Review: MOTHER MARY is a Lusty Pop Idol Ghost Story

To be in a renaissance of uber-stylized popstar thrillers is a glorious thing. Movies like Vox Lux, Smile 2, Sweetness, and Trap find rhythmic tension in melodic suspense that chases characters like sonic threats. But David Lowery, a filmmaker with prolific vision, imagines a concert-type horror film beyond traditional scares. His A24 joint, Mother Mary, exists somewhere between the aforementioned musical horrors, Peter Strickland’s mesmerizingly off-beat In Fabric, and Luca Guadagnino’s tantric Suspiria remake. A chamber piece that breaks heavy conversations with sensational stage performances, fragile in its themes, yet fearless in showmanship.

Anne Hathaway stars as the larger-than-life, Taylor Swiftian pop idol, Mother Mary. After a horrific accident, she’s gearing up for her comeback tour. But, Mother’s unsatisfied with her custom wardrobe thus far. On a whim, she books a flight and knocks on the door of designer extraordinaire Sam Anselm (Michaela Coel). With only a few days before her tour’s kickoff, Mother Mary begs for the perfect dress. Sam agrees, reluctantly, because there’s more to their relationship than business. Their past is filled with pleasure, pain, and everything in between—but never the apology Sam deserves.

Mother Mary is a sinfully and sensually stunning ghost story with outstanding musical components. Cinematographers Andrew Droz Palermo and Rina Yang employ an arsenal of techniques, but most impressively, they find the energy of a hypnotic music video (thanks to Yang’s extensive work in the medium). These one-taker segments speedrun Mother Mary’s backstory set to original bangers provided by Jack Antonoff and Charli XCX (plus a bonus FKA Twigs track). The camera drifts so delicately as Mother Mary struts in the most fashionable outfits, complete with an audacious halo accessory, elevated by jaw-dropping photography instincts. Lowery is a master of visual language, which the camera gobbles up, whether he’s putting Georgia O’Keeffe’s imagery to shame or rising to the pop-star occasion with outstanding live-show production value.

Music plays a key part in Mother Mary, creating an unstoppable marriage with the film’s illustrations. Antonoff, Charli XCX, and FKA Twigs turn Hathaway into a Lady Gaga-level entertainer, while also embracing the melancholy and moroseness that seeps into the story. Whether it’s a planchettte-led seance where FKA Twigs cameos as a writhing medium, or Mother Mary’s transported to another on-stage flashback, the music meets every moment. The juxtaposition of invincible chart-toppers underscoring Sam’s tragic recountings of her relationship with Mother Mary pre- and post-fame is blisteringly effective. Every note is in step with the actions on screen, sometimes in unison, like a moving ballet, and other times in competition, antagonizing the toxicity on screen.

And yet, Mother Mary is a talkative supernatural thriller that hinges on a dour Hathaway and scornful Cole. As Sam scissors fabric, threateningly takes measurements, and goes about her creative process, she’s prodding at Mother Mary; her words like tiny daggers into the singer’s back. It’s a showcase for Cole as she stares through Hathaway’s doe-eyed routine, feigning ignorance instead of atoning for prior behaviors. Sam is this embodiment of elegance and rage, her invasive chatter so eloquently savage, while Mother Mary is fearful and seeking comfort, yet unable to voice her honesty. As a two-hander, inside Sam’s gothic-y dressmaking barn, it’s like watching heavyweights trade haymakers; Cole laying smackdowns with her attacks, while Hathaway leaves us sympathetic with these wistful, teary-eyed swears to a paranormal force.

However, there’s a dragginess to the lusty, listful, lingering pensivity that is Lowery’s approach. It’s very The Green Knight in execution, as Mother Mary doesn’t feel like it has distinct scenes, just a constant flow-state of desire, devastation, and fatalism all balled into one. The film’s representation of this shared apparition, a flowy red cloth with a crimson dot for a head, is an avant-garde horror display that only furthers the fluttery nature of Lowery’s delivery. For as tremendous as lensing can be, and unstoppable performances are (Hunter Schafer’s assistant Hilda included), there’s a too-soft touch that feels like a lullaby at times. It’s striking, so symbolically rich with femininity, yet also rotten to the core, but also somewhat exhausting, like a sweat-drenched backup dancer.

In Mother Mary, Lowery translates lofty ideas into an addictive symphony of sadness and spite that crescendos with an immense sense of righteous discovery. Through art direction, choreography, and musical calamity, it’ll stand a chance to be one of the year’s freely one-of-a-kind treats. Hathaway lets her wounds bleed for all to see; Cole is a calculated verbal assassin. But, despite the undying energy of Mother Mary’s adoring fans, the film loses steam toward the finale. It’s easily understood and yet somewhat inarticulate in delving into the depths of Sam and Mama’s complicated psychosexuality. It’s an enigma that only Lowery could create, and while not without hiccups, proves why he’s one of today’s most interesting filmmakers.

Movie Score: 3.5/5