David Lowery’s Mother Mary takes place over the course of one night, when pop star Mother Mary (Anne Hathaway) comes to her former costume designer and friend, Sam Anselm (Michaela Coel), for a dress, days before a huge comeback performance. Inspired by iconic designer-performer pairings like Lady Gaga and Alexander McQueen and Madonna and Jean Paul Gaultier, the pair were once close collaborators, but fell out when Mary rose to fame and began pushing Sam away. While Sam played a major role in shaping the look and persona of Mother Mary, her contributions were often swept under the rug. Years later, Mary realizes that the only person who truly knows her and can create an outfit for her that feels authentic is Sam. Over the course of the night, the two, locked together in Sam’s workshop, unravel the complicated thread of their relationship, both personal and professional, and begin to understand the extent of their connection.
Mother Mary is mostly contained in a conversation between the two protagonists. Isolated in one setting, Sam’s workshop transforms, at times, into a concert hall as Mary and Sam tell stories about their years apart. Both characters, especially Sam, speak in stilted dialogue that feels more like poetry than a natural conversation, and it often feels like both leads are more archetypes than fleshed-out characters, standing in for larger themes. When put together, all of these elements can certainly seem isolating, and I understand why some viewers are struggling to connect with the film. To me, however, Mother Mary is one of the most fascinating films of the year, and one I can’t wait to revisit.
Trailers and posters for Mother Mary included the lines “this is not a love story” and “this is not a ghost story” (a reference to Lowery’s film A Ghost Story), but it quickly becomes clear that this film is both. The relationship between Mary and Sam, which is never defined or categorized but is clearly deeper than just creative collaboration, is represented through clothing. Costumes created by Sam and worn by Mary become physical reminders of the memories they shared, and later, Lowery takes this even further through the film’s ghost. As the two characters reconnect, they realize they are bound together by shared experiences with a ghostly figure that takes the form of a piece of translucent red fabric. The emotional pain caused by their falling out becomes a physical ailment — Sam experiences an intense toothache and Mary a cut on her hand — that occurs at the same time as their respective spiritual encounters. Their breakup becomes physical, and the hurt they feel becomes actualized in the ghost, whose appearance further emphasizes the role of fabric and costume as memory. Lowery’s exploration of hurt and grief is incredibly unique, showing how two people can be physically and emotionally severed from one another, but still feel a deep connection.
While Sam’s costumes represent a physical reminder of grief, Mary’s career as a pop star feels equally important. Inspired by Taylor Swift’s Reputation tour, scenes from Mother Mary’s concerts show a stark contrast between the mythological persona of Mother Mary and the real person underneath. Mary is forced to perform night after night, no matter her physical condition, and without the grounding of Sam’s collaboration, Mary begins to lose sight of who she is. The relationship between them is not just that of a performer and a designer, and their fallout is not just because Sam feels unappreciated. While the clothes Sam designed for her made Mary feel comfortable and at ease, she mentions that the headpieces her new team creates are painful, and her clothes feel restrictive. Sam’s clothing offers Mary the freedom to be herself, not the symbol that is Mother Mary.
On a technical level, Mother Mary is gorgeous. The cinematography makes Sam’s remote workshop feel like a Gothic manor, completely isolated from the outside world, while sweeping shots of the arenas from Mary’s stadium tours show off the thousands of eyes on Mary at all times. Still, there are moments where Mary’s concert halls feel private, and Mary seems more exposed under the gaze of the person who knows her best. The music sequences are among my favorite scenes, featuring songs from Charli XCX, Jack Antonoff and FKA Twigs. Unlike many films that try and fail to accurately depict a popstar, Mother Mary feels like a performer I could genuinely be a fan of, thanks to the attention to detail put into her music, choreography and costumes.
Mother Mary may not appeal to a wide audience, but it’s a fascinating film that manages to successfully explore the figure of a modern pop star, while also analyzing the role of costume in building a persona and storing memories. While Mary and Sam are not exactly relatable characters, the way their relationship is fleshed out feels like an incredibly authentic depiction of how toxic relationships leave scars that remain visible, even years later.
‘Projections’ is a column focused on reviewing recent film releases.
Nicholas York is a member of the Class of 2027 in the College of Arts and Sciences. He is a columnist for the Arts & Culture department and can be reached at nyork@cornellsun.com.
