•
Rating:
Leaving the cinema, a bit dazed, Giulia said to me: "Am I wrong, or were there quite a few biblical references?" And I, who had already started with my complex interpretation of the film, said: "Uhm, I don't think so." Then, once home, I opened the internet and read that Aronofsky explained the whole big metaphor in detail, etc. I didn't even read it all because it seemed really uninteresting to me.
It might seem absurd, but the fact that I didn't catch the parallelism and read all the symbols as metaphors for something else (which I will explain later) further convinced me of the quality of the director's work. Let me explain. Mother! can have different levels of interpretation. There is the one for those who watch it (in a completely reckless way, of course) as a normal affair, without metaphorical references: it's what I saw on some faces at the end of the screening: "What the hell is this???" At this level, the story is simply an anguishing delirium for its own sake.
There is the metaphorical and rigorous level of interpretation, the one explained by the director. A grand biblical metaphor (explained here) that is so cloying it's not even funny. As written on The 400 Blows, not exactly a brilliant idea. Not to mention that a rigorous interpretation of all the symbols only creates an infinity of questions and paradoxes. "If she is... and he is... then why in that passage..." The opposite of what cinema should be. One might say it's Aronofsky's reading of the Bible. But are we sure it's really interesting? To me, it's an infantile and useless game.
The third level of interpretation is the free one, the one I dove into. I started with a precise idea of the big metaphor inherent in the film and carried it through to the end, with great satisfaction for its development. Not a transcendent and divine interpretation, but a more profoundly human and behavioral one (at the end of the review). Then I read Aronofsky's explanation and a bit of my enthusiasm waned...
Yet, this illusion I fell for made me realize even more that this is great cinema. Not for the ideas, not too fresh or refined by the screenwriter, but for their transformation into images. And those images, like any form of art, once liberated from the author's control, assume a life of their own, and each person can interpret them in their own way. Just as I did.
Directorially, there's really nothing to complain about. A particularly careful use of the camera, elusive glances, variable perspectives that create mystery. Indeed, there can be no objections to the realization of the film. Colors, sounds, objects, walls, doors: everything speaks, everything conveys a terrible and constant anguish. The director, as he has done before, but perhaps this time better than usual, knows how to narrate subjectivity excellently and uses all sorts of tricks to amplify it. This may not be to everyone's liking, but it is his style.
Jennifer Lawrence, after many minor films, shows her qualities and is truly perfect for the role. Bardem, Ed Harris, and Michelle Pfeiffer are obviously excellent.
From here onwards there will be spoilers.
Let's get to my interpretation: quite simply, I saw a metaphorical representation of the life cycle of love, procreation, life (tumultuous), and death. The mother (but initially only a wife) is suffocating, tending to create a limbo isolated from the ugliness of the world, to live outside of time and space with her man, Him. She builds the house, their marital life, while he works: each doing their part. Then, prompted by another woman, she wants to procreate. When she becomes pregnant, she knows it immediately. Meanwhile, the life that has entered their home inspires her husband, who creates, writes, and succeeds. Success brings more people into the house, and their couple's life is invaded by continuous presences. By now, there is no more intimacy and life is upheaved by other people.
Just as she is about to give birth, her partner manages to barricade with her in a room. Outside, the world falls silent out of respect, because daily horror is silenced in the face of life erupting. The mother is naturally jealous of her creature, not leaving it for even an instant. But due to fatigue, she relents for just a moment and the child is taken into the world by the father. But life is a tumult. The child dies. The father, however, wants to forgive the people, the mother does not: she gave everything for that child, her life no longer has meaning. So she burns everything, starting from the innermost corner of her conscience. Her life is over, but she has an internal diamond to pass on to the next generation: it's the maternal instinct, the legacy that drives us to procreate. So it doesn't matter if a life fails, there will always be that inner diamond that will give rise to endless new mothers.
A bit of Mother by Pink Floyd, a bit of Iduzza by Elsa Morante. In this film, I saw a disenchanted, very crude, and thus sociologically interesting portrayal of mothers and wives. It seems far more enjoyable and sensible to me than the biblical metaphor, which is there but doesn't offer much in terms of knowledge. Instead, this more human and down-to-earth parallelism intrigued me. Clearly, Jennifer's character is a very possessive, morbid, anguished, and insecure woman. Yet, although amplified, she represents a certain maternal feeling that those who are not mothers or, even more so, those who are not women cannot understand. Bardem's character doesn't exactly do harm; he's there for his partner but also opens up to life and others, endangering their nest in the eyes of the woman. A mother would instead want the silence of those moments when she holds her newborn in her arms to last forever: "Send them away."
How many nuances can be found in this seemingly simple story? To me, this means great cinema.
7.5/10
Loading comments slowly
