David Lowery’s films tend to have a flair for the fantastical. This is true of A Ghost Story, about a man who dies and watches the house he shared with his wife change hands over the years. Then there’s The Green Knight, adapted from a 14th-century poem which chronicles nobleman Gawain (Dev Patel) as he seeks out the mythic titular entity. And that’s not to mention his PG Disney efforts, Pete’s Dragon and Peter Pan & Wendy, in which magic is decidedly real. But with Mother Mary, Lowery has fine-tuned his metaphysical perspective. As opposed to being steeped in a reality where supernatural occurrences are presented as entirely true, the world of Mother Mary reflects our own—some are believers, some are not, and sometimes the people you expect to fall in either camp are as surprising as the ghostly encounters they recount.
Clearly suffering from some sort of psychic affliction is the film’s titular pop star, played by Anne Hathaway with a frenetic frailty only rivaled by her performance as a self-centered recovering addict in Rachel Getting Married. In Mother Mary, she is presented as equally selfish, having destroyed her relationship with her best friend and personal dressmaker Sam Anselm (a staggering Michaela Coel) for the sake of her own success. This is why it’s so shocking when the songbird shows up at Sam’s London studio, wearing drab gray sweats and drenched from the English downpour. Sam visibly fights the urge to tell her to fuck off, but ultimately hears her request out: Mother Mary needs a dress for a fast-approaching landmark performance, and Sam is clearly the only one fit for the task. The only caveat? Absolutely no red.
The majority of the film takes place in a decrepit barn-turned-studio, where Sam ushers Mother Mary for a rushed fitting. There’s the sense that violence could erupt at any moment, and Sam stabbing the air with her scissors, though clearly meant as a jest, thinly conceals a primal hatred. As the injured party, Sam’s palpable bitterness is somewhat justified. She is a genuine artisan who’s been made to feel inferior to a crowd-pleasing pop act. But now that generic rhinestones and taffeta have lost their luster, Mother Mary acts like the victim, perhaps to make her transatlantic trek to her former confidant’s studio feel less damaging to her ego. Heavy is the head that wears the ornately theatrical headpiece, but it’s easy to see who the true visionary is.
Or at least it initially seems that way. Mother Mary’s setlist is composed of original songwriting from modern pop icons Jack Antonoff, Charli xcx, and FKA Twigs (who also stars in a minor yet crucial role), and the latter’s song in particular feels like it would be more than warmly received on a dance floor in New York or London. But the most stirring example of Mother Mary’s enchanting artistry is one that isn’t set to music at all. Vowing that she would never listen to another one of her former friend’s songs, Sam only agrees to witness Mother Mary’s new routine if she performs it without sound. Still damp, she takes off her shoes and moves her body across the stripped-down wood floors as if possessed by a spirit. Her appendages contort into strange angles; her body slams down to the floor and into the space’s sparse furnishings. Sam begins to realize that she’s not just dressing Mother Mary for just any performance—but what appears to be a guttural dance with death.
It soon becomes clear that this wouldn’t be the first time that Mother Mary has hurled herself toward oblivion during a concert, and as Sam shelves her hurt feelings, she attempts, slowly but surely, to establish a genuine dialogue with her long lost friend. This is when they both realize that they’ve both been experiencing visions of—or visits from?—an odd ancient presence. As the film marches on, the viewer begins to feel as if they’re under a spell. Goosebumps are evoked from mere silence, as if anticipating a jump scare; whispered dialogue raises the hair on the back of one’s neck; the dark, dreary corners of the studio begin to feel haunted themselves. It’s downright spellbinding, and when blood is actually spilled, it is born of witchy ritual rather than brutal revenge.
Mother Mary is not scary, nor is it particularly violent. But it does conjure an emotional and metaphysical weight that is practically impossible to shake off post-viewing. This is the most successful Lowery has been at evoking a sensory experience. In comparison, the perspectives of Casey Affleck’s unnamed spirit and the fairytale conquest of Gawain perhaps prove too singular to truly resonate. After all, how can viewers truly relate to undeath and fantastical medieval challenges?
But Mother Mary asks something raw and relatable: As artists, or simply as people with aspirations, what does it mean to sell one’s soul for a taste of success? As a filmmaker who toggles between independent filmmaking and commercial IP remakes, Lowery understands this predicament better than most. Within him are two creatives: the “sell-out” capable of making hits, and the craftsman who helms favorable arthouse fare. But what’s the ideal path forward if both are plagued by a disturbing entity? Perhaps all we really have in this life are the rituals—as harebrained or outlandish as they might seem—that provide temporary relief.
Director: David Lowery
Writer: David Lowery
Starring: Anne Hathaway, Michaela Coel, Hunter Schafer, Atheena Frizzell, Kaia Gerber, Jessica Brown Findlay, Isaura Barbé-Brown, Alba Baptista, Sian Clifford, FKA Twigs
Release Date: April 17, 2026