The End of ‘Mother Mary’ Is Not a Ghost Story. A Wonderful Breakup.
Wikipedia page for A24’s latest psychosexual drama, Mother Marylabels Sam Anselm as a “former friend of an unknown star”, but any champion with a heartbeat can dismiss this as toxic love gone wrong from a mile away.
A damaged straight friendship may be fraught with anger, but only two gays can show the kind of anger necessary to fight, or have the kind of mental connection that allows Sam to translate Mary’s body movements and hand gestures into precise, concise language, identifying the “clarity” the other has come to wear.
But all is not water under the bridge, and there are still outstanding debts between the two that have not been collected.
Sam explains that he was visited by a strange vision after seeing Mary perform (and lost a wisdom tooth due to rage), and Mary does not even ask this story, because he was visited twice by the same ‘organization’, once after pieces of magic fans opened his hand during the meeting, and the second time when he collapsed at his concert in what many see as a suicide attempt.
The way both women describe this encounter, it is very clear that the spirit of the “woman” represents the anger, trauma, anger, and sadness left in the space where their relationship once existed.
Sam holds a Vogue magazine spread with Mary dressed as Joan of Arc, which contains a quote in big, bold font where she takes credit for her appearance, including elements of Sam’s past. The red detail on Mary’s white dress was inspired by the first meal where Sam poured himself red wine. He was upset that he never received credit for the artistic vision he came across so much.
Mary replies that she had to bear the burden of that same artistic vision, of living up to her version of Sam’s imagination that brought it to life, both within their relationship, and for fans who loved the vision that became larger than life.
Montages show how Mary’s halo, capes, and trains get heavier and more beautiful each time she goes up on stage, making her more depressed each time she comes down. Sam refers to these designs, saying that the designers who came after him continued to try to “outdo” the previous halo.
Mary buried this trauma deep in her heart as she lost herself in the good times and the good times of her fame, while Sam says she was able to create her own fashion because she hated Mary. She calls herself Miss Havisham from Charles Dickens’. Great Expectationsa busy bride who does not move away from the grief of being abandoned on her wedding day.
These unhealthy coping mechanisms don’t work for any woman, and Sam decides it’s time to get the phantom pain/trauma/burden out of the way.
Mary is reluctant to continue with Sam’s impromptu conversation. He is not ready to let go of his pain. He says it may be “his job now” to go with them. To contain it within him. Although the film shows that she initiated their professional separation, so that she could explore new ways for her stage persona, she expresses regret that Sam felt she had closed the door on all aspects of their relationship.
Mary wants Sam to love her back, and whether that’s obvious or romantic remains “somehow” ambiguous (every line of dialogue is sexually charged, not to mention the scene where Sam tenderly takes her measurements). What is clear is that Mary does not know how to fix it. He tells Sam all he can give her is flowers, a song, or a house. Sam seems to want none of the above.
But during a dialogue sequence, Mary realizes she has a fourth option and takes a pair of scissors to open her chest, allowing Sam to reach inside and touch her heart. Sam then removes the ‘ghost’ from Mary’s chest, where it turns into a harmless piece of red cloth on the ground.
It is in this moment of extreme intimacy between the two women that we see that Sam has finally softened. His chest was also bleeding. The pain is there in the middle to them and it is shared with see. In order to heal, both need to re-open the same wound and bind in front of each other. It is not reconciliation or reconciliation. It’s closed. Sam directly states that they don’t know when they will be in the same room together. And that line is the key to understanding the ending of the film.
After the exorcism becomes a reality, Mary’s team arrives at Sam’s secret headquarters, as do the paparazzi. He leaves before he has finished the dress that Sam brought, but he apologizes three times that Sam asked for when he arrived.
What begins as a control strategy—Sam setting the rules, demanding what he wants from Mary: submission, remorse, and setting limits on how and when she can express herself (we never hear a new song she refuses to listen to)—becomes a heartfelt moment of true connection, honesty, and goodbye.
Sam does not go with Mary. He says that he might have a dress to see in the morning, but these lines of dialogue are the last we see of each other. What is missing is the unspoken unspoken statement: “I love you”, but we can see that each of these creative women express that feeling through their art forms.
Sam completes the couture dress, assisted by Hunter Schafer’s “Hilda,” coaxing and sewing the deflated fabric into a work of art. Schafer begins recounting Mary’s concert for Sam, and it becomes clear that Mary will never wear that dress on stage as intended. But the act of completing the design is Sam’s way of restoring Mary and the love between them in his professional life.
Correspondingly, we see Mary incorporate part of Sam’s vision into her “comeback” performance where she lifts up the young singer and unburdens her personality so she can finally get back to basics and feel more like herself on stage. She takes off her costume, much to the horror and annoyance of the “team” that monitors her every move, and begins to sing her new song to the audience. The song that Hilda sees in the epiphany, is not of the fans, but of Sam himself.
Just as Sam lends herself to Mary’s plans, Mary returns the favor by pouring her relationship with Sam into her music. They reach a level of mutual give and take at the end, which is shown by the image of Mary in a full red dress floating in the air, with the cloth attached directly to Sam’s chest.
Sam doesn’t have to repress or remove Mary’s memory from his life, like the cancer he compares her to in his opening monologue. He can claim this chapter, and the work they have done together, as part of the collective story of who he is. Although she falls heavily into Mary’s pop persona, she does so willingly out of love.
And Mary can carry Sam’s love without carrying the weight and responsibility of the person who came with it. He can learn to truly express himself through his art, but let Sam stay in it through his music. Each combined the roles of muse and artist, haunter and haunted, and all they needed to heal was to acknowledge that connection instead of trying to sever or block it.
