Showing posts with label Lynne Ramsay. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lynne Ramsay. Show all posts

Thursday, January 1, 2026

2025 Top Ten List #2 Die My Love



 


















Director Lynne Ramsay




Ramsay on the set with Jennifer Lawrence

Jennifer Lawrence

Lawrence, Ramsay, and Robert Pattinson

Lawrence and Pattinson 

Cannes press conference

novelist Ariana Harwicz



































































DIE MY LOVE          A                                                                                                            Great Britain  USA  Canada  (118 mi)  2025  d: Lynne Ramsay

I’m stuck between wanting to do something, and not wanting to do anything at all.                    —Grace (Jennifer Lawrence)

This film was a fuckin’ monster, and could certainly leave viewers perplexed, receiving mixed scores at Cannes when it premiered (Cannes Film Festival 2025 jury grid), perhaps coming as no surprise that its arthouse darkness has divided audiences, though this is an extensively re-edited version than what played at Cannes, where she only had 5 days to edit before the festival screening.  Nobody makes movies like this anymore, as no one else seems to have the guts to try, having nothing in common with what you see in mainstream movie theaters, where all you see in theaters today, on streaming platforms, or even at film festivals is relatively generic filmmaking, yet this is as bold, abstract, and ferociously artistic as they come, made by the reassuring hand of a filmmaker who literally inhabits the fractured, psychological mindset of an alienated female character likely suffering from postpartum depression following childbirth (a phrase never mentioned in the film), revealing just how suffocating her life and marriage become after childbirth.  Much like the character, viewers have no chance to escape, yet that’s simply the backdrop for what is ultimately an off-the-rails crazy love story, taking us along for a wild ride, where we feel like we’ve been on an epic adventure, like Odysseus in The Odyssey, where there’s nothing sugar coated about it.  This is a film that invites us to walk in her shoes, not diagnose her problem, or figure out a cure, just identify with the unknown mystery within.  Impossible to believe any man on the planet could make this film, though the closest may be John Cassavetes exploring the emotionally exhaustive mood swings of Gena Rowlands in A Woman Under the Influence (1974), or Ingmar Bergman writing for Liv Ullman, who was pregnant in real-life with the director’s child in Persona (1966), with actress Jennifer Lawrence offering a raw and explosive performance that defies belief, claiming women directors aren’t over-controlling and don’t “overdirect” like male directors typically do (Jennifer Lawrence Says Female Directors Don't ...), suggesting Lynne Ramsay was the opposite of that, describing her as an instinctual director, working without an ego, acutely observational, using music on the set, and “very emotionally led.”  Can’t really say this is better than RATCATCHER (1999) and MORVERN CALLAR (2002), two of her best, but its sprawling canvas is equally as impressive in its fiercely original style of filmmaking.  Putting this in context, Ramsay’s other works are short films Small Deaths (Lynne Ramsay, 1996) - YouTube (11:13) and GASMAN (1997), Lynne Ramsay's 1970s Christmas in Scotland - YouTube (14:18), along with features We Need to Talk About Kevin (2011), and 2018 Top Ten List #2 You Were Never Really Here (2017), where every one is extraordinary, but this one contains a relentlessly bold spirit that dares viewers to come along for an intentionally disorienting journey, literally imposing a woman’s troubling mindset into the theater, where it’s hard not to be affected by the frontal assault to the senses.  This is liberated filmmaking, actually filmed in Calgary, Canada, about as out of the way a place for a Scottish filmmaker to go, sadly losing her mother just days before the Cannes screening (her 8th visit!), whose works are marked by a fascination with children, young people and mothers, and a loss of innocence, as well as the recurring themes of alienation, grief, guilt, death, and its aftermath, with Ramsay collaborating with British guitarist and songwriter George Vjestica (a member of Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds) to provide the musical score.  The film is marked by long periods of tedium where nothing much happens, followed by moments of unanticipated intensity that literally shock viewers into seeing and experiencing something they’d never imagine on their own, which is the beauty of Ramsay’s filmmaking, as it continually lives on the edge, typically eliciting career-best performances out of her actors (think Samantha Morton, Tilda Swinton, Joaquin Phoenix, and now Jennifer Lawrence).  By the way, this film would drastically lose much of its combustible power if seen on a smaller screen, as this is designed with a theater experience in mind.   

The film is an adaptation by Irish playwright Enda Walsh, British playwright Alice Birch, and Scottish filmmaker Ramsay of the eponymous 120-page novel Matate, Amor by Argentinian author Ariana Harwicz, one of the most radical figures in contemporary Argentinian literature, first published in 2012, using a surrealist, stream-of-consciousness format following a woman in rural France who experiences a mental breakdown after having a child, struggling with isolation, motherhood, and intense emotions, described as a “powerful mosaic of the mind.”  It's impossible to come out unscathed from this film, never explaining the state of emergency of its protagonist, where a woman is battling her demons, embracing exclusion yet wanting to belong, craving freedom while feeling trapped, yearning for family life but wanting to burn the entire house down, feeling ever more stifled and repressed, always on the verge of madness, at one point jumping into a pool filled with children in just her underwear, where it’s as if she experiences over-stimulation from the surrounding environment, with the director using visceral cinematic language to express the crushing reality of domestic life through the use of close-ups, fractured scenes, sensory imagery, and an overly intrusive sound design, such as the baby's cry, the world’s most annoying dog barking relentlessly, or sex and silence bleeding into one another.  Blurring the lines between reality and sensory overload, where it’s impossible to know how much of this is real and how much exists only in the imagination, yet that’s the real beauty of this particular film, as there are flashbacks and hallucinations, with an erratic, stream-of-consciousness narrative providing a window into her crumbling state of mind, always teetering on the edge of reality, reminiscent of Catherine Deneuve in Roman Polanski’s mind-altering REPULSION (1965), occasionally lashing out violently, where you often suspect it’s imagined, but the cuts on her face afterwards tell us all we need to know.  Bruising and confrontational, yet anchored in an unapologetic beauty and lyricism, Ramsay has crafted a unique sensory experience that may take some viewers by surprise, especially considering a familiarity with this actress, as Jennifer Lawrence is someone we’ve grown up with, breaking onto the scene in Debra Granik’s 2010 Top Ten Films of the Year: #3 Winter's Bone (2010), followed by David O. Russell’s Silver Linings Playbook (2012), where she won a Best Actress Oscar when she was just 22 years of age, famously tripping going up the stairs to the stage to accept her award, American Hustle (2013), and Joy (2015), as well as Darren Aronofsky’s Mother! (2017), where she has literally stolen our hearts with the exceptional nature of her performances.  But this is something else altogether, a blatant protest against conventionality that can be disorienting and brutal, as one moment she’s lucid and calm, while the next is sheer chaos and confusion, moving effortlessly between banality and eruptions of extreme explosiveness that seemingly come out of nowhere, where this is a director that refuses to pander to the audience, beginning as a painter, and then a photographer, described by British film critic Mark Kermode as “combining the visual poetry of Robert Bresson with the down-to-earth grit of Ken Loach, and the ecstasy of pure cinema.”  Jennifer Lawrence revealed she was about four months pregnant when shooting began, adding an unfiltered layer of rawness and emotional authenticity to her performance, with Stephanie Zacharek from Time magazine aptly describing it as “the kind of performance you go to the movies for.”

Part dark psychological thriller and part black comedy, the storyline is simple and ambiguously understated, turning uniquely complex, accentuated by the power of the performances.  Beautifully shot on 35mm by Irish cinematographer Seamus McGarvey, who the director has worked with before, emphasizing color and texture, and produced by Martin Scorsese, who brought the book to the attention of Jennifer Lawrence’s company Excellent Cadaver, who in turn brought it to Lynne Ramsay.  At the outset of the film we see a New York City couple arriving to a remote location in rural Montana, entering an empty dilapidated home filled with old wallpaper, with Jennifer Lawrence as Grace, a writer meant to be working on a book, accompanying her musician wannabe partner Jackson (Robert Pattinson), both free spirits exhibiting an unleashed animalistic energy between them, like the erotically charged wrestling scene in the Lindsay Anderson drama IF (1968), doing plenty of drinking and dancing, having plenty of uninhibited sex, where this was his childhood home, vacated by a deceased relative who shot himself, though still filled with haunting memories.  This family home provides the foundation for the narrative, surrounded by forests and grasslands, as it’s a world where nature continually intrudes, much like Peter Weir’s Picnic at Hanging Rock (1975), where the mysterious allure of beauty also eludes to signs of impending danger, like being stuck in the Overlook Hotel of Stephen King’s The Shining.  That unrestrained lifestyle all changes with the birth of a child, as their lives start falling apart.  While there are surreal family scenes in their new home that are mysteriously strange, with Sissy Spacek from Robert Altman’s equally unfathomable 3 Women (1977) as Jackson’s mother Pam, who sleeps with a loaded rifle after the death of her husband (an equally traumatic event), and informs Grace “Everybody goes a little loopy the first year,” DIE MY LOVE | Official Clip #3 | In Theaters November | With ... YouTube (1:30), and Nick Nolte as Jackson’s eccentric, dementia-suffering father Harry (before his passing), who wants everybody cleared out of his brother’s house, thinking he’s still living there, eliciting a claustrophobic feeling of being trapped, as if the world is closing in on them.  Yet there’s also a prevalent use of symbolism, as outside, for instance, horses run free, a poetic sign of transcendence in Tarkovsky’s ANDREI RUBLEV (1966), and a connection to the primal instincts of the natural world, where one of the most powerful scenes has the couple arguing in the car while riding through the forest and unexpectedly crashing into one of those beautiful animals, with the soundtrack cutting to 60’s rock supergroup Cream singing a live version of “Crossroads” CREAM Crossroads 1968 YouTube (4:48) in the immediate aftermath, a song choice that targets people of a certain age, where it’s like an anthem to lost youth, now living only in our memories.  Yet one thing is clear, violence, the imagining of it, the physical infliction of it, and its effect on the psyche, is what dominates this film.  After childbirth, something is not right with Grace, seeing everything that is normal as imprisoning, making her feel like a caged animal, where the only place she can feel free is in the forest next to her house, often retreating there in unexpected moments, even going on long walks with the baby carriage, where it’s not the baby that she feels disconnected to, it’s everything else.  Where once she had a healthy sexual appetite, now their sex life is almost nonexistent, an essential part of her life that is lost after the baby is born, and while Jackson is sympathetic, he doesn’t really understand what she’s going through and his despair is evident, becoming aloof and distant, not around when she needs him, often away on the road for work, leaving her to contend with her own demons, with growing suspicions that he’s cheating on her, DIE MY LOVE | Official Clip | In Theaters November | With ...  YouTube (2:06).

Bleak and unflinching, an extended meditation on life and death that seem to endlessly torment this woman, it walks the line between the interior and the exterior, bringing the viewer inside a mind spiraling out of control, taking us to some dark places, offering a kind of voyeuristic filmmaking, as the viewer watches Grace from the outside, unable to penetrate her troubled mind, creating an unsettling sense of intimacy and distance, Die, My Love clip official from Cannes Film Festival 2025 YouTube (1:43).  LaKeith Stanfield as Karl plays an interesting role as a largely unseen neighbor who constantly rides by the house on his motorcycle, feeling completely imaginary, like a character seen from a distance luridly playing out in her head, coming across like Heathcliff in Emily Brontë’s mid-19th century novel Wuthering Heights (Arnold) (2011), having a sexual affair, part of the unrestrained demons screaming for freedom inside, an example of how she bottles up pressure and frustration.  For instance, Lawrence has a lot of nudity in this film, but very little sexual release, just another part of a woman’s overall frustration, finding it impossible to blend in with the world around her, where she’s not afraid to be unlikable, or to shed her inhibitions, yet she remains off-limits, positively refusing help from others, as they remain outside her personal orbit, DIE MY LOVE | Official Clip #2 | In Theaters November | With ... YouTube (1:37).  There’s a positively brilliant use of the John Prine song sung with Iris DeMent, “In Spite of Ourselves,” John Prine and Iris DeMent - In Spite of Ourselves (Live From ... YouTube (5:04), which was heard recently in Celine Song’s Materialists (2025), but this one beautifully accentuates the deeply flawed and exposed vulnerabilities of the dysfunctional romantic couple besieged by a neverending series of problems, where at least for this one tender musical moment, it’s easy to feel sympathetic for them both.  Perhaps the most common element in all of Ramsay’s films is the extraordinary use of music, especially her song choices, which are completely in sync with what she’s psychologically trying to say with her visual style, exhibiting a superlative gift of composition, where her innovative cinema is like an impressionistic collage of submerged emotions bursting through the surface, where you never know what’s going to happen, and you may take issue with how she does it, jumping around in time using a non-linear narrative, yet the result is a striking, if not shattering, exploration of the darkest corners of the human psyche.  Refusing to see what his wife is struggling with, late in the film Grace turns to her husband and says, “I’m right here, you just can’t see me.”  That invisibility may be what this fever dream of a film is all about, recalling the words of playwright Arthur Miller in Death of a Salesman, with a frustrated wife passionately defending her long-neglected husband by reminding us, “Attention must be paid.”  The apocalyptic finale, seemingly right out of Tarkovsky’s The Sacrifice (Offret) (1986), or Michael Haneke’s Time of the Wolf (Le Temps du Loup) (2003), is just extraordinary, especially considering the volatile moments that led us there, where you see an entire forest catching fire within seconds, images of extraordinary intensity that we also see briefly over the opening credits, becoming a spectacular composition of her inner spirit bursting into flames, audaciously heading butt naked into the eye of the storm, where she couldn’t be more exposed and vulnerable.  Yet there is no hesitation, which may as well be the mindset of the director, as this couldn’t be a more fearlessly liberating style of cinema, using catastrophic imagery on the screen to delineate the catastrophe happening within, with the voice of an unaccompanied Ramsay (recorded on an iPhone) heard quietly singing the post-punk Joy Division song “Love Will Tear Us Apart” Joy Division - Love Will Tear Us Apart, 1995 Remastered ... YouTube (3:38) over the end credits, a band whose lead singer, Ian Curtis, also battled depression, beautifully expressing the brash, in-your-face punkish style of this rare and exceptional director. 

Tuesday, January 1, 2019

2018 Top Ten List #2 You Were Never Really Here





Director Lynne Ramsay
 




Lynne Ramsay on the set with actor Joaquin Phoenix
 




Award winners Ramsay and Phoenix at Cannes
 




YOU WERE NEVER REALLY HERE                   A                    
Great Britain  France  USA  (95 mi)  2017  ‘Scope  d:  Lynne Ramsay              Official site

It’s an absolute pleasure to become reacquainted with this filmmaker after such a long absence, as it’s been seven years since We Need to Talk About Kevin (2011).  She’s especially gifted in conveying mood and atmosphere, where flashbacks frequent her films, allowing deeper insight into character, where this is a deeply probing character study.  Adapted from the Jonathan Ames novel, the film was actually released in competition at Cannes (while still a work in progress, now with fewer flashbacks and the sound design is finally completed) a year before the book was published, earning a seven-minute standing ovation afterwards while winning best screenplay and best actor for Joaquin Phoenix, which is surprising, as this is largely a wordless film.  It is unfathomable how Sofia Coppola won Best Director at Cannes for The Beguiled (2017) , a sexually repressed costume drama and compromised period piece over this film, which is dense and magisterial in comparison, accentuated by Ramsay’s superb directing, easily one of the better directed films in any film year.  One can only conclude that it was all about the privilege of being a Coppola, which carries plenty of weight on the festival circuit, though every single one of Ramsay’s films have been a directing sensation, as it is her most distinguishing characteristic as an artist and filmmaker, where she conveys a fiercely uncompromising spirit in every release.  So while she was awarded for special distinction, it was in the wrong category, a problem that plagues nearly all film festivals, but especially Cannes in recent years.   Hopefully this does not deter Ramsay from getting work, only her fourth film in the last 18 years, as she’s developed a reputation for being difficult, but this is a sexist smear, as she was completely discredited by none other than Hollywood mogul Stephen Spielberg after Ramsay was hired to adapt a screenplay from the 2002 Alice Sebold novel The Lovely Bones and direct the film, working for a year in preparation, only to be fired by producer Spielberg in favor of fellow blockbuster filmmaker Peter Jackson, who made a positively dreadful film in 2009 accentuating a brightness of tone for a film about rape and serial killings, even dismemberment, leaving out the dark edge that Ramsay specializes in.  Her reputation in the industry has never recovered, where only true cinema aficionados, apparently, understand and appreciate her worth, as she’s simply never made a bad film and is among the most superlative directors working today, but damn if she can find work after that earlier incident, which caused her considerable heartache.  Spielberg has never apologized or even recognized the error of his ways, but it’s the worst thing that could have happened to this rising star, excluding her from the old boys club where in the past decade men direct more than 95% of all Hollywood films, basically putting the squeeze on her career, making it that much more difficult to find work.  As if to compound that problem, Ramsay walked away from the western JANE GOT A GUN in 2013 after a standoff with producer Scott Stendorff over delays and his refusal to relinquish control of the final cut, claiming they wanted a completely different film than the one she intended to deliver.

A tense film noir thriller in every respect, with a command for editing and texture, opening with a fragmented piece of experimental cinema, what stands out is the disorienting camera work by Thomas Townend juxtaposed against Jonny Greenwood’s abrasive electronic score, one of the more unusual in his repertoire, featuring evocative sound effects that may have viewers squirming in their seats.  Joaquin Phoenix has a history of playing damaged souls, but has never been in a film made by Ramsay, who pays particular attention to his hulking physique, a man plagued by traumatizing war flashbacks and suicidal impulses, where the focus is on his inner turmoil, creating a kaleidoscopic portrait of his fractured psyche, where he remembers the lifeless feet of children that he saw while he was stationed overseas as a soldier and repeatedly sees ghosts of the past.  Perhaps it takes a man with his deeply disturbing history, having survived the atrocities of war, and a career in the FBI, along with an abusive and tormenting father, which all have a debilitating effect on him, literally replaying in his mind as he’s carrying out his assignment, which is rescuing underaged girls kidnapped in sex rings.  While that sounds admirable, we quickly learn the extent of what he’s willing to do, where he resembles a one-man wrecking crew, a RAMBO-like assassination team that destroys with amazing efficiency.  Alone in an alleyway after completing a job, he’s accosted by an assailant, making short work of him with a quick headbutt that has the intruder wailing on the ground, unable to come to their senses, while he calmly walks away.  He lives with his elderly mother (Judith Roberts) in his childhood home, an unpretentious apartment in Queens, tenderly looking after her between jobs, where we catch a glimpse of them singing old familiar songs together as he helps her out polishing the silverware.  His next assignment is a tricky one, as it involves the abducted teenage daughter of a New York State Senator, Albert Votto (Alex Manette).  As we see him go about his routines, hiring a car, going shopping, buying tape and a hammer, while also having a sauna to get his mind right, he surveils the brothel property, watching who comes in and out, grabbing one of them, obtaining layout information, including the front door lock combination.  As he enters, viewers watch security footage as the throbbing music takes on its own mindset as we hear a 60’s pop tune playing throughout the dingy hotel-like premises, Rosie & The Originals - Angel Baby (1961) - YouTube (2:45), reminiscent of David Lynch’s BLUE VELVET (1986), quickly dispatching of guards and customers alike, leaving them in a heap on the floor, with a blip on the soundtrack quickly jumping ahead like a record skip, with a sense of dread looming down the hallways, creating extraordinary levels of suspense with the camera simply following as he explores room to room, finally coming upon Nina (Ekaterina Samsonov).  Whispering to her “Close your eyes” as he finishes off yet another, lifting her in his arms as he carries her to safety.  Identifying himself as Joe, likely a made-up name, he’s surprisingly gentle and careful of her fragile mental state as he puts her up in a hotel room awaiting contact from her father. 

Like the best laid plans, this one goes awry, with Nina aghast at watching television news clips of her father jumping off a 20-story hotel ledge to his death.  Without any time to process what happened, heavily armed police officers storm through the door, overpowering them and taking the girl, blood splattered across Joe’s face, with a bullet lodged in his teeth, where Joe is left to wrestle with the one officer left behind, where he manages to escape, extracting the bullet on his own afterwards, like something we might have seen in graphic westerns.  But all his previous contacts wind up dead, including his beloved mother, all part of a corrupt scheme between local and federal agents, where assassinations are part of an upended political power struggle, an internalized coup d’état that effectively shifts the power in someone’s direction, all done behind the scenes without public scrutiny, where Joe is left on his own to try to figure things out.  With agents already waiting for him at home, he sneaks in, killing one and wounding the other, expressed simultaneous to flashbacks of his father’s brutally inflicted violence, eerily extracting information from the dying man that Nina is the favorite of Governor Williams (Alessandro Nivola).  Completely ostracized and utterly demoralized, he buries his mother in a peaceful lake ritual that includes his own suicide as well, putting an end to his worries, yet with visions of Nina he has second thoughts, deciding he has unfinished business, becoming a Charles Bronson-style vigilante, a larger-than-life figure who is more mythic that real, an avenging angel in the Travis Bickle mode, vowing “Someday, a real rain will come and wash all this scum off the streets.”  Inevitable comparisons will be made to Martin Scorsese’s Taxi Driver (1976), and rightly so, as there are few other films that demonstrate this sustained level of brilliance, where the meticulous attention to detail resembles the miraculous artistry of Scorsese, yet Ramsay has her own nihilistic vision on display, creating an impressionistic, psychologically rooted revenge saga with subliminal suicidal triggers that flare-up along the way, yet this portrait of such a deeply wounded soul is outrageously on the mark, where the quirky physicality of Phoenix takes hold, revealing a body riddled with scars, a roadmap of deep turmoil, as bruised and battered as his mind, yet completely unafraid of the moment.  As we hear the familiar refrains of “Angel Baby” echoing throughout the immense corridors of the Governor’s private retreat, the exquisite cataclysmic finale feels apocalyptic, otherworldly, almost unbearably intense, largely because of the recalled brilliance of the earlier rampage montage.  Ramsay leaves out significant portions of the storyline, creating a minimalist, streamlined version, with most of the horror taking place off camera, while an interior psychological mood dominates the screen, which plays out so effortlessly, as we return to what is essentially familiar territory, where the mindset of the viewer is completely in simpatico with what’s playing onscreen.  Phoenix’s powerful presence lends itself to a heroic finale, but he’s matched by the vulnerability of Samsonov, who tames the beast, so to speak, with her innocence, despite the tragic ordeal she’s been through.  Still carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders at the end, we shudder to think how this might all play out, becoming almost comedic with a surreal daydream sequence, as both damaged figures are an absurdly matched pair.  The portrait of Phoenix, including Ramsay’s earlier film Kevin, with hints of Taxi Driver, are unglamorous views of toxic masculinity that are prevalent not just in America but around the world.  This has become a driving force in contemporary global politics, Putin and Trump, including negative views of women, blacks, and immigrants (or anyone who doesn’t think like us is fake), and the lack of social justice that exists because of it.  By choosing a traumatized war veteran, with suicidal flashbacks and flaws galore (yet who sings silly songs with his mother!), Ramsay’s getting at the heart of hero worship, a complete contrast to Eastwood’s American Sniper (2014), which is all myth and bravado.  Despite a Charles Bronson-style vigilante revenge drama genre, she humanizes him at every turn and makes him just as fragile as the damaged girl, where they are mirror images of each other at the end.  End credit thanks to French filmmaker Jacques Audiard, maker of Dheepan (2015) and 2010 Top Ten Films of the Year: #10 A Prophet (Un Prophète), suggest a kinship of spirits, both advocates of ferociously uncompromising filmmaking.