Written by Sofia Mongillo Bermejo

There’s a moment early in Mother Mary where the titular pop star, played by Anne Hathaway, arrives unannounced at the home of her former costume designer (Michaela Coel) and simply says, “I need a dress.” It’s a simple line that ends up carrying the emotional weight of the entire film.

Mother Mary,

a campy figure that feels unmistakably inspired by Lady Gaga, exists in a world of avant-garde performance, and carefully constructed persona. But when that persona fractures after an unspecified accident and a growing disconnection from her art, she retreats into the past.

That past centers on her relationship with her former designer

It’s never explicitly defined as romantic, though the intensity of their history, and the devastation of their separation suggests something deeper than collaboration. The film leaves that ambiguity intact, which makes every interaction between them feel charged, like something constantly on the verge of being said but never fully spoken.

As the two women circle each other, discussing the design of a new dress

their dynamic becomes the film’s central tension. They trade passive aggressive remarks, deflect, and talk around what actually matters. At the same time, they slip into moments of softness, remembering each other with a kind of care that never fully disappeared. It feels like watching two people grieve a relationship that is not entirely gone, just unresolved.

The film builds

its central metaphor through these conversations. The designer remarks, “The fabric fades from one thing to another,” and later, “The dress is caught on something…your history.” That idea, that clothing can hold memory, grief, and trauma, becomes the film’s emotional and structural backbone.

It's almost entirely dialogue, and at times, that dialogue is stunning. Certain exchanges feel truly poetic and even devastating. But its relentlessly metaphorical nature becomes slippery, and the line between reality and fantasy blurs. Is the ghost literal, imagined, or emotional residue? The film never quite decides, and neither can we. Director David Lowery leans into his fascination with the spectral and the unseen, but here it feels less grounded than in his previous work. The story drifts, and at times it feels like it doesn’t entirely know what it wants to be.

Still there are undeniable strengths

The music carries clear echoes of Charli XCX, adding a sharp, synthetic edge to the film’s emotional undercurrent, and the lead performances are deeply committed as they navigate that ambiguous relationship. Their exchanges feel like a dance, tense, tender, and unresolved all at once.

There are also moments where the film loosens its grip and becomes something almost playful. At times, it feels like telling scary stories around a campfire, intimate, eerie, and a little improvisational. Those moments give the film a strange charm, even when the larger structure feels uncertain.

And then there’s the climax

a sequence that feels heavily indebted to Suspiria. It leans into body horror and becomes genuinely disturbing and pulse racing in a way the rest of the film only hints at. For a brief moment, everything clicks. But just as quickly, it recedes, and the film returns to its more ambiguous, meandering tone.

That push and pull defines Mother Mary

It’s a film full of striking ideas and beautiful execution, but one that often loses itself in its own abstraction. There are moments where it feels emotionally precise, especially in how it captures the lingering weight of a relationship that ended without clear closure. But those moments are surrounded by stretches of confusion that make it hard to stay grounded.

It’s not fully formed, not fully resolved, but seemingly impossible to pull away from.