A Lynne Ramsay film is often bracing and biting, wrestling with thorny themes in a way that promotes raw, salt-in-your-wound vulnerability. Her latest, Die My Love, is an honest depiction of post-pregnancy woes that greeting card companies don’t want you to see. The harrowing adaptation of Ariana Harwicz’s novel aligns with titles like If I Had Legs I’d Kick You or Rosemary’s Baby, depicting motherhood not as this angelic blessing, but grueling entrapment. It’s a bit too surreal and non-linear for its own good, shuffling through narrative fogginess, but is propelled by performances that rage with passionate expressions. The good, the bad, it’s all artfully depicted by Ramsay (whose previous directing credits include Ratcatcher, We Need to Talk About Kevin, and You Were Never Really Here)—as long as you don’t find yourself lost in the film’s more ethereal qualities.
Jennifer Lawrence stars as Grace, and Robert Pattinson as Jackson, transplants from New York City who seek serenity in Montana. Before long, they become new parents in the sticks—not much to do, hardly anyone around except Jackson’s mother, Pam (Sissy Spacek). Grace and Jackson transform from this sexually charged, free-willed couple into stressed-out, exhausted husks of their libido-fueled selves. Grace especially succumbs to the crushing isolation of rural motherhood, which causes her mental health to rapidly decline. Once a writer, Grace trades her poetic words for a whining baby and soul-sucked husband—ah, the American dream.
