Anne Hathaway and Michaela Coel can't save Mother Mary from its own mess

When a movie tries to be everything at once-spiritual parable, fashion fantasy, rock opera, and psychological drama-it risks becoming nothing at all. That's the central problem with Mother Mary, David Lowery's latest film starring Anne Hathaway as a global pop sensation and Michaela Coel as her sharp, grounded designer collaborator. The film sets up a bold premise: what if a megastar's rise and unraveling mirrored sacred myth? But instead of clarity, it delivers a swirl of symbols, silences, and surreal detours that leave audiences more confused than moved.

Hathaway throws herself into the role with the kind of fearless commitment that suggests she's chasing something monumental. Her character, a blend of Madonna, Lady Gaga, and Beyoncé, moves through a world of glittering stages and private torment. Coel, as her creative partner, brings warmth and skepticism, anchoring the story in something resembling reality. Their chemistry is one of the film's few consistent strengths. But even their performances can't steady a script that veers from intimate drama into gothic fantasy without a clear roadmap.

The visuals, at least, are unforgettable. Lowery, known for his poetic pacing and rich imagery, fills every frame with color, shadow, and symbolic detail. Costumes pulse with meaning, and concert sequences feel like religious rites. Charli XCX's original music adds a pulsing, modern edge-moments of sonic clarity in a film that often feels sonically and narratively muffled. But style can only carry a film so far, and Mother Mary begins to sag under the weight of its own ambition.

Reviews from outlets like The Guardian and Variety have been sharply critical, calling the film "thuddingly pretentious" and "almost completely incoherent." One critic likened its metaphysical turn to "an exorcist movie where the devil is a piece of bolt fabric"-a jab at its tendency to substitute symbolism for substance. Deadline offered a slightly kinder take, praising its mood and ambition, but even that review acknowledges the film never quite finds its center.

Part of the frustration comes from what the film could have been. There's real potential in exploring how modern fame takes on religious dimensions-how fans worship, how icons suffer, how reinvention becomes ritual. But Mother Mary doesn't commit to satire, biography, or allegory. It hovers uneasily between them, speaking in riddles without offering answers. The result is a movie that feels more like a mood board than a story.

Still, it's hard to dismiss the film entirely. Hathaway and Coel are too compelling, and Lowery too gifted a visual storyteller, for Mother Mary to be a total loss. There are moments-quiet glances, sudden bursts of music, flashes of vulnerability-that suggest a deeper emotional core. But those moments are buried under layers of self-seriousness and abstraction, making them feel accidental rather than earned.

Ultimately, Mother Mary may be remembered less as a film and more as a cautionary tale about ambition untethered from clarity. It's a movie that wants to be iconic but ends up feeling insular. For all its grand gestures, it forgets the simplest truth: even gods and pop stars need stories we can follow.