Mother Mary

Primarily an intense and intimate two-hander, Mother Mary is an audacious if muddled attempt to dig beneath superficial pop-star glamour.

This melodramatic portrait of tortured artists from director David Lowery (The Green Knight) satirizes the pomposity and pretentiousness of fame and fan expectations by illustrating the title character’s transformation from insecure singer into empowered diva as a surreal exercise in gothic body horror. Its self-conscious weirdness is both alluring and unconvincing.

The story chronicles two women whose relationship is driven by fascinating power dynamics wrapped up in a maze of past friction, residual guilt, and lingering hostility, unspoken jealousy, and unresolved trauma.

That’s evident right from their first encounter, when Mary (Anne Hathaway) comes groveling into the home studio of British fashion designer Sam (Michaela Coel) and her assistant (Hunter Schafer), requesting a new dress for an upcoming high-profile show. Any color other than red, Mary insists for reasons that are revealed later.

Her tone also suggests contrition for their personal estrangement, a narrative that Sam is happy to indulge. “What are we doing here,” Sam asks sarcastically. “Are we reinventing you?”

There’s also a clear, deep affection between Mary and Sam, who during the course of their visit become trusted confidants willing to share and listen to one another’s deepest secrets.

Much of the action takes place over a single night, with flashbacks — including some performance sequences — filling in some contextual details and motives.

It evolves into an introspective reckoning, a battle of wits between two strong-willed combatants forced to confront their past and express their vulnerabilities. The film explores the convergence, or perhaps clash, of creativity and showmanship — and probes how clothes create a mythical mask or coping mechanism for those in the public eye.

The film benefits from sharp dialogue and strong performances, not to mention a haunting and ethereal soundtrack with collaborations from Jack Antonoff, FKA Twigs, and Charli XCX, with Hathaway doing much of her own singing.

However, it maintains a cold and unsympathetic emotional distance. Lowery’s screenplay isn’t able to convey the same level of insight into each other’s pain that the protagonists feel for one another, or transport moviegoers inside their troubled minds.

As a result, despite some stylish visuals that enhance this fresh perspective on familiar themes, Mother Mary winds up more tedious than profound.

Rated R, 112 minutes.