My Mom Jayne

It’s curiously ironic that the search to learn more about a loved one you barely knew turns out to be a journey of discovery about oneself. Nevertheless, such was the case for actress Marisla Hargitay, daughter of screen legend Jayne Mansfield (1933-1967), who directed this revealing new HBO documentary about her relationship (or lack thereof) with the famous mother she lost in a tragic car accident when she was only three years old. Mansfield, one of the most visible movie idols of the 1950s and ʼ60s, was molded by the Hollywood star-making system into one of the era’s prototypical blonde bombshells in the same vein as Marilyn Monroe, often playing roles as a dimwitted but provocative sex symbol. Despite this typecasting, however, Mansfield had aspirations to be a serious actress, one capable of much more substantive parts. She also looked to make use of her underrated talents as an accomplished violin and piano virtuoso, capabilities that were often significantly downplayed as part of her monodimensional studio packaging. She was also a doting mother to her children – at least to her first three born. As the youngest, Mariska frequently received less attention than her siblings, which is partly why she believed, as she got older, that she hardly knew her mother during the short time they had together. As the film shows, however, Mariska arrived on the scene when her mother was undergoing her share of personal issues, having married three times and experienced a number of other turbulent relationships that often left Mansfield’s youngest sidelined. This documentary is thus a search for the filmmaker to learn more about the past she barely knew and why it unfolded as it did. Mansfield is brought back to life through an array of archive footage, interviews with Hargitay’s three elder siblings and her mother’s longtime publicist, and a revealing excavation into a family storage locker (closed off since 1969) in which artifacts of the actress’s life are uncovered, pain...

My Mom Jayne (2025) reminds me of Stewie Griffin’s suggesting that, while they’re not actually related, Brad Pitt being John Lithgow’s nephew sounds like something that could be true. Discovering that Mariska Hargitay is Jayne Mansfield’s daughter kind of has the opposite effect.

First, there’s the apparent lack of physical resemblance. Then, there’s the antithetical career paths. Mansfield was a celebrity, a movie star, a sex symbol. Hargitay is a workmanlike television actress with a familiar face to a niche audience and a lowish profile that allows her to escape the extremes of media scrutiny. She’s less Jayne Mansfield daughter and more that lady from Law & Order: Special Victims Unit.

Those may sound like backhanded compliments at best, but the truth is that I like Hargitay and her work. She might herself agree that a signature role in an acclaimed drama series, a steady paycheck, and a degree of relative anonymity is a pretty sweet gig. However, after more than a quarter of a century in SVU, it’s somewhat difficult to see Hargitay as anything or anyone other than Detective/Captain Olivia Benson. She’s like one of those amaranthine soap-opera leading ladies minus the negative connotation. Finding out she’s not a self-chosen, self-made, self-contained entity but rather has a family and a life outside the show came as something of a shock. While Mansfield was always “on,” Hargitay is only on whenever SVU is on.

The more I thought about all those things, the less interested I became in Jayne Mansfield. That’s not necessarily a deal breaker. Many documentaries are not about who they’re about but about who made them. My Mom Jayne is at least as much about Hargitay as it is about her mother; because Hargitay is so unassuming and she’s the subject of her own documentary only indirectly, the film doesn’t come off as a cry for attention — just something she thought would make a good story, not least because it hits close to home.

Directing a film and starri...