In 25 years, Scottish filmmaker Lynne Ramsay has directed only five features, but she’s considered one of world cinema’s major filmmakers. Most of that is based on her first two films, 2000’s Ratcatcher and 2002’s Morvern Callar, both shot in Scotland. She shot 2011’s We Need to Talk About Kevin and 2017’s You Were Never Really Here in North America, along with her new film Die My Love; with each new movie, she’s treated like a one-hit wonder, given a pass for her early work but with the sly acknowledgment that she’ll likely never top her debut and sophomore efforts. A frustrating case for an artist to be in, but Ramsay doesn’t seem the kind of person to worry too much about it—if that were the case, she would’ve directed more movies by now.
Jennifer Lawrence plays Grace, a young mother in the country with eager-beaver husband Jackson (Robert Pattinson, recapitulating his persona from Mickey 17 into something more grounded); the film opens with a shot of an empty house given to them by Jackson’s parents (Sissy Spacek and a senile Nick Nolte, in a powerful echo of Paul Schrader’s Affliction). Like all of Ramsay’s films, there’s not much of a plot or specific beats—her cinema’s one of pure rhythm and montage. Moving more like a piece of music than a novel or a traditional screenplay, Die My Love shows Grace’s decline into insanity without the burden of backstory, personal specifics, or even any information about what these people do for a living.
I’ve been surprised by hostile reactions to the film from people who I thought would’ve given Ramsay more credit, but she’s set the bar high. The drawn-out, “moody” acoustic cover of “Love Will Tear Us Apart” over the end credits is awful, but the music is otherwise totally in sync with Ramsay’s holistic montage. Toni Basil’s “Hey Mickey” stands out, along with a number of kids songs that Grace alternately hates and sings over and over. Lawrence quickly becomes violent, but Die My Love plays fast and loose with chronology, introducing an affair with Lakeith Stanfield out of nowhere, reprised at random intervals. It’s been reported that Ramsay heavily re-edited the movie after its Cannes premiere in May (where it barely made it), and I’d love to see multiple versions of Die My Love; more than most films, I’m tempted by alternate cuts and deleted scenes, in the same way that I seek out bootlegs and demos after burning out a particular song.
So much of the film’s specifics have been criticized: the thin characterization, or stereotyping, of Stanfield’s character; Lawrence’s performance, which I’ve seen described more than once as “Millennial snark,” frequently veering into the ridiculous and never convincing anyone of insanity or post-partum depression (which Ramsay denied the film has anything to do with); and the blurry details of the couple’s occupation, the timeline, and whether or not they’re married. Who cares? I never thought about any of that stuff when I was sitting in a nearly empty theater (besides one couple down front) watching Die My Love, because the movie had me in its grip from moment one. I’m not thrilled about the number of night scenes, properly illuminated by “realistic,” i.e. DARK, like THE NIGHT often is. Just throw a bunch of blue on it, that’s what movie night looks like. Eddington had the same issue, but there was far less “realistic” night photography in Ari Aster’s film.
The CGI fire that bookends the movie is embarrassing, something out of a PlayStation 2 or GameCube movie from 20 years ago, but I wasn’t surprised—for whatever reason, every major European filmmaker has flirted with or embraced gaudy CGI in the last decade. Besides that, Die My Love is gorgeous, masterfully shot by Seamus McGarvey. Ramsay’s films are hard to write about, precisely because they most resemble music; if it doesn’t resonate with you, and all you see is the scaffolding, there’s not much anyone can say or do to change your mind. Some people just don’t like Billy Corgan’s voice (unfortunately); where some are getting high, others are pissed off from the beginning. They’re not necessarily wrong, I just wish they could get happy with me.
—Follow Nicky Otis Smith on Twitter: @NickyOtisSmith