Mother Mary, 2026.
Written and Directed by David Lowery.
Starring Anne Hathaway, Michaela Coel, Hunter Schafer, Sian Clifford, Atheena Frizzell, FKA twigs, Jessica Brown Findlay, Kaia Gerber, Alba Baptista, Isaura Barbé-Brown, Jeanne Nicole Ní Áinle, and Taylor Sieve.
SYNOPSIS:
Long-buried wounds rise to the surface when iconic pop star Mother Mary reunites with her estranged best friend and former costume designer Sam Anselm on the eve of her comebackperformance.
“This is not a ghost story”. It’s also “not a love story.” Neither of those statements is entirely true, but that’s not to say this is a classic case of misdirection marketing from distributor A24, no stranger to dominating online discourse by doing exactly that. Mother Mary is from writer/director David Lowery, meaning those assertions come across more as guidelines on how not to engage with his latest film. There is a visually arresting ghost here, and some possibly implied past romantic feelings, but to get the most out of this story, one has to delve into what the filmmaker is saying about art through these elements.
In a move that’s admittedly not entirely original, David Lowery appears to be inserting traces of himself into the role of an eponymous fictional pop star, Mother Mary (Anne Hathaway), who has come crawling back to her estranged fashion designer friend Sam (Michaela Coel, recently seen a couple of weeks ago verbally sparring with Ian McKellen in The Christophers and doing something similar here opposite another veteran, once again proven she can hang with some of the best in the industry) to make her a dress for a return, possible concert, with some specific instructions that it has to evoke a return to basics.
For some context, David Lowery consistently dabbles in the big studio machine in between some of his more original or bolder, stunning visual and sensory accomplishments (The Green Knight and, coincidentally enough, A Ghost Story come to mind, both among one of the best films of their release years), typically live action Disney remakes that, while far from the worst of the bunch that creatively bankrupt endeavor has yielded, still aren’t exactly brimming with imagination, color, and soul (one could make an exception for Pete’s Dragon, although in that case it felt more like Disney not caring about the property enough to hold him to the usual shot-for-shot remade process). Naturally, I can’t claim to know enough about David Lowery to say whether he has burned similar bridges along the way that might relate to Sam.
The point is that once Mother Mary (who urgently travels all the way to London before this tour, desperate for a wardrobe befitting of this highly important show, to a hoarded home where the bulk of the by dialogue takes place in a barn) enters into a back-and-forth conversation about art and the artist with Sam, it’s evident that the filmmaker is exploring what that means to the beholder. Sam also makes clear to Mother Mary that she put a piece of herself into every one of those costume designs. Described as the usual pop star diva, there was eventually a falling out with Mother Mary, maintaining such a beguiling spell over anyone who was at any point in her orbit. Sam, while aware of her faults as a person, can’t help but say yes to this opportunity. However, the only way it can be accomplished is the same way they have always done it: an excavation of the mind to find out exactly what Mother Mary is feeling and translating that into a dress.
For Sam, it is just about this artistic process. She has no interest in listening to Mother Mary’s new single entitled Spooky Action (there are occasional smooth transitions to concert performances, although the songs themselves, written by Charli XCX and Jack Antanoff, leave something to be desired, even if the presentation is dynamically shot with aesthetically striking costume designs and halo headpieces), which would break her streak of giving up the music cold turkey. This means that when it’s time to get a sneak peek at the dance routine for costume inspiration, Sam forces Mother Mary to do it without turning on the music, losing herself in a physically intense thrashing that resembles a possession (spooky action, so to speak). It’s an unnerving scene in which Anne Hathaway gives her entire body over to it while also setting up some of what’s to come in the second half.
Essentially, what that amounts to is Mother Mary and Sam each sharing individual ghost stories that gradually transform the film into the type of surreal and hypnotic experience the filmmaker is known for, using a creative and colorful interpretation of a ghost that continues to play into each of their connections to the former’s art and orbiting themes. It is a film that’s a bit too long in each of those halves (as strong as the performances are, the chemistry is off since Michaela Coel is delivering something more akin to a stage play performance, whereas Anne Hathaway feels a bit more grounded and loose while also having the benefit of expressing vulnerability and tendencies of psychological breakdown), occasionally speaking in circles throughout both. As mentioned up top, the concept of using a pop star as a messenger isn’t entirely new, but this is another in a long line of those films where it simply feels hard to buy into the idea that a musician named Mother Mary has the entire world by storm, doubly so since the songs don’t elicit much of a reaction outside of the ending car that’s one which is sort of catchy.
However, David Lowery remains such a gifted filmmaker at translating his ideas and themes into hypnotic visual language and at writing dialogue that even when Mother Mary is dragging on or entering a repetitive phase, it is at least telling a story of an artist refinding herself and quite literally exorcising demons of her past with slick and stylistic direction. If this is David Lowery’s concept of going back to basics, let’s hope he exorcised what’s on his mind within his own contributions to art. It’s an art story, and one that results in another visual treat from the filmmaker.
Flickering Myth Rating– Film: ★ ★ ★ / Movie: ★ ★ ★
Robert Kojder
