Mother Mary isn’t so much a film about artistic fame descending into dark madness as it is about trying to find a path forward in the aftermath of the erosion of connections. Director David Lowery treats art not as a corrupting force, but as a piece of fabric that can be molded and reshaped, even after it has brought pain. Through this stirring dose of psychological and supernatural horror, that clawing desire for expression is given an abstract yet empathetic form, with flashes of bloody summonings and pop-star power.

There is a conflict between the clothing designer Sam Anselm (Michaela Coel) and the hit singer Mother Mary (Anne Hathaway). Despite Mother Mary’s betrayal, she finds herself desperately pleading with Sam to make her a new outfit. While Mary is coy with the details, Sam comes to realize she’s mending more than just a dress. Their dialogue amid a rustic design studio becomes a cunning battle of earnest words blistering with bitterness and bluntness. That simmering tension is broken by displays of Mary’s exhaustive dancing and Sam’s imagination for designs that can never shake the halo from Mary’s head.

Lowery’s assembly of a relationship in repair starts with the restraint of a one-set play, and progressively weaves in the surreal. The marketing for this film features posters that stress “this is not a ghost story,” and it’s accurate: there is no traditional ghost. There are summonings for some spirit, but not one that can be easily defined. The spooky something becomes that nagging sensation of egotism and the uncomfortable feeling of fame’s suffocating box. If Mary’s handful of concert sequences look and sound like Lady Gaga, that seems very much by design, given her tearful confessions of feeling empty. And then there is Sam, staring down at her with intrigue and pity, compelled to make a dress but curious to probe deeper into Mary’s messy mind.

For a film that mostly takes place in one location, Lowery doesn’t skimp on the stylish allure of Mary’s pop fame. He’s admitted to taking inspiration from Taylor Swift while Hathaway cited Beyoncé. It’s that stitching together of material that fittingly defines a film that wants to explore more than one aspect of this professional and personal relationship, rendered by forces defined and undefined. The look and feel of the spirit that binds the two women is closer to David Lynch, in its vague, shimmering clothiness and eerie quality. It’s a juggling act that the film manages to pull off for grounding that uncertainty with moments of blunt confrontation and revealing lyrics.

While Hathaway fits the pop-star presence, there’s a haunting quality to Michaela Coel. She speaks with a controlled confidence as she pulls the strings of her client, her large eyes seeming to stare deep into the soul. The certainty in her words and the boldness in her remarks allow her to easily weave stories of pulling out teeth and make it seem as though ghost summoning is a side hobby for someone like her. The vulnerability she is willing to expose, both emotionally and physically, makes her performance as intoxicating as Hathaway’s stage command in her tight outfits and provocative musical numbers.

Mother Mary molds the horrors of fame into a bold new form of what happens after the pop and pain have fizzled. It might be easy to describe the film as a quilt of various ghost pictures and glamorous music sensations, but that wouldn’t define the film’s mesmerizing usage of such materials. In the same way that Mary searches for a renewed identity that can’t be so easily divulged with costume details, Lowery also wants to tap into something more than just a ghost story with cursed fabric. Through a surreal lens, the film finds something remarkable, even when the seams are visible in the bleeding of genres and sets. It’s musically engaging, darkly mysterious, and laced with some sharp jabs at amusement for a movie where two women start talking about their feelings and end up summoning a ghost.

Not available on any streaming platforms.

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