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The new film Die, My Love<\/em> opens with snapshots of a flourishing relationship: a couple inspects their new home, which the man, Jackson (Robert Pattinson<\/strong>), has inherited from his late uncle. It\u2019s in rural Montana, a far cry from New York City, where Jackson and Grace (Jennifer Lawrence<\/strong>) lived previously. They note the dirty floors, the rats scurrying upstairs. Though it\u2019s a big change, they\u2019re excited enough to christen the house in the way only two young and hungry lovers can. Writer-director Lynne Ramsay<\/strong> has fun juxtaposing the banal and the carnal, and imbues both with a crackle of danger.<\/p>\n The sound of those rats suggest that something is amiss under the surface\u2014and as Die, My Love<\/em> unfolds, it becomes startlingly clear that not all is well with Grace. The trouble begins shortly after the birth of her first child, a bright and bouncy baby boy whom Grace loves dearly. She\u2019s experiencing the onset of postpartum depression, a condition that gradually worsens into near psychosis. Her relationship with Jackson, once so fun and loose and bohemian, curdles badly. She acts out, she maybe hallucinates, she wanders around outside at night, searching for something.<\/p>\n Ramsay is a keen purveyor of psychic distress, and here creates a fluid, dreamlike (or nightmarish) film grammar to express the cataclysm of Grace\u2019s mind. She captures arresting images, many set against the backdrop of a dusky Montana wilderness, the sky\u2019s ambient light casting Grace and her surroundings in hues of murky blue and heather gray. The film, which premiered here at Cannes on May 17, is a riot of sensory wonder, its lush visuals clashing with a droning soundscape of buzzing houseflies and dog barks. Scenes judder to sudden stops; we briefly journey backward in time with no warning. It\u2019s a jarring film, deliberately so. As it alternately lurches and glides along, Die, My Love<\/em> gives us no indication of where it is heading\u2014because, I suppose, Grace has no idea herself.<\/p>\n Adapted from Ariana Harwicz<\/strong>\u2019s novel, Die, My Love<\/em> joins a recent handful of films about the mental wages of motherhood. But it\u2019s got a flintier sensibility than last year\u2019s Nightbitch<\/em>, and an even more sinister outlook than the upcoming If I Had Legs I\u2019d Kick You<\/em><\/a>. Ramsay also invites in a daring idea: that amidst all the risk and agony of Grace\u2019s condition, there is something like liberation. Grace\u2019s sensitivity to the bullshit of small talk frees her from it. Her sudden allergy to Jackson allows her to better see his inadequacies. There is even an anarchic allure to some of Grace\u2019s violence. She seems to be peering through a crack in the membrane of the known world, glimpsing some awesome truth on the other side.<\/p>\n Or maybe that\u2019s just what her illness has convinced her. Die, My Love<\/em> is a tricky film, one that offers neither therapeutic comfort nor remedy. It is sympathetic to Grace\u2019s crisis, but does not really try to drag her out of it. There\u2019s an unsettling ambivalence to the film, a half-embrace of Grace\u2019s altered reality even when it grows frightening. Ramsay\u2019s approach to this material feels radical, a kind of compassion that fascinatingly risks recklessness.<\/p>\n As Grace drifts into fractured consciousness, the film grows a bit repetitive, as if Ramsay is circling the runway before her big, bold payoff. The film must keep a lot of the mental health wisdom of the modern day at bay in order to sustain all of Grace\u2019s looping disarray\u2014and while postpartum mental illness is still woefully under-diagnosed and treated, it strains credibility that this particular set of characters would let Grace deteriorate for so long.<\/p>\n What keeps our attention during the film\u2019s slightly sagging middle, and makes it such bracing viewing, is the marvel of Lawrence\u2019s mesmerizing performance. She cannily balances mordant humor with existential unease and fury, a bolt of energy coursing through the film. Ramsay\u2019s jumble of pictures and sound is bound together by Lawrence\u2019s confident, fearless gravity. It\u2019s quite something to behold: a comedic performance that manages convincing notes of devastation, or a dramatic turn that is also screamingly funny. What a thrill to see Lawrence expanding her artistry like this, a movie star reclaiming the talent that her celebrity once nearly obscured.<\/p>\n She has strong chemistry with Pattinson\u2014who is limber and natural in his role\u2014and an even more powerful connection with Sissy Spacek<\/strong>, who plays Jackson\u2019s grieving mother, Pam, with a heartbreaking mix of cluelessness and concern. Something unspoken passes between Grace and Pam, as one woman staggers into motherhood and the other considers the end of her familial duties. The film\u2019s most poignant moments are when we see Pam watching Grace unravel\u2014as she, too, maybe unravels\u2014with both alarm and a kind of awe. There she goes, Pam almost seems to murmur\u2014as so many have gone before her.<\/p>\n This story is part of<\/em> Awards Insider\u2019s in-depth<\/em> Cannes coverage<\/a>, including first looks and exclusive interviews with some of the event\u2019s biggest names. Stay tuned for more Cannes stories as well as a special full week of<\/em> Little Gold Men<\/a> podcast episodes, recorded live from the festival and publishing every day.<\/em><\/p>\n
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