★ ½ ☆ ☆ ☆
After the big budget blowout of Noah, Darren Aronofsky returns to simpler times with this deliberately provocative tale of a man and woman (Javier Bardem and Jennifer Lawrence, whose characters remain unnamed) living peaceful, but soon-to-be interrupted lives. Basking in their Eden-like seclusion, Lawrence’s eponymous matriarch sets about restoring the house (with which she shares a mysterious, organic connection), while Bardem plays a troubled poet looking to write his masterwork. Just as inspiration appears to strike, an unknown couple (Ed Harris and Michelle Pfeiffer) stumble upon the pair, bringing with them the unspoken threat of upset and destruction.
For all it’s unclear narrative strokes and ambiguous dialogue, mother! is not a subtle film. The instant it’s central metaphor takes root, it's nigh-on impossible to focus on anything else. The intended discomfort and tension as Harris and Pfeiffer encroach upon the couple’s handiwork is totally undermined by an allegory so ham-fisted you could slice it up and serve it in sandwiches.
That a film so steeped in parable and analogy is playing in multiplexes should be something to celebrate, making Aranofsky’s failure to combine symbolism with a compelling story that much more infuriating. The overriding thesis of the film – at least, as it was apparent to me – is one I sympathise with, but I can’t see it winning over the average movie-goer. As evidenced by the movie’s plummeting CinemaScore across the pond, they’re likely to remain resolutely alienated by a mood piece comprised mostly of Jennifer Lawrence gasping and shrieking at the camera.
To see Lawrence return to comparatively ‘out there’ cinema after her string of mainstream roles is an exciting prospect, and sadly remains just that: something still to come. Her role here (to use the word ‘character’ seems generous considering her deployment as reflection or caricature) gives us nothing but fear and loathing, of which she gave ample demonstration across all four instalments of the Hunger Games series.
Pfieffer tries to save what she can (largely through a particularly delicate method of sipping lemonade), but it’s a hopeless effort. She – along with Harris and brief spells from Dohmnall Gleeson and Kristen Wiig – becomes just another face in the crown of walking, talking emblems that slowly but surely begin to overwhelm the isolated abode.
This increasingly fraught and claustrophobic home-invasion section of the film is where things truly go to pot. In terms of pure technical construction, there should be much to admire as time, space and bodies fast-forward, tighten and twist in a finale clearly designed to shock and awe. The established composition of mother! (a repetitive, clumsy and dull array of close-ups and over-the-shoulder shots) instead consigns us to crock and bore.
For all it’s unclear narrative strokes and ambiguous dialogue, mother! is not a subtle film. The instant it’s central metaphor takes root, it's nigh-on impossible to focus on anything else. The intended discomfort and tension as Harris and Pfeiffer encroach upon the couple’s handiwork is totally undermined by an allegory so ham-fisted you could slice it up and serve it in sandwiches.
That a film so steeped in parable and analogy is playing in multiplexes should be something to celebrate, making Aranofsky’s failure to combine symbolism with a compelling story that much more infuriating. The overriding thesis of the film – at least, as it was apparent to me – is one I sympathise with, but I can’t see it winning over the average movie-goer. As evidenced by the movie’s plummeting CinemaScore across the pond, they’re likely to remain resolutely alienated by a mood piece comprised mostly of Jennifer Lawrence gasping and shrieking at the camera.
To see Lawrence return to comparatively ‘out there’ cinema after her string of mainstream roles is an exciting prospect, and sadly remains just that: something still to come. Her role here (to use the word ‘character’ seems generous considering her deployment as reflection or caricature) gives us nothing but fear and loathing, of which she gave ample demonstration across all four instalments of the Hunger Games series.
Pfieffer tries to save what she can (largely through a particularly delicate method of sipping lemonade), but it’s a hopeless effort. She – along with Harris and brief spells from Dohmnall Gleeson and Kristen Wiig – becomes just another face in the crown of walking, talking emblems that slowly but surely begin to overwhelm the isolated abode.
This increasingly fraught and claustrophobic home-invasion section of the film is where things truly go to pot. In terms of pure technical construction, there should be much to admire as time, space and bodies fast-forward, tighten and twist in a finale clearly designed to shock and awe. The established composition of mother! (a repetitive, clumsy and dull array of close-ups and over-the-shoulder shots) instead consigns us to crock and bore.
