Films for Breakfast

Director David Lowery has had a fascinating career, to say the least. Over the past decade, he’s delivered some of the most distinct and original films of the last decade; from A Ghost Story to The Green Knight – while also stepping into the studio machine with Disney remakes like Pete’s Dragon and Peter Pan & Wendy. What’s most notable about that trajectory is how intact his voice remains. Pete’s Dragon in particular still feels unmistakably like a Lowery film: soulful, patient, and deeply attuned to human emotion in a way most remakes simply aren’t.

His latest, Mother Mary, feels both squarely in his wheelhouse and unlike anything he’s made before – a culmination of the genres he’s explored and an exciting indication of where he might go next. More than anything, it plays like the work of an artist interrogating the act of creation itself, drilling down into its smallest, most obsessive details.

The film follows pop star Mother Mary (Anne Hathaway), who arrives, amid some form of personal crisis, at the doorstep of her former costume designer, Sam Anselm (Michaela Coel). Desperate for help designing a dress on the eve of her comeback performance, Mary is forced into close quarters with someone she clearly shares a fraught history with. What unfolds is largely a chamber piece, set within a liminal, almost otherworldly space, where their conversations take center stage. Occasional flashbacks broaden the scope, but the film is primarily defined by this tense, intimate back-and-forth.

For a character study like Mother Mary, the screenplay does much of the heavy lifting – and Lowery’s script is something I’ve been chewing on for days. On one hand, it’s rich with compelling ideas: the nature of artistic creation, the question of ownership, and the unsettling parallels between pop idol worship and religious devotion. On the other, there’s an emotional chill running through it that, while clearly intentional, can create a sense of distance from the characters.

Even when that distance sets in, the film remains gripping thanks to its presentation – starting with its cast. Anne Hathaway delivers one of her strongest performances in years, a true tour de force that pushes her into some of the darkest material of her career. She captures Mary’s regret, trauma, and longing to reclaim a lost spark with remarkable precision. Michaela Coel is just as compelling, matching Hathaway beat for beat. Her ability to stand toe-to-toe with such a commanding performance, and to anchor the film alongside her, speaks volumes about her presence and skill. Supporting roles from Hunter Schafer and FKA twigs are solid, but this is undeniably Hathaway and Coel’s film.

The original music is another standout. With contributions from FKA twigs, Charli XCX, and Jack Antonoff, the songs do a tremendous amount of world-building, making Mother Mary feel like a fully realized pop icon with a devoted following. There’s a distinct sonic identity here—a blend of experimental edge and mainstream polish – that evokes artists like twigs, Grimes, and Charli herself. These tracks often bookend major sequences, elevating both the concert moments and the film’s more spiritual, surreal passages.

Lowery’s direction is, as expected, hypnotically effective. The film begins as a straightforward drama but gradually folds in elements of dark comedy, horror, and the metaphysical. The cinematography by Rina Yang and Andrew Droz Palermo is striking throughout, particularly in the more gothic, dreamlike sequences. There’s a visual language here that’s difficult to pin down but undeniably evocative, helping the film’s more fantastical elements land with real weight.

By the end, despite my reservations about the screenplay’s emotional distance, I found myself deeply drawn to the push-and-pull between Mary and Sam, as well as the sheer craft on display. It’s an imperfect film, but an undeniably fascinating one – ambitious, singular, and full of ideas that linger. I’m curious to see how it holds up on rewatch and where it ultimately lands among Lowery’s best, but for now, it’s something I admire quite a bit, warts and all.