Edited by Mikkel Hyldebrandt
Photos: Frederic Batier,
Eric Zachanowich. Courtesy of A24.
Mother Mary is the kind of film that feels less like something you simply watch and more like something you experience – lush, intense, and often deliberately overwhelming. Anchored by two magnetic performances from Anne Hathaway and Michaela Coel, the film thrives on its emotional volatility and visual ambition, even when it occasionally tips too far into its own sense of grandeur.
Hathaway, in particular, delivers a performance that is nothing short of mesmerizing. As a towering pop icon grappling with identity, control, and the suffocating weight of her own mythology, she manages to oscillate between icy composure and raw vulnerability with striking precision. There’s a self-awareness baked into her performance that elevates the character beyond archetype, clearly derived from the likes of Taylor Swift, Lady Gaga, and Madonna – she isn’t just playing a star; she’s dissecting stardom. It’s easily among her most daring work, leaning into discomfort and contradiction in a way that feels both risky and deeply rewarding.
Opposite her, Michaela Coel provides a grounding force that is just as compelling. Where Hathaway burns brightly, Coel simmers, offering a quieter but no less powerful presence. Their dynamic becomes the emotional core of the film, charged with tension, intimacy, and an undercurrent of unease that keeps the story constantly shifting. Coel’s performance is layered and deliberate, revealing just enough at every turn to keep you leaning in.
One of the film’s greatest strengths lies in its structure – specifically, the interplay between its grand, larger-than-life pop performances and its more intimate, stripped-down studio moments. The concert sequences are electrifying, filled with spectacle and precision, while the quieter scenes peel back the facade, exposing something far more fragile underneath. This contrast works beautifully, giving the film a rhythm that mirrors the duality of fame itself: the public persona and never-ending performance versus the private unraveling.
Visually, Mother Mary is nothing short of stunning. Every frame feels meticulously composed, with an almost painterly attention to detail. The lighting, costuming, and set design all contribute to a heightened sense of space that borders on the surreal. But it’s this very quality that also becomes one of the film’s more noticeable drawbacks. The hyper-stylization leans so heavily into theatricality that it often feels like you’re watching a stage production translated directly to screen. At times, it’s easy to imagine the entire film unfolding in front of a live audience, with its deliberate blocking and heightened emotional beats.
This theatrical sensibility extends to the film’s tone, which occasionally struggles to find balance. It teeters – sometimes uneasily – between high drama and elements of horror, as if unsure how far it wants to push either. While this tension can be effective in creating an atmosphere of unease, there are moments where it feels unnecessary, even distracting. The shifts can be jarring, pulling you out of the emotional throughline rather than deepening it.
Similarly, the film’s use of symbolism and metaphor, while thematically rich, can feel a bit heavy-handed. There’s little ambiguity in what the film is trying to say, and at times it spells things out so clearly that it robs the audience of the opportunity to interpret or discover meaning on their own. It’s a minor frustration in an otherwise compelling narrative, but one that becomes more noticeable as the film progresses.
Still, these drawbacks do little to diminish the overall impact of Mother Mary. It’s a bold, visually arresting film driven by two exceptional performances that demand attention. Even when it overreaches – or perhaps because it does – it remains fascinating to watch. This is a film unafraid to be big, messy, and unapologetically dramatic, and in many ways, that’s exactly what makes it worth seeing.
