Mothers’ Instinct
Not every good movie is a fun time, and vice versa. On the latter front, take in “Mothers’ Instinct,” a ’60s-set suburban psychodrama too silly to be believed and too restrained to be go-for-broke camp but still compulsive viewing, twisty enough and finally batshit enough to keep us following it through all its tonal and narrative lane changes. Even stars Anne Hathaway and Jessica Chastain don’t always seem to be making quite the same film as each other: Hathaway’s sly, high-gloss vamping points to a more brittly amusing one than Chastain’s earnest emotional commitment does here, turning their characters’ escalating picket-fence battle into a fight for the soul of the script itself. One of them wins, though not in ways that are easy to spot from here.
First-time feature helmer Benoît Delhomme doesn’t have much command over this strange wriggly thing of a story, which needs really an assertive stylist at this stage to choose a pitch (in this case probably the higher the better) and stick with it single minded through thick or thin. A gifted cinematographer whose credits range from Tran Anh Hung’s “The Scent of Green Papaya” to Julian Schnabel’s “At Eternity’s Gate,” Delhomme also assumes camera duties on his debut here, bringing consistent visual quality the whole film feels like it takes place in middle American permanent springtime, all shimmery young greens and soft sunlight that never quite congeals into atmosphere. Imagine Todd Haynes directing a rebooted “Desperate Housewives” season and you’re perhaps somewhere near what “Mothers’ Instinct” wants to be, though too worked over feeling and erratic humored to say for sure. The film was already out in multiple international markets.
In raising their sons Max and Theo, who are both only children of the same age and have thus formed a friendship mirroring their mothers’, Céline (Hathaway) and Alice (Chastain) are subtly shown to be different. If fun-loving Céline is indulgent with her generosity reflecting how difficult it was for her to conceive, then uptightness on the part of Alice is indicative of an undisclosed mental health history. They wonder if they became friends out of true understanding for each other or just because they were each other’s closest allies in this era when women were confined mostly indoors and feminism had not yet taken root? But our doubts begin after Max dies following a fall from his bedroom balcony during which time these ladies grew apart while at the same confusing themselves together.
Alice wonders whether she could have done more even as Simon proves unhelpful due to passivity so he keeps aloof from everything whereas Damian drinks heavily alone having been rendered desolate by his wife’s emotional withdrawal since distinctiveness between them two has ceased beside merged persona which further estranged them from each other though previously they used to go out together often enough because there would hardly any man around those days save for husbands whose absence always compels wives take sides but here it is Theo who becomes problem between them since he represents innocence mixed up with confusion being unknowledgeable about the world.
Thus Céline tries winning over the boy through charm offensive which may also be seen as seducing him maternally while at same protecting herself anxiously should her mourning next-door neighbour merely seek outlet for grief or act on envious thoughts? Second act game played by Conradt’s script throughout deals with who gaslights whom, one character gets increasingly paranoid against another that seems intrusive until positions switch hands altogether still narrative never points finger at anyone till plot takes itself too seriously thereby revealing perpetrator alongside victim wherefore sympathy falls equally upon both women involved since none of them can be understood deeply anymore given such behavior displayed by each other towards this point when “Mother’s Instinct” becomes nothing but object for curiosity tinged with dark humor.
Everyone involved puts in their best effort. Hathaway does justice to her role as a proud, hostile widow while bringing out Crawford’s acidic side at its most pathetic, Chastain matches this with an American styled breakdown of decency that feels genuine throughout. Delhomme complements them through his use of pastels and soft furnishings, which he juxtaposes against hard angles and shadows created by the mise-en-scène to draw attention deeper into frame thus giving us a sense something is off about what we’re seeing on surface alone. But “Mothers’ Instinct” lacks depth: it neither possesses grandness typical great melodrama nor exhibits sophistication typical noir works. It acts like itself can’t make up mind who wants be like even though characters are solidly established from beginning so we wait expectantly for some revelation or another.
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