Mother Mary review — A song of bloody absolution

Written and Directed by David Lowery | 112 min | ▲▲▲1/2

As a filmmaker, Lowery is tough to pin down. He doesn’t stick to a lot of recognizable themes or genres, but instead bounces around. The indie western Ain’t Them Bodies Saints was probably the first time I took note of his work, and while I was mixed on two of his pictures that got a lot of love from critics — A Ghost Story and The Green Knight — I very much enjoyed his celebration of Robert Redford, The Old Man & The Gun. He’s also the filmmaker behind family friendly joints like Pete’s Dragon or Peter Pan & Wendy, which remain unseen by me.

Here’s material that, even with his versatility, might seem an odd fit — a peculiar, intimate drama, the cast entirely peopled by women. Even as it wobbles occasionally, it’s a unique and even fiery effort, sourcing and unleashing some of the best work we’ve seen from his co-leads, Anne Hathaway and Michaela Coel.

We start with Sam Anselm’s (Coel) voice over. She’s a costume designer pursuing a deadline, working with faithful Hilda (Hunter Schafer) in a sprawling, crumbling home and studio somewhere in the English countryside near London. Someone she used to work closely with, someone she now despises, is coming for a visit. She can feel her approach.

Her former bestie is Mother Mary (Hathaway), a pop star in the Lady Gaga mode with a dash of Madonna and Beyonce thrown in, along with a whole lot of Catholic imagery. Mary is suffering through the aftereffects of some trouble, something happened that was captured on video. She also wants to build bridges with Sam, fix whatever went wrong; she’s come asking Sam to make her a new dress, something she can perform in that will revitalize her, a new beginning.

Having seen Tori Amos this week — who doesn’t get enough credit for her lapsed-Catholic, confessional songwriting having influenced the next generation of women singers — as well as the footage floating through my feed of Florence + The Machine’s recent triumphant Canadian tour stops, not to mention the hype machine gearing up for Celine Dion’s comeback in Paris, this material seems especially relevant.

It takes awhile for Mother Mary to really draw blood — the first act feels like mostly set-up as Sam and Mary circle each other, Sam interrogating Mary about what she wants and what the dress needs to say while also trying to shelve her anger at her former friend and collaborator. What their schism was truly about remains just beyond reach, and the staginess of the set and the self-conscious two-hander makes this section feel a bit too familiar. I wondered, idly, if the film would have more punch if the actors traded roles.

Then Hathaway steps up, literally, to perform an incredible solo dance, trying to convey the pain she’s feeling. Sam clues in — it’s clarity Mary wants to share and guilt she needs to exorcise. Mary says she will take a dress in any colour but red.

At that moment, the film takes a left turn, details of which it’s best to discover in the cinema. It’s unexpected, sensual, and raises and expands what we’re watching with ventures into the surreal, the subconscious, and even the supernatural, including notes of Italian giallo. While it doesn’t quite mistake itself for a Peter Strickland picture like In Fabric, you can feel it shifting in that direction.

And while this sudden reach might not all work — the concert footage and songs feel derivative of too many other pop stars, despite, or maybe because, the music is composed by Charlie XCX, Jack Antonoff, and FKA Twigs — the ambition here is impressive, a narrative running headlong into allegory: If you’ve ever been betrayed, or inadvertently betrayed someone else, this movie is likely to resonate. It’s simply about what it takes to seek and find forgiveness, and what it takes to give it. Compelling stuff.

Interesting to note: Coel is in cinemas right now with two films — this one and The Christophers. Next week Hathaway will join her on the double feature front with The Devil Wears Prada 2. When was the last time that happened, when two female stars had two movies in cinemas at the same time?

About the author

flawintheiris

Carsten Knox is a massive, cheese-eating nerd. In the day he works as a journalist in Halifax, Nova Scotia. At night he stares out at the rain-slick streets, watches movies, and writes about what he's seeing.

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