David Lowery discusses Mother Mary, Beyoncé, and how he channels his worries into a pop icon.

      Watching David Lowery’s Mother Mary unexpectedly reminded me of an early scene in Todd Field’s Tár, where Lydia Tár criticizes a Juilliard student for his aloofness towards the Western canon. Field mentioned that Tár was engaging in a conversation with a younger version of herself: two individuals from different generations with differing perspectives on the same vocation—in essence, the same person.

      Lowery expands on this dynamic over 80 minutes, placing two women in various rooms—each steeped in the intimate darkness of late-night confessions—allowing them to confront one another. One is Mary (Anne Hathaway), a pop star of nearly mythic fame, who is emotionally overwhelmed and grappling with the implications of pursuing immense success. The other is Sam Ansel (Michaela Coel), a highly accomplished designer hired by Mary to create a dress for her upcoming concert.

      It's not merely coincidental that Lowery selected Bina Daigeler, who crafted the costumes for Tár, to design his film as well. Both films recognize that dressing is a complex affair—that one's choices in attire, and the motivations behind them, can carry significant, often unseen repercussions in relationships with others and the broader world.

      Mother Mary may well be Lowery’s most accomplished film to date, demanding a lot from its creator. We discussed these demands and their unique implications in the following conversation.

      The Film Stage: David, congratulations on the film. How are you feeling about it?

      David Lowery: Thank you. I feel at peace.

      Is that different from how you typically feel after completing a film?

      Sometimes I feel exhilarated, sometimes relieved. For this one, I feel cautiously optimistic and excited. But given the lengthy process, being unable to continue working on it because it’s being released feels like a burden lifted.

      You’ve mentioned that the film sparked a dialogue between two aspects of yourself, making me wonder if the peace you've found relates more to self-discovery as a filmmaker than reconciling those two parts. Is that accurate?

      That's quite accurate, and I feel somewhat shy about not being able to articulate exactly what I've learned. Perhaps by the end of this film's journey within the culture, I'll have a clearer understanding of it, but I suspect that will take time. I believe I reconciled those two halves of myself relatively quickly. Despite the tension between the two sides of my mind pulling me in different directions, that was a fleeting panic that I was able to quell.

      While working on this movie, I came to realize that the deep introspection I was engaged in was sincere and valid. It's alright to feel conflicted about your work, to harbor fears about your past, present, and future—as a filmmaker, storyteller, artist, and human being. I managed to reconcile that swiftly, which proved beneficial, as it allowed me to transform that initial discontent into something deeper and, on a personal level, more complex.

      I’m still deciphering what I’ve learned from this film, as I did delve deeply into the material. At one point, I struggled to articulate my intentions. I couldn't allow the characters to express what I was trying to convey either. There’s a moment in the film where what was initially a dialogue-rich two-hander shifts to something with much more space between the words. I'm still working through that, but I recognize there's no need to rush. When I describe it as a relief, it's because I can now step back and allow those realizations to surface organically.

      That challenge in articulation reminds me of Mary at the start of the film. When Sam inquires about her intentions with the dress, all she can do is gesture.

      All she can provide are hand gestures.

      You talked about a personal spark of discontent. When did you first notice it, and when did you realize that it had the potential to be transformative?

      While on the set of The Green Knight in Ireland, making a very niche medieval fantasy film that checked all my interest boxes, I found myself feeling unhappy. Part of this was due to falling ill during the shoot, which led me to question if my body was signaling something was amiss. I was acutely aware that I should have been elated working on that film, yet I wasn't, and I knew I had to address that.

      I was also preparing for my second Disney film, Peter Pan & Wendy, which was set to begin immediately afterward. I've always maintained that my films are personal and autobiographical, and I believe that’s true. Yet, I distinctly recall returning home from a tough day on set, feeling as though I hadn't achieved what I aimed for, and having a call with our Disney producers about the screenplay. I felt lost. "I don’t know if I can continue and make this next film..."

      I had access to an array of herbal remedies that were helping me stay awake but weren’t aiding my rest. I spent a lot of sleepless nights. One evening, after a challenging