelings to the audience.

That emotional connection is also strengthened by the visual presentation. The camera work is particularly effective in close-up scenes, allowing us to see the smallest changes in the actors' expressions. The consistent color composition also gives the film an aesthetic quality that makes the emotional atmosphere even stronger.

But the biggest strength, for me, is the acting.

The performances from both the main and supporting cast are convincing, but I was especially impressed by Iqbaal's portrayal of Ian. He does not turn Ian's pain into exaggerated melodrama. Instead, he lets the emotions build gradually, making the moments when Ian finally breaks down feel much more painful.

There are two scenes that particularly stayed with me: when Ian watches the recordings left behind by his father, and when he stands in the hospital corridor after learning about his father's death.

The crying scene involving the video is especially heartbreaking because Ian begins to realize that he may have misunderstood many things all this time. He had been so focused on what he believed his father was doing wrong that he failed to recognize the love that had been there all along.

That realization hurts because it comes too late.

And perhaps that is one of the most painful truths about family. Sometimes we do not realize how much someone loves us because we are too focused on the way they express it. We expect love to come in the form we want to receive, and when it does not, we assume it is missing.

The final part of the story also carries an important message about loss. Letting go of someone we love is something that will eventually happen to all of us, but that does not make it easier when the moment actually arrives. Accepting someone's death is not an instant process. There is grief, denial, anger, confusion, and eventually the difficult task of continuing to live.

The film's closing dedication, accompanied by the final song connected to the family, adds another emotional layer to that idea.

For me, Perayaan Mati Rasa is ultimately not just about losing someone. It is about what happens after loss—when the people who remain have to figure out how to keep living even though the person they once expected to come home may never return.

That is why the line, “Melepaskan adalah bentuk paling tulus dari mencintai,” stays with me.

Sometimes loving someone means holding on.

But sometimes, loving them also means accepting that we cannot make them stay.

Perayaan Mati Rasa is a deeply emotional film, but it is not without warmth. There are still funny moments that give the audience room to breathe between the heavier scenes. The long runtime also did not make me feel bored because the emotional journey keeps moving.

For me, this is a must-watch, especially for families who are willing to sit with a story about grief, sibling relationships, parental love, and the things we often fail to say while we still have time.

Because eventually, all of us will have to say goodbye to someone.

The question is not whether loss will come. It will.

The question is whether, while the people we love are still here, we have been brave enough to tell them what they mean to us—or whether we will only understand it after they are gone.

(Aluna Uwie)

Previously published on Alunauwie.com

"This article was originally written in Indonesian and has been adapted into English for international readers."