Die My Love
Die My Love, 2025, 1 ½ stars
Postpartum pretension
Die My Love is a stream-of-consciousness cacophony
Jennifer Lawrence stars as Grace in writer-director Lynne Ramsay’s Die My Love, alongside Robert Pattinson as Jackson. Sissy Spacek and Nick Nolte appear in supporting roles in the dark dramedy based on the 2012 novel by Ariana Harwicz. (Image is copyright MUBI.)
Exclusive to MeierMovies, November 9, 2025
A baby. Growing inside me. But I fear I’ll be the mother who buys the cheap birthday cake I should have baked from scratch with the love that isn’t there. The mother who loathes the fellow mother conversations, and the parent parties, and the family conversations, pretentions, absurdisms.
Flash back to when my husband and I moved here, from the Big Apple to the Big Sky, into this leaf-strewn, life-hewn house in the country. The house in which hubby’s uncle blew his brains out, via his asshole. Is that anatomically possible? Will that be my fate? Not the asshole bit, but the underlying insanity that stalks this house and myself.
And what of those in-law chinwags? The forced platitudes and the “will it be a boy or a girl?” predictabilities and the unbearable niceties. I prefer the random observations from the demented father-in-law who lives in the past because his life has passed. Am I crazy like him, or will I be?
He’s dead now. I’m back in the present, battling the postpartums and flaming forest while spewing snark and vitriol to my well-meaning friends and acquaintances. And even to my hubby. He’ll have me committed soon. I would too.
Then take my mother-in-law. Take her before she midnight-sleepwalks herself into oblivion, dragging her dead husband’s shotgun down a dirt road to nowhere. At least she feigns support for me when others stiff-stare in confusion and pity.
Flash forward again to our wedding, conceived in naked, soft tangles on the hardwood floors and slinky stalkings in the waist-high, backyard grass, like cats. (Cats are so much better than dogs, especially that barking bitch whose brains I blew out.)
Those stalkings were the only time I felt free, and loved, and in love – then, and during those blissful drives in the car, listening to Cream screeches, loved and hated, alternately, along with Jackson. Yes, I love Jackson. And he loves me, despite my rage, despite my Bedlam, despite my lack of Grace.
Grace. That’s who I am, and what I lack. But life goes on. For me, for Jackson and for our baby boy. Because it must. Or maybe not. I don’t know. I guess it goes on regardless.
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For more information on the movie, visit IMDB and Wikipedia. The film is currently in cinemas.