mother!

Director: Darren Aronofsky
Starring: Jennifer Lawrence, Javier Bardem, Ed Harris, Michelle Pfeiffer, Brian Gleeson, Domhnall Gleeson, Stephen McHattie, Kristen Wiig
Running Time: 121 min.
Rating: R

★★★★ (out of ★★★★)
  
Sometimes, it only takes the first few minutes to figure out whether you'll be on a film's wavelength. From the opening scene of Darren Aronofsky's mother! and each succeeding one over the span of two hours, every single moment is compelling. There's a built-in, unnerving tension accompanying the execution of even the most menial tasks and a genuine feeling that you have no idea what will happen next. That's exciting, and for the accusations of this being the most polarizing, controversial, and challenging mainstream film in years (all true), it starts as merely a story about a couple of unwelcome houseguests. But there's this unpleasantness bubbling under the surface, and while we're not sure exactly what, most probably expected something resembling a traditional horror movie with supernatural elements. That's what the commercials and trailers hinted, as well as what we've come to expect and have been trained to spot. And while classifying it as a psychological thriller seems fairest, that description also fails to convey the magnitude of what plays out.

In creating a work of art that challenges and confronts his audience in almost sickeningly uncomfortable ways, Aronofsky backs us into a corner and makes us think our way out. It's not only 2017's best and most audacious effort, but the most accomplished work of this filmmaker's career, which is no small feat considering he's the director behind Requiem For a Dream, The Wrestler and Black Swan. This sees him truly breaking free from whatever creative shackles remained and operating on an almost entirely different level, upping his game in ways I didn't think possible. You'll know when you get to that point in the narrative whether you're willing to go along for the ride, or decide to abandon ship, as most critics and audiences already have.

The cruelest irony is that this isn't a confusing story lacking a coherent beginning, middle or end. It's everything in between that confounds, with very little of it having to do with plot. The only wrong way to watch is literally. And in Jennifer Lawrence, the director finds the ideal vessel with which to deliver it, showcasing her abilities in a manner we've never seen exhibited, or rather, inhibited, before.  At the very distinct point the movie starts riding the rails of the crazy train everyone's been talking about, I just fastened my seatbelt. "It's here," I reminded myself as the madness and insanity unfolds, relishing how rare it is in cinema to get a final act that pays off with such reckless abandon and unexpectedly thrilling consequences.

So much happens in mother! and yet it remains strangely immune to spoilers because what occurs isn't even half of what it's about. Still, a certain degree of restraint is best when describing events.  A struggling poet known simply as Him (Javier Bardem) is rebuilding his life after a fire destroyed the house he shares with his much younger wife, Mother (Lawrence). Prone to unexpected panic attacks, suspicious occurrences around the house disturb and unsettle her as she renovates, while Him suffers from the worst case of writer's block since Jack Torrance took up residence at the Overlook. Endlessly staring at a blank page, he finds his only inspiration from a rare, mysterious crystal object he keeps on a pedestal in his study.

Things change when a stranger named Man (Ed Harris) shows up at the house looking for a place to stay. Chain-smoking and prone to hysterical coughing fits, he's clearly ill, but also gives some indications his arrival isn't exactly a coincidence. Him and Man soon form a bond over the former's writing, but Mother is immediately suspicious. A day later, Man's wife Woman (Michelle Pfeiffer) arrives and the atmosphere worsens. Considerably. Before long, Mother is on the outside looking in, a spectator in her own home and marriage, with Him's behavior growing stranger and more self-obsessed, as these strangers infiltrate their lives.

A clear dynamic exists in this marriage before the houseguests from hell arrive, or more accurately, move in and take over. Him pretty much just does what he wants and Mother is expected to just go along with it, without nary a word. And mostly, she complies, out of love. But it's a love that seems unfairly balanced, as she stands by and watches Him let these strangers run roughshod over their home, basically ignoring the affections and support she provides on a daily basis. It only worsens as their presence grows more invasive, specifically in regard to Michelle Pfeiffer's Woman, whose questioning of Mother about her sex life and marriage, as well as the flagrant invasion of her personal space, has you scratching your head wondering when the latter will finally assert herself. The unexpected arrival of more family members pushes her to the breaking point.

As to why the title character is named "Mother" when she isn't one, and how that fits into the larger picture, is initially a mystery. And just as she starts putting her foot down after enduring far more than even the most patient spouse could, a single shocking event occurs that turns the story on its head, soon severing the already tenuous bond that exists between them. The lengths Him goes to in conveying an illusion of stability when the problem has clearly reached apocalyptic proportions is almost comical. As he explains away everything to placate his wife, you start wondering if this guy's for real. Could he actually be this vain and self-absorbed? If so, what's the possible explanation, and what does it have to do with these intrusive houseguests? O the mysterious crystal? The answers do eventually come, but once they do, you might regret you asked.

With her energetic presence and brash, oversized charisma, Jennifer Lawrence is already a seasoned pro at inhabiting characters who command in any room they walk into. As Mother, the actress gets to do something she's never attempted: Play the victim. A weak pushover whose only purpose seems to be providing for others, most specifically her husband, as she caters to his increasingly absurd whims. Even as the narrative clearly puts viewers in the position of identifying and sympathizing with Mother and seeing much of what happens through her eyes, it's fascinating to see Lawrence's natural playfulness and likability stripped away. Psychologically beaten down, she can't command anything since her character takes a passenger seat in her own developing nightmare. So, we start discovering what else Lawrence can do well, which is unsurprisingly everything. While she's again cast as the much younger wife of a male lead, it's the rare age gap that's acknowledged multiple times in the screenplay for purposeful effect. And not in the man's favor.

The more muted than usual Lawrence somehow finds a way to make what should be mundane, everyday activities like painting and boiling tea crackle with tension and suspicion as she grows increasingly weary of her unwanted guests. There's this slow escalation of insanity around her that explodes in the final act, the full force of which depends on her surrendering to the material and fully giving herself over to Aronofsky's vision, regardless of how disturbing and humiliating it becomes. Even if you despise where the story goes, it's tough to deny how present and gripping Lawrence is in every scene, or at least acknowledge how far outside her perceived zone she goes with the performance, adding "risk-taker" to the growing list of Jennifer Lawrence superlatives. It's also the first performance she's given that represents something bigger than only the interior life of the character she's playing, showcasing darker, quieter shades to her range we haven't been experienced in more mainstream projects that first punched her card as an award-winning star.

Bardem just might have the even tougher role, playing this damaged man who talks of the great love he has for his wife, even as his actions contradict it. He has to commit to this absolutely and does, dialing in on his character's vain self absorption in the face of a woman willing to do anything for Him. But he wants more. Whether it's adulation, admiration, or attention, it just never stops with this guy, and if you can figure Him out, you're a step closer to figuring out the film. As Man and Woman, Ed Harris and Michelle Pfeiffer are brilliantly aggravating and deplorable, with Pfeiffer given her juiciest, most complex role in decades, especially shining in her combative scenes opposite Lawrence. In fact, she's so good (or rather deliciously bad), a strong case could be made, not only for a supporting nomination, but even more screen time. And yet, the amount she gets seems ideal, serving its function until her presence is no longer necessary. In a broader sense, the same could apply to all four characters, who are very much functional representations of something greater than they initially appear.

In this house, Aronofsky creates a world, and does it via the performances, the camera's perspective, sound and even production design. And when all hell breaks loose in the last third, you start realizing the scope and enormity of what he had in mind when creating this universe. And while much of this is tiptoeing for the sake of spoiler avoidance, let's just say it's one of the few instances where a script builds to a crescendo, then actually over-delivers on any reasonable expectations. It's disgusting, uncomfortable and there's one moment I'm convinced is the sole cause for all the animosity directed toward the film. And yet, somehow, in the end, it all makes sense.

The very last scene is just perfect, providing justification and clarification to nearly everything that came before. It's one of those great endings where you practically hear the sound of a book closing, even as its content, as well as the biblical and metaphysical questions it poses, stay with you long after the credits roll. View the film as a disintegration of a marriage, a religious allegory, a desperate plea to save us from each other, or maybe all of the above, its impact is lasting and worthy of a discussion audiences should have been having. That we're not speaks to a larger problem that Aronofsky is more than willing to throw in our faces, and deservedly so. It's all right up there on screen for intense examination, at least for those able and willing to see it through.