Die My Love review: Jennifer Lawrence is superb in this absorbing and quietly devastating drama

Premiering at the 2025 Cannes Film Festival in competition, this hugely accomplished work will likely shine the spotlight back on the prodigiously talented Lawrence. There’s a rawness here which recalls her early work, notably her Oscar-nominated turn in Winter’s Bone.

With no siblings and no parents alive, so we’re told, Lawrence’s Grace has stacked all her chips on creating a family with Jackson (Pattinson). With their young baby son, they move into a crummy rural house once occupied by Jackson’s uncle. There are rats and, perhaps, the stench of death.

We later learn that Jackson’s uncle Frank took his own life there. Meanwhile, close by, Jackson’s mother Pam (Sissy Spacek) must deal with her dementia-suffering father Harry (Nick Nolte).

It’s a typically messy family portrait right there, but all that melts into the background as Ramsay focuses on Grace. What follows is a measured decline, as her mental health deteriorates and she struggles with postpartum depression. Perhaps she always had it in her. One flashback, to their wedding night, shows her inebriated and out of control. There’s a self-harming, self-destructive impulse buried in her DNA, but it’s clear she loves her baby more than life itself.

At one point Grace says she doesn’t have an issue bonding with her son. “He’s perfect,” she adds. “It’s everything else that’s fucked.” Ramsay smartly ramps up the pain, beginning when Jackson brings home a dog, whose incessant bark begins to drive Grace (and us) to distraction. Together with the buzzing flies that forever seem to be penetrating the household, Ramsay builds up a cacophony of noise that, on some level, is inside Grace’s head.

One of the real pleasures of Die My Love is the cinematography by Northern Irish DoP, Seamus McGarvey, who previously shot Ramsay’s devastating adaptation of We Need To Talk About Kevin (which really should be on a double bill with Die My Love, given that explores parental horrors too). Here, McGarvey’s subtle work, much of it in the gloom of night, captures the increasingly sombre mood of the characters. One eye-catching moment sees blots of ink dissolve into city lights, but McGarvey’s work is beautiful throughout.

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With Lawrence and Pattinson both pushed to their limits, there’s something additionally pleasurable about support coming from Spacek and Nolte, two generational talents who rarely get opportunities to shine now. One scene, when Pam argues with Grace, worrying that she’s struggling, sees the camera remain on Spacek’s face, her eyes saying so much with barely a flicker. There’s also a slightly mysterious role for LaKeith Stanfield, one that Ramsay allows to go unexplained, as a man that Grace seems to desire.

Throughout, there’s much to unpack, as Lawrence’s character spirals. Some will talk about the more extreme scenes (nudity, self-harm), but this isn’t a film that’s out to shock you. Nor does it aim to be controversial for the sake of it. Rather, it’s a supremely well-crafted atmosphere piece, one that truly showcases Lawrence’s talents. She’s surely in with a big shout for Best Actress in Cannes and, perhaps, further attention when awards season rolls around at the end of the year.

Scored with reams of rock music (despite Grace’s proclamations that she hates guitars), Ramsay builds Die My Love into a crescendo, one that perfectly essays one woman’s psycho-journey. It’s heartbreaking at times, and may be triggering for those who have endured postpartum depression, but you won’t be able to tear your eyes away.

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