If you’ve ever wondered what it is to play the role of Muse to a famous artist, step inside the horribly insane but brilliantly depicted world of the movie, Mother.
Mother (Jennifer Lawrence) roams Zombie-like through the rooms of her house dressed in a transparent nightgown. There’s little indication she’s anyone’s Mom, but great indication her silhouette is hot, and her beauty radiates against the stillness of her fixer-upper home.
Enter ‘Him’ (Javier Bardem) her poet-husband who compliments the blood-sweat-tears of renovation she’s been so painstakingly working on. In the morning light, she’s very good with splashing mortar and gold paint from a painter’s trowel, and so on and so on…
But, in a private upstairs office, ‘Him’ (Bardem) has writer’s block.
Enter Man (Ed Harris) an Orthopedic surgeon by day, a fan of the Poet/Him’s writing by night. Man is an odd character, and Mother isn’t crazy about him, his secrecy, or his recklessness.
Enter Woman (Michelle Pfeiffer) a disrespectful hussy and apparent wife of Man. She gets all too personal and in-her-face to Lawrence.
Enter chaos. Guest behaving badly. Poet/Him needing the drama to thrive on, as the dream house falls to shambles. But that’s okay, ‘Him’ can get his Edgar Allen Poe ‘on’ as his work feeds off drama that becomes his Fall of the House of Usher.
At this point it’s ‘Enter Confusion’ as we aren’t sure what the film’s direction is or who the Mother is either. Somehow the Director at the helm keeps us perplexed, keeps up waiting, even when we haven’t a clear path, but at the same time keeps us from wanting to diverge. For Lawrence’s character it’s all “Apocalypse” For ‘Him’ it’s “Paradise.” And let’s face it….only someone as sexy and manly and tender and intense as Javier Bardem could be all things in one crazy package. For Lawrence, her role is passive, and blank, almost the clean slate that ‘Him’ requires to write.
The film is directed by Darren Black Swan Aronofsky who uses the same tight camera shots to stay on Lawrence’s face, as he did on Natalie Portman’s. A bewildered vulnerability and fear fill the camera’s lens. When a kitchen water faucet explodes everywhere thus drenching Lawrence, she stands soaking wet in her first breakdown‘Carrie’ moment.
We continue to follow the journey of genius pacing only to wonder if this might all just be a bad dream. But it turns out SPOILER ALERT that it’s not. This nightmare is the life of any ‘Muse’ to any male artist. Whether His/Him/It/I…the ego comes first. ‘Him’ has a need to create above all else. Or in other words, whatever it takes – emotional destruction, distraction and devastation – so that the poet can get his creative juices flowing. His needs will always supersede hers. In this case, Mother’s.
Turns out that Mother’s purpose is about raising ‘Him’s’ emotional and creative radar, while ‘Him’ pretends to be raising hers. As a woman playing Muse she wants ‘Him’ all to herself but alas, that can never happen. His life must be shared. It is full of people, voices in his head, fans, press, publishers, etc. The artist gives so much of himself he has nothing left to give to his woman. And besides, the life of the Muse is to remain invisible. To remain last.
Aronofsky sums it all up with a stroke of genius. The film’s only problem is whether the message will resonate with the audience. You’ll either think Mother is genius or it’s the most F&$#!K-ed up film you’ve ever seen. For me, it’s the former. Genius. The crazy artist needs to create, but the brilliant director (Aronofsky) understands the inner turmoil behind it. 3 ½ tiaras