It is a two-character film—well worth seeing—that ultimately transforms into a disquieting ghost story.
In *Mother Mary*, the title character (Anne Hathaway)—a global pop superstar who could be said to draw inspiration from many figures, yet most directly and evidently serves as a variation on Lady Gaga (maximalist dance-pop; extravagant postmodern costumes; an air of transgressive Catholic ecstasy)—has a close encounter with Sam Anselm (Michaela Coel), the British fashion designer who created Mary’s visionary costumes. Sam was her inseparable collaborator—her "right hand" in times of tribulation—and, in fact, the relationship between the two went far deeper than that. However, they are now estranged and haven't seen each other in ten years. Their breakup was so cataclysmic that, in all that time, Sam hasn't listened to Mother Mary’s music a single time.
Director: David Lowery
Writer: David Lowery
Stars: Anne Hathaway, Michaela Coel, Hunter Schafer
But now, out of the blue, Mary shows up at the English country estate that serves as the headquarters for Sam’s fashion empire. She is there because, in her own words: "I need a dress." A visionary dress. A dress for the grand career-retrospective concert she is about to perform. The two head to the enormous stone barn situated at the back of the property—the place where Sam creates her designs—and, once there, alone together, they talk: they speak of their partnership and their past, of their painful breakup, and of that complex blend of love and bitterness that still binds their spirits together.
The conversation goes on for quite a while, and—given that both actresses are so vivid and precise in their performances—we feel comfortable settling in for one of those films that are, in essence, an acting duel between two characters; in this case, a work punctuated by flashbacks showing Mother Mary on stage, performing before her adoring crowds. I have always had a soft spot for dialogue-driven films, as I consider conversation to be one of the most pleasurable activities in existence; therefore, the fact that *Mother Mary* strikes such a familiar chord—with Mary and Sam peeling back the layers of their shared history like an onion, circling around it until they reach its innermost core—does not, in my view, count as a strike against the film.
At no point do Mary and Sam admit to having been lovers. The film’s press materials describe them—with a certain reticence—simply as "friends." And perhaps they were just friends—friends intimate enough to be spiritual lovers. In a sense, it doesn't really matter. *Mother Mary* is not a *roman à clef*. The character of Mother Mary may be a fictionalized version of Lady Gaga, but it is not as if she is meant to *be* Gaga. And, at this stage, there would be nothing revolutionary about portraying a famous pop star with a bisexual private life. That is not the film's purpose.
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