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Somewhere between What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? and Carol lies Mothers’ Instinct. Set vaguely in the early 1960s, this psychological thriller thrusts two of America’s most thrilling actresses at each other in a queer-coded battle of wills and mental illness.
Anne Hathaway and Jessica Chastain star as a pair of (mostly) happy homemakers who live side by side in charming suburbia. Established cinematographer Benoît Delhomme makes his directorial debut here, draping the film in a dreamy pastel palette that cools as the plot kicks in. An untimely death throws these very, very close friends into a spiral of suspicion that threatens to not only end their bond but maybe even several lives along the way.
Steeped in tension and twisted possibilities, Mothers’ Instinct is a deliciously deranged drama that’s destined to find an audience that appreciates its brand of camp.
Mothers’ Instinct delivers a tale of motherhood and jealousy.
Hathaway stars as Celine, an unflappably chic housewife who is as beloved by her dashing husband Damian (Josh Charles) and chipper son Max as she is by the local PTA. But no one loves her as much as Alice does. Played by Chastain, the next-door neighbor/best friend looks at Celine with a yawning awe, not only for all Celine’s capable of but also how easy she makes it look.
While Celine is utterly content with her picture-perfect domesticity, Alice pines to return to work, hungry to be “more” than a wife and mother. Their differences fester when a tragic accident robs Celine of her only child, leaving her bereft and staring at the greener grass on her neighbor’s lawn — where a little boy still frolics.
Celine’s attitude chills so sharply toward Alice that she begins to wonder if her friend resents her. Desperate to reconnect, Alice gives all she can to her grief-stricken bosom buddy. But before long, she begins to wonder if Celine is scheming to take something more from her… maybe even revenge.
Mothers’ Instinct has a Lifetime movie plot with a queer undercurrent.
Based on Barbara Abel’s 2012 novel Behind the Hatred, Mothers’ Instinct plunges unapologetically into domestic terror, pitting two young mothers against each other in a war of emotion and manipulation. Because Alice has a history of mental illness, Celine’s hesitant to confess her suspicions to her husband, Simon (Anders Danielsen Lie). Which is probably for the best, as Simon is an insensitive oaf, ever ready to ignore his wife’s inconvenient feelings.
However, as bodies begin to pile up around the ballet flats of lovely Celine, Alice won’t be ignored. But how can she hit back at the woman she loves, even if that woman is turning homicidal?
A queer undercurrent brings a juicy layer to this plot line. The menfolk bop about the lawns and dining rooms, chortling and considering themselves kings of their castles, intentionally two-dimensional. They are nowhere near as real or alive to their wives as their wives are to each other. A sex scene between Alice and her husband is cut short when he declares he wants to impregnate her, a turn-off to a woman who dreams of passion, not more dirty diapers. Meanwhile, simple scenes where Alice and Celine dance together or console each other throb with intimacy and even (potentially one-sided) desire. Combined with Delhomme’s romantic palette, Mothers’ Instinct feels more Todd Haynes than Alfred Hitchcock. And it’s easy to imagine if circumstances were a little different, Alice might take Celine to lunch and declare her “flung out of space.”
Anne Hathaway and Jessica Chastain are Mothers’ Instinct biggest asset and its greatest obstacle.
Both actresses ably hip-swivel through the dastardly dance that is the movie’s most vicious turns. Hathaway offering a chilliness that is enticingly enigmatic, while Chastain is often on the brink of tears, eyes on fire. Together, they play a battle of love and hatred that is so twisted, intense, and entertaining that it recalls Robert Aldrich’s iconic psycho-biddy thriller What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? Hathaway and Chastain don’t go as theatrical as Bette Davis and Joan Crawford once did, but rightfully so; their at-war heroines are not decades into their festered bond. Still, their performances shimmy knowingly into camp.
But this might be the problem. Not the performances themselves, which are divinely committed and juicy, but the simple fact that Hathaway and Chastain are so respected and so damn famous. When Davis and Crawford went off the rails in that hagsploitation classic, they were aging leading ladies using their fading status to fuel the subtext of the showbiz horror gem. Watching them go feral was a bold and educated choice. (And it paid off, earning Davis a Best Actress Oscar nomination ten years after her last, plus a slew of other horror roles.)
Hathaway and Chastain are far from fading; they are still undeniable headliners and Oscar winners. So when they join forces for a movie, audiences might not expect something as willfully tawdry as Mothers’ Instinct. This is not a sophisticated thriller on par with Vertigo or even Dial M for Murder, but neither does it need to be to satisfy.
Hathaway is too interesting an actress to be relegated only to prestige pics. Recently, she elated critics in the flirty rom-com The Idea of You and the gnarly thriller Eileen. But personally, I most love her big swings, like when she played a toxic femme fatale in the psycho-sexual thriller Serenity or an alcoholic who accidentally manifests a rampaging kaiju in Colossal. Meanwhile, Chastain has mixed it up, leaping genres from the superhero flick X-Men: Dark Phoenix to the horror movie IT Chapter Two, to the utterly forgettable espionage thriller Ava. But after her Oscar win for her transformative performance in The Eyes of Tammy Faye, it’s about time she gets to cut loose with some trashy thrills. And she does just that in Mothers’ Instinct.
All this is to say, Mothers’ Instinct doesn’t reach the glorious heights of Hitchcock, or Haynes, or even Aldrich. Rather, Delhomme builds his domestic thriller in a valley in between. His heroines don’t reach the delicious camp hysteria of Davis or Crawford. They don’t pose in the elegant and openly queer yearning of Cate Blanchett and Rooney Mara. They might be formed in the mold of Hitchcock’s femme fatales, but to their credit, Hathaway and Chastain make these roles their own.
In the end, Mothers’ Instinct might not be great cinema, but it is great fun. Spiked with twisted turns, explosive emotions, and a feud that’s frightening and fun to behold, it’s a thriller well worth its gnashed teeth and salty tears.
Mothers’ Instinct opens in select theaters July 26 and on digital Aug. 13.
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