Microhabitat reveals the choices, sacrifices and comprises people make as they become adults.

Miso, the title character, makes a living cleaning houses and lives on the edge of homelessness. Her joys in life consist of cigarettes, a glass of Glenfiddich whiskey, and her poverty stricken boyfriend. When her rent increases and the price of cigarettes doubles she makes the decision to move out of her unfurnished room.

Miso then begins the adventure of visiting her old band mates who have moved on and become more of what society expected of them. It’s a movie divided into chapters, each with a different friend she encounters with her meager belongings on her back.

Each of her friends have changed so much she barely recognizes them. They are all tethered to their own suffering—a stressful job, a loveless marriage, unwanted motherhood, divorce, etc. Despite her situation she brings understanding and kindness to each doorstep even when she is met with a lack of understanding from her former friends.

Like a warm breeze blowing through their lives, each person’s quiet desperation is revealed and Miso’s contented nonconformist life doesn’t seem quite so absurd.

Microhabitat is more observation than strict storytelling. Esom brings a serene almost ethereal quality to the screen as she shows Miso’s quiet determination. Her friends’ “normal” lives seem almost manic in contrast.

Microhabitat touches on what we value, the compromises people make, the economic fragility of people’s situations, and the depth of friendships. It’s a slow film with moments of humor, tenderness, and biting revelation. Miso’s choices may not sit well with everyone but they raise questions about what brings us joy, what we are willing to sacrifice, and the need for safety nets we all need whether emotional or financial.