MOTHER MARY - Film Review

Mother Mary opens itself up to something much stranger than it ever fully commits to, and that tension runs through everything.

At the center, the film is not just dealing with fame or artistic collaboration. It is circling something closer to possession, or at least the idea that creation comes from somewhere external, something that cannot be fully controlled. There are moments where it feels like the characters are not entirely authors of their own work, or even of themselves. The film gestures toward that through its language around inspiration, through the way the relationship between the two leads is framed, and through the quiet suggestion that something unseen is shaping outcomes.

The idea of a kind of fae pact is never stated outright, but it lingers in the structure. One gives something, the other takes something. There is an exchange that feels uneven and irreversible. Creativity becomes transactional. Identity becomes negotiable. The film hints that in order to create something powerful, something lasting, there has to be a cost, and that cost is not abstract. It is personal, psychological, almost spiritual.

Depression sits underneath all of this as a constant weight. It affects how time moves. It flattens certain moments and stretches others. Characters drift in and out of presence. There is a sense of disconnection that never fully lifts, which reinforces the idea that they are not entirely in control of themselves. Whether that force is internal or something more external is left open.

The film starts to brush up against the idea of spirits, or presences that linger rather than appear. Not literal horror elements, but something closer to residue. Creative impulses feel inherited. Emotions feel recycled. There are scenes where it feels less like invention and more like channeling. That thread is one of the most interesting aspects of the film, and it gives weight to the relationship between the characters. It begins to feel less like collaboration and more like a transfer.

This is where the film feels like it could have gone further. The groundwork is there for something more unstable, more surreal, more willing to let that mythology take over. The fae pact reading opens the door to a darker interpretation where identity is gradually absorbed or replaced. The film acknowledges that possibility but does not fully explore it.

On a more concrete level, the performances hold everything together.

Michaela Coel works with precision and restraint. Her performance is controlled but not empty. There is constant internal movement, even when she is still. She listens, reacts, and allows tension to build without release. That approach gives the film its emotional core.

Anne Hathaway matches that with a performance that feels constructed in a different way. There is more visible instability, but it is always contained within the character’s awareness of herself as an image. She never loses control completely, which makes the moments where that control slips feel more significant. The dynamic between the two creates a sustained tension that carries much of the film.

The music, by FKA Twigs, is one of the strongest elements. It is fully integrated into the film’s structure rather than functioning as decoration. The compositions feel complete, the production is polished, and the performances are convincing. There is a clarity and confidence to how the music is used.

Cinematography reflects David Lowery’s established approach. The framing is deliberate, the lighting is controlled, and the camera movement is minimal but intentional. There is a consistency in how scenes are constructed. You can see the same discipline that defines A Ghost Story and The Green Knight. Every image feels considered.

That same control extends to the costume design. The wardrobe plays a significant role in shaping identity. Clothing is not just aesthetic. It signals status, transformation, and performance. Outfits feel curated in a way that reinforces the idea of the character as a constructed figure. There is a clear attention to texture, silhouette, and presentation, especially in how the central figure is framed visually.

The writing is more uneven. The dialogue works best when it stays indirect, when it allows subtext to carry meaning. In those moments, it aligns with the film’s themes of ambiguity and emotional distance. At other times, scenes feel extended without adding new layers. The script seems more interested in maintaining tone than in developing progression.

Pacing becomes one of the more noticeable issues. Scenes linger, but not always with purpose. The film slows down without consistently deepening. There are stretches where the rhythm feels suspended rather than controlled. You begin to feel the duration of scenes instead of being drawn into them.

Visually and structurally, the film remains contained even when its ideas suggest something more expansive. This is where the comparison to Suspiria becomes relevant. That film allows its underlying mythology to reshape everything. It pushes into distortion, into excess, into something physically expressive. Mother Mary stays within a controlled framework. It approaches that level of intensity but does not cross into it.

That restraint is consistent with Lowery’s style. He is drawn to quiet, to atmosphere, to emotional residue. Here, that approach creates a tension between the material and its presentation. The film suggests instability, transformation, and loss of control, but it presents those ideas through a lens that remains measured.

The result is a film that is rich in implication and strong in execution across most technical areas. Performances are focused, the music is well developed, the cinematography is precise, and the costume design reinforces the themes effectively. At the same time, the pacing and writing limit how far those elements can push the overall experience.

There is a sense that something more extreme is sitting just beneath the surface, something the film is aware of but chooses not to fully engage. That decision defines the experience as much as anything else.