David Lowery’s career has mostly walked two very different lines: gentle indie dramas such as Ain’t Them Bodies Saints and A Ghost Story, or family-friendly Disney fare such as Pete’s Dragon. It’s not a bad space to be in, being able to traverse those worlds so effectively. But Lowery seems to have stepped in it with Mother Mary, a perplexing, baroque two-hander that completed shooting in 2024, and that the filmmaker has struggled to explain other than to call it a “weird film.” That’s one way of putting it. I would call this diva battle between Anne Hathaway and Michaela Coel all flash no substance, meandering, and a massive waste of a killer soundtrack.
A chamber piece that would probably have made a better stage play than a movie, Mother Mary stars Hathaway as the titular pop superstar who, after a public disaster of curious origin, has retreated from the spotlight. But now she’s attempting a comeback with a brand new song, ‘Spooky Action’, which she claims might be the greatest song ever written. It’s about “transubstantiation” or something like that, which sounds like the kind of nonsensical high-minded claptrap a lot of superstar divas say about their own music. If only Mother Mary were being tongue in cheek about it. The singer is tormented over her outfit, though. It needs to be perfect. In desperation, she turns to Coel’s Sam, her former fashion designer who was once much closer than that. They had a falling out years earlier and haven’t seen each other since.
The most interesting aspect of Mother Mary is early on, before the film drowns itself in metaphor and lame attempts at Gothic horror. Coel is savagely cold as Sam, who hates Mother Mary and despises her sudden return, “The bile is rising”, she says behind a cruel gaze. Mary is enormously regretful, but we take from Sam that this is often a tactic she uses to get people to do what she wants them to do. The two engage in a razor sharp back and forth, the kind you only get from people who know one another too well. Despite this toxic reunion, Sam is compelled to help Mary, and in her isolated barn in the countryside, begins fashioning a look that will win the day. Everything is fair game, only red is not an option because Mary is being haunted by something that bares the same hue.
Fame has been ruinous for Mary, whose personal relationships have shattered just as badly as her sense of self. In desperation, she seeks out Sam who knew her before the celebrity, in hopes that she can help put her back together again. It’s an interesting topic to explore, the internal chaos that comes with superstardom. But whatever message Lowery is trying to get across is lost in abstract storytelling and an entire wardrobe’s worth of exposition. Lowery seems to be somewhat aware of the problem. At one point, Mary and Sam actually discuss whether they are talking in metaphor, with one demanding the other speak more matter-of-factly. But the solution for Lowery would’ve been to write these characters so that they speak the way real people do.
The funny thing is, Coel can be seen right now in another two-hander about celebrity, artistic expression, and identity; Steven Soderbergh’s The Christophers. That film is no less an extended war of words between two gifted rivals, with exchanges that cut deeper than a knife and leave raw, open emotional wounds. And yet it’s funny, whip smart, and resembles genuine human interaction, which is sorely missing from Mother Mary.
My criticism of the dialog has nothing to do with Hathaway or Coel’s performances. Coel has the longest, most biting monologues, stitched together beautifully like the finest needlework. And there’s a lot to admire in the range shown by Hathaway in a surprisingly physical performance. She captures the moves, mannerisms, and confidence of a superstar performer during Mother Mary’s extravagant concert shows, but also the timidity that has brought her groveling to Sam’s doorstep.
Lowery makes the most of a meager $20M budget, with most of it going to the spectacularly choreographed arena shows, full of back-up dancers, blazing lights, and legions of adoring fans, and Hathaway’s vocals on a pulsating soundtrack by Jack Antanoff and Charli XCX. But just as much attention is paid to Sam’s ramshackle, wind-swept barn behind the fashion house. It resembles a shuttered, sure-to-be-haunted house from a horror novel; the perfect place for two wayward souls to kick around existential questions of life and celebrity death.
Ultimately, Mother Mary has a lot of style, flashy production design, and two strong performances by Hathaway and Coel. It just doesn’t seem to know what it actually wants to be, or what it wants to say about…well, anything. Once again, Lowery attempts to get ahead of criticism by having his characters comment on the film’s problems. When Mary is asked by Sam if she wants to “look like a knife”, Mary’s reply is “I want to have a point.” We want that for you, too, Mary.
Mother Mary is in theaters now via A24.
