Many of us dropped into the Playhouse recently to see “I Swear;” it was one of the biggest films this side of the summer. This past Wednesday, a brother and sister, both of whom had noticed the large crowds on their visits, chatted amiably with each other over coffee in one of the comfortable booths downstairs about why this might be. They reflected on the enchanting combination of a powerful subject (Tourette’s Syndrome) and the Scottish setting, and were particularly impressed by actor Robert Aramayo, whose performance as the adult John Davidson I described at the time as “a delightful balance of acceptance and humour.” This weekend the focus turns to a altogether different untalked-of sickness, postpartum depression.
“Die My Love” (MUBI), showing now at the Montrose Playhouse, achieves two objectives. First, it gazes unflinchingly at the suffering of the victim and of all the other living beings—human and otherwise—around her. Second, it observes sharply that powerful impulses such as pride and lust and envy complicate a naturally sympathetic picture that a film audience will have of the victim and her family.
The opening shot, which encompasses three rooms turned into one open-plan space—kitchen nearest to the camera, diner, sitting room furthest away—lingers for a precarious length of time. We are urged to take in the spare contents and the old-fashioned wallpaper and extrapolate that multiple generations of a poor, rural family have inhabited these rooms. Now Grace, played by Jennifer Lawrence, and Jackson, played by Robert Pattinson, playfully enter the space opened up by the camera, as if dancers on an empty stage at the ballet. But why the long pause? The audience begins to suspect that something is out of place. Maybe the playfulness isn’t quite as innocent as it seems?
Grace’s postpartum depression, which is severe enough to—eventually—require hospitalisation, presents shortly after she gives birth to their son. The penetrating implication of the title hovers over the film from the outset; can the words “Die My Love” be taken literally? Grace’s disturbed behaviour billows over Jackson’s extended family; ostensibly happy occasions are warped into chaos. Grace and Jackson become the couple about whom everyone is talking, and about whom everyone is gossiping, and to whom everyone is offering unsolicited advice. Attempts to normalise a two-parent family around a set of commonly held expectations fail. Jackson loses his battle to keep up external appearances again and again and is worn down with worry as a result.
Let me pause to detail one apparently slight but (in reality) technically distinguished scene in a diner mid-way through, which serves to both summarise the plot to this point and to ripen and intensify the second of the film’s themes—moral ambiguity. Jackson travels away from home frequently, leaving Grace alone with their newborn son and a dog. The audience has by now developed a competent view of both the gravity of Grace’s illness and the danger of leaving her alone. It is also strongly implied elsewhere that Jackson is unfaithful to Grace on these road trips. He arrives in a roadside diner and orders dinner. The food arrives while he is talking to Grace on his mobile phone. Grace is only partially coherent—a state with which the audience is also very familiar. As the waitress checks that everything is in order with Jackson’s meal, his eyes linger just a touch too long. Is he planning a hookup with her later? The audience isn’t sure—we are simply watching the non-verbal communication and imputing an assumption based on Jackson’s previous behaviour—but Grace overhears the waitress speak and is sure. Here, the mundane scripting (what did you order for dinner?) transforms first into unspoken suspicion (why are you flirting with a waitress, given that you have been unfaithful before?) before jumping to outright paranoia. There are so many open questions: How much of her reaction is clinical paranoia? How much is based on her experience? If Jackson is planning to pick up the waitress why would he have the conversation with Grace at precisely this point? Does he want her to feel jealous, or to remind her that he is desirable? And who should the audience trust? The point is that we don’t know—the whole scene is layered with obscurity.
Unfortunately, the filmmakers make a calamitous misjudgement, which is to indulge a state of hyper-sexualisation throughout. Both the lewd dialog and the embarrassingly explicit images add nothing to the film but raise disturbing questions about the filmmakers’ motives. It is as if, having trusted the audience at first, the filmmakers got to the editing room, had second thoughts, and returned to demand that the two actors spell it out for the simple among us—with reprehensible consequences. The point that any of us may behave contemptibly in such circumstances is better made by a film which mimics our behaviour—with generous use of elision and inference and obliqueness—than by asking two excellent actors to debase themselves.
Ms Lawrence skilfully zeroes in on Grace’s extreme agitation and plays her alarming scenes in the kitchen with baby and dog but without Jackson exceptionally well. Jackson is willing to try anything, even marriage, as a cure—without success. (In fact, it leads to one of the most bizarre scenes in the entire movie as Grace adds alcohol to the mix and seeks to persuade the male hotel-reception clerk to keep her company on her wedding night.) Jackson’s recently-bereaved mother develops a relationship of sorts with Grace, although her platitudes are far wide of the mark. “Grace, you know,” she says, “everybody goes a little loopy the first year.” Except not everybody suffers equally and some should not be left home alone.
Adam Poole
5th December 2025
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