Sian Heder’s CODA is the kind of film that sneaks up on you quietly, tenderly before breaking your heart wide open. On paper, it’s a familiar coming-of-age story: Ruby Rossi (Emilia Jones), the only hearing member in a deaf family, stands torn between her passion for music and her sense of duty at home. But what could have been a sentimental crowd-pleaser instead becomes something far richer, a film that vibrates with authenticity, humor, and raw emotional power.

The film’s greatest strength is its refusal to treat deafness as a metaphor. Ruby’s family played with breathtaking nuance by deaf actors Troy Kotsur, Marlee Matlin, and Daniel Durant are fully realized characters, their lives textured with love, frustration, and wry humor. Kotsur, in particular, delivers a performance so alive it feels like a revelation, whether he’s cracking filthy jokes or grappling with the painful reality of being shut out of his daughter’s world. The ASL scenes aren’t subtitled for Ruby’s benefit, and neither are they for ours a bold choice that immerses the audience in her perspective.

Jones, meanwhile, is a revelation. Her Ruby is all restless energy and quiet longing, her singing voice (yes, she really sings) carrying the weight of unspeakable emotions. The scenes between her and Eugenio Derbez’s scene-stealing, gloriously unhinged choir teacher crackle with wit and unexpected warmth.

Heder’s direction is unfussy but deeply empathetic, letting moments breathe without milking them. The climax a choir performance intercut with Ruby signing for her family is a masterclass in emotional payoff, a scene so perfectly constructed it’s impossible not to weep.

CODA doesn’t reinvent the wheel, but it doesn’t need to. It’s a film that reminds us why these stories matter: not because they’re flashy, but because they’re true.