Die, My Love, 2025.
Directed by Lynne Ramsay.
Starring Jennifer Lawrence, Edward Pattinson, Sissy Spacek, LaKeith Stanfield, and Nick Nolte.
SYNOPSIS: Grace, a writer and young mother, is slowly slipping into madness. Locked away in an old house in and around Montana, we see her acting increasingly agitated and erratic, leaving her companion, Jackson, increasingly worried and helpless.
It has been 8 years since Lynne Ramsay delivered her gut-punch masterpiece You Were Never Really Here. A dreamstate exercise in trauma that defied convention and sat with you long after the credits had rolled. If you can recall that feeling of emptiness and hopelessness, wait until you get a load of Die, My Love.
We’re privy to a new chapter in the seemingly idyllic life of Grace (Jennifer Lawrence) and Jackson (Robert Pattinson) as they excitedly explore the country house left to them following the death of a relative. The fact that Jackson has no idea about how his uncle has died and appears apathetic to it can be dismissed as the arrogance of youth but indicates that all might not be right in this garden of Eden.
The two are very much in lust, with a montage of primal sex and wanton abandonment soon following. The two crawling on all fours, animalistic, especially Grace, who snarls and writhes as if possessed. This lack of control is then punctuated by the arrival of “boy,” a child who for much of the film remains nameless, but his presence changes everything.
Adapted by Ramsay alongside co-writers Alice Birch and Enda Walsh from the 2012 novel by Ariana Harwicz, Die, My Love is a brutal character study of one woman’s descent into postpartum madness, not one triggered by motherhood, but something that lay dormant in this broken character. She might not be for this world, which is perfect because Lawrence’s performance is otherworldly.
She is a maelstrom of moods, contradictions, and diagnoses against a backdrop of the Montana tranquillity, which is shot beautifully by cinematographer Seamus McGarvey, only accentuating how out of place this vessel of frustration and pent-up desire is. It’s an uncomfortable watch at times, with her mental illness manifesting in bursts of extreme violence and self-harm, but just as painful is her behaviour at a children’s party, or an achingly real chat with a store attendant that begins like a Curb Your Enthusiasm exchange, but evolves into something much crueller and depressing.
However, amongst these scenes of explosive and raw human behaviour, Lawrence imbues Grace with a sense of helplessness and vulnerability. Distant stares beyond the now, or moments of self-awareness are heart-breaking to behold. It’s not a stretch to say that in a career peppered with outstanding performances, Lawrence has never been better.
As both character and performer, Pattinson has the unenviable task of existing in her formidable shadow. Jackson isn’t the most likeable of partners, with his glove-box full of condoms and withering responses to Grace’s actions, but he’s as inexplicably broken as her by the end of the movie, which just adds to the weight of irreparable melancholy hanging over the story.
Together they share a strange chemistry, an energy that benefits the chaotic union at the start of the their journey, but they’re even better as opposing forces, particularly as their desire for one another fluctuates and disappears altogether.
Ably supporting are Sissy Spacek, who brings a world-weary knowingness to the events unfolding before her eyes. She appears to understand what Grace is going through, but is unable to remedy it. Perhaps something learned from nursing her dementia-riddled husband, played by Nick Nolte.
Not all of it works. There’s a perfume advert-style thread which features a largely dialogue-free LaKeith Stanfield as a motorcycle riding kindred spirit, with whom Grace has a carnal connection. It’s baffling and adds very little to the film, but it’s indicative of a movie that asks the audience to submit to it when it swings for the fences.
Lynne Ramsay’s Die, My Love is a lot of things: moving, stylish, and frustrating as all hell. But it’s also just one thing: a singular performance of feral ferocity, complexity, and ultimately crushing sadness from a career-best Jennifer Lawrence.
Flickering Myth Rating – Film ★ ★ ★ ★ / Movie ★ ★ ★
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