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In the opening scene of Lynne Ramsay’s gripping film, “Die, My Love,” I find myself crawling low and slow across a sun-kissed meadow, much like a stealthy panther, with a knife clenched tightly in my hand. A baby’s cries echo somewhere in the distance, and it becomes clear that he is safely tucked away on a porch. The purpose of Jennifer Lawrence‘s intense belly crawl remains unclear, but deep within us, we instinctively understand. It seems our primal urge to connect, to love, and to procreate, stems from this very cry – the vulnerable, desperate sound of new life that stirs something deep within us, compelling us to act. Unbridled passion ignites a raw, exhilarating sense of existence; it also leaves us feeling slightly unhinged. And then, without warning, a sudden realization dawns: there’s a zygote – the start of a new life that you might willingly sacrifice everything for.
Titled “Die My Love,” this film, showcased at the Cannes Film Festival, delves into a subject often avoided in conversation: not merely postpartum depression but extreme mental instability without any known remedy or respite. In reality, it would be classified as psychosis, yet Ramsay’s adaptation from Ariana Harwicz’s slim, sharp novel steers clear of symptoms, causes, and potential solutions. Instead, it focuses on raw emotions encompassing both intense suffering and joy, peaks and troughs that should ideally counterbalance but seem to fail to do so. Moreover, this is the most intricate, disquieting, and darkly humorous portrayal Lawrence has delivered in her career, which has been marked by convincing, persuasive, and endearing acting since its inception.
In the initial scenes of the film, we find a young duo, Grace and Jackson (portrayed by Lawrence and Robert Pattinson), investigating a rural, slightly rundown house they’ve just inherited from an uncle. The setting is a stark contrast to New York, as the man explains to the woman. Before long, their passion overtakes them, leading to raw, natural lovemaking on the floor, filled with loud noises and laughter. As the narrative progresses, we eventually discover their faces and learn that Grace is pregnant, her pregnancy soon giving birth to a real baby who can be heard crying on the porch. The scene suggests that Grace might be trying to get away from something else while crawling towards the sound.
Grace hasn’t become hostile towards her child; instead, she feels an intense urge to safeguard and care for him. She responds to his cries as if they were her own, demonstrating a deep empathy. However, while breastfeeding him, there’s a vacant expression in her eyes, suggesting that he’s depleting her energy though she understands it isn’t his fault.
Jackson frequently has long absences due to an undisclosed occupation, and when he’s home, he seems so engrossed in being a good father or some other role that he can’t provide what she requires. We observe her discreetly masturbating in the bedroom; she performs this action mechanically, not to seek enjoyment or even relief, but merely to escape, as if she were trying to vanish herself into an empty state.
During his drive home from work one evening, Jackson phones her while he’s at a diner. In her mind, she envisions him with an overly-sexualized waitress instead of herself, causing her jealousy to flare up. Later, in reality, she discovers a pack of condoms hidden in the glove compartment of the family car. Jackson tries to explain them away, but she views them as the explanation for his lack of affection towards her and his failure to meet her needs. He loves music deeply; he turns up the radio. She angrily demands that he turn it off. “I hate guitars!” she exclaims, which is both amusing and a hint that something is troubling them. Jackson, perplexed by this, responds, “Who hates guitars?
Occasionally, Grace exhibits an excessive joy: We observe her, secluded in her quaint yet eccentric home adorned with flowery wallpaper, behaving like a youngster while grooving to Toni Basil’s “Mickey”. However, she predominantly experiences a hollow, panicky void in her days. Grace takes the baby for a stroll along a rural road towards Jackson’s maternal grandmother’s house. Sissy Spacek portrays Jackson’s mother with tender compassion but also a hint of naivety. She notices that Grace has been acting strangely since the birth of the child, though she can’t quite put her finger on what ‘strange’ means for Grace. Curiously, she inquires about Grace’s morning routine. With a cup of hot water and lemon? Or perhaps yoga? She suggests that yoga could help Grace feel better; there’s an instructor nearby who offers online classes. In essence, she expresses her desire to assist Grace, though the futility of her efforts seems almost palpable to us. We can’t help but question her understanding, as we perceive that Grace is far beyond such simple solutions.
Jackson’s attempts to assist aren’t quite successful; he seems bewildered and fumbling. At a certain point, he introduces a skittish wire-haired dog into the mix, who never stops barking and whose face we never see. (It should be noted that this dog doesn’t last long, but Ramsay handles its demise delicately and intelligently, ensuring it’s not an exploitative, emotionally manipulative scene.) Despite feeling empathy for Jackson, you can’t help but feel a bit exasperated with him too. His eccentric fashion choices, like wearing socks with the flowery bathrobe he and Grace seem to share, are enough to make you raise your eyebrows. He’s a hapless, ineffectual sweetheart. When Grace’s anger escalates to the point where she starts tearing at the wallpaper in her home until her fingers bleed, you understand her frustration completely, even if you don’t wish to experience it yourself.
The film “Die, My Love” might seem unbearable or distressing, a cinematic experience best avoided. However, Scottish director Lynne Ramsay, known for her 2017 film “You Were Never Really Here“, never opts for the obvious or predictable. Instead, “Die, My Love” offers a unique blend of dark comedy that is ironically amusing despite evoking unexpected feelings. The visuals are striking, reminiscent of a pastoral idyll with fields filled with wildflowers and buzzing bees, yet possessing a haunting quality that suggests a kind of cosmic purgatory. Reality and fantasy often blur in the film, as seen in a minor plot featuring LaKeith Stanfield in a motorbike helmet, but this ambiguity is immaterial. Ramsay, collaborating with renowned cinematographer Seamus McGarvey, constructs a vivid, image-rich world that can be hypnotic one moment and shocking the next. “Die, My Love” is both harsh and elegant, making it a singular piece in the cinematic landscape, which is undoubtedly advantageous since such uniqueness is often desirable, as there’s only room for one of its kind.
This portrayal resonates because it encourages us to accompany Grace with empathy instead of criticizing or, heaven forbid, analyzing her. Her unconventional laughter is often understood, and when she and Jackson appear at a local gathering—a moment that first makes you ponder if this pair, who seem so secluded, may indeed have companions—you sympathize with Grace’s sense of alienation as deeply as she does. She navigates through a room filled with parents chattering cheerfully while clutching glasses of wine or beer, their children playing boisterously outside, and you can feel her discomfort just as palpably.
She encounters groups of women with radiant complexions who discuss nothing but their children, their emotions about their children, how their children drive them insane, and they likely aren’t even exaggerating. She is similar to these women, fortunately, she isn’t. Grace distances herself from them, and so do we. The film, and this acting performance, make us root for Grace, even though we understand that her character is venturing into places where we can’t accompany her.
Lawrence’s personal experience as a mother is evident in her appearance, and she doesn’t conform to the typical Hollywood figure. Her charm is earthy, reminiscent of a Rembrandt nude. Her face is soft and expressive, giving off a fragile, infant-like vibe similar to Ellen Barkin. As Grace, she ventures not only to the brink but beyond it, a performance often described as “fearless.” Although I’m certain there are more fitting terms for what Lawrence accomplishes in “Die, My Love,” the right one eludes me. Her portrayal is so finely nuanced, even within its bold and passionate expressions, that it leaves you searching for words. It’s the type of performance that draws you to the cinema, one that resonates deeply with the raw concept of human suffering, causing a slight tremor of fear. However, this shouldn’t deter you from watching “Die, My Love.” Although it requires a bit of bravery to confront, by the end, it leaves you feeling invigorated rather than depleted. At its core, it embodies the classic concept of “crazy love,” but for one instead of two—an ultimate depiction of what it means to be lost in oneself.
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2025-05-21 17:10