What does it take for love to survive past denial, betrayal, and fear? Me, Myself & Her (Io e Lei) is a quietly piercing film about two middle-aged women navigating the ordinary and extraordinary burdens of love. It’s not loud. It’s not dramatic. But it’s heartbreakingly real. And for anyone who’s ever tried to rebuild trust after a crack, it might feel all too familiar.
Marina, a former actress turned restaurateur, lives openly and confidently with her long-term partner, Federica—a reserved architect with a teenage son and a history of heterosexual relationships. The two women have shared a home, a bed, and a life for five years. But while Marina calls their bond what it is—love—Federica refuses to name it. To her colleagues and most of her family, Marina is just a “friend.”
An out-and-proud ex-actress turned entrepreneur, Marina knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to claim it. She’s bold, grounded, sensual, and devastatingly graceful—even in heartbreak.
Sabrina Ferilli
Sabrina Ferilli, one of Italy’s most beloved actresses, brings poise, wit, and fire to Marina. Her performance is magnetic—commanding yet vulnerable, refined yet raw.
An introverted architect who struggles with her sexual identity and public image. She loves Marina but can’t fully own that truth—until it’s almost too late.
Margherita Buy
Margherita Buy offers a complex portrayal of a woman torn between habit and transformation. Her quiet indecision and buried longing are painfully real.
Director
Maria Sole Tognazzi
Maria Sole Tognazzi is known for her sensitive, intimate storytelling and ability to depict queer relationships without sensationalism. In Me, Myself & Her, she explores lesbian love from a deeply human, middle-aged perspective—focusing not on coming out or lust, but on what happens after you’ve built a life with someone… and risk losing it.
MOVIE HIGHLIGHT
Marina catches Federica having lunch with the man she cheated with. She doesn’t scream. She doesn’t cry. She simply pulls up a chair, looks him in the eye, and says, “Did she tell you she’s been living with me for five years?”
Then she turns to Federica and says, “Let’s go. My car’s parked illegally.”
The calmest fury I’ve ever seen on screen—and one of the most iconic lesbian confrontation scenes in European cinema.
Me, Myself & Her Review
Review
I’ve watched this film over and over, and every time, it leaves a different mark. The first time, I was furious. How could someone like Federica cheat on Marina—this brilliant, elegant, radiant woman who brings her coffee to bed and still gets nervous around her after five years? Shouldn’t betrayal be punished, not forgiven?
But the more I watched, the more I saw something else. This wasn’t just a story about infidelity. It was about someone who never fully understood her own feelings finally trying to make sense of them. Federica’s denial isn’t just about shame—it’s about fear. Of being seen. Of being changed. Of being in love.
And Marina—oh, Marina. Her composure, her dignity, her rage delivered with restraint. When she packs up Federica’s things and delivers them to her lover’s building before sunrise? That wasn’t drama. That was a masterclass in quiet devastation.
In the end, this isn’t a story about perfect love. It’s about real love. Messy, uneven, sometimes unfair—but still worth running four flights of stairs for, just to stop the elevator doors from closing.