The director Lynne Ramsay makes so few films that each one feels precious and fragile, like an endangered red squirrel or a Christmas Day snowfall. Die My Love is her first in eight years and only her fourth feature this century, partly because she is picky, a perfectionist, and would rather walk away from a project that doesn’t fully meet her needs. I’ve loved her work for decades which meant I was pretty much first in line when Die My Love screened at Cannes back in May. Ramsay devotees have grown accustomed to the director’s habit of briefly surfacing only to again disappear. Her films are small miracles; she always leaves us wanting more. And yet this time – perhaps for the first time – I was left wanting more from the movie itself.
Certain films take a while to settle, for their true strengths and weaknesses to turn themselves to the light, and so it was with Die My Love, which is technically flawless and barely puts a foot wrong. This casts Robert Pattinson and Jennifer Lawrence in eye-catching, Oscar-bait roles as Jackson and Grace, the most volatile newlyweds since Burton and Taylor. The couple have moved from New York to a family home in Montana, where Grace has vague plans to write the next great American novel. But she’s a fish out of water, a virtual prisoner; married alive in the middle of nowhere and sunk to her armpits in postpartum depression. Something has to give – and if she’s lucky, it’s her marriage.
