Pop Is a Religion on ‘Mother Mary: Greatest Hits’

I love a movie musical. But when music is written specifically for a film, it can really go one of two ways. Either the songs feel secondary to the story and end up half baked, forgettable, or they completely transcend the movie and take on a life of their own. Mother Mary: Greatest Hits, the official soundtrack to Mother Mary, arrives with a clear sense of purpose.

The film is a psychosexual pop opera directed by David Lowery, following a fictional pop icon played by Anne Hathaway, whose long buried wounds resurface when she reunites with her estranged best friend and former costume designer, played by Michaela Coel, on the eve of a major comeback performance. With Jack Antonoff, FKA twigs, and Charli xcx at the helm, the album feels firmly positioned in that second category, the kind of soundtrack that’s going to resonate far beyond the film itself and land especially well with fans of all three artists.

There’s something immediately intoxicating about Mother Mary: Greatest Hits. Before you even have the full context of the film, the music makes it clear this isn’t just a soundtrack, it’s a full blown pop mythology. Performed by Anne Hathaway as the titular pop star, the project lives somewhere between a greatest hits album and a character study. It’s theatrical, self serious in the best way, and completely committed to the bit.

It opens with “Holy Spirit,” a track that wastes no time setting the tone. A delicate string and chime intro quickly gives way to a pulsing beat that feels unmistakably Antonoff, before Hathaway’s layered harmonies ask, “Do you feel holy?” There’s a recurring tension here between divinity and darkness, summed up perfectly in the line “all of my darkness feels like a light.” That duality carries straight into “Burial,” one of the project’s strongest and most fully realized moments. The opening voices feel almost ritualistic, and Hathaway leans all the way in vocally, landing somewhere closer to Gaga than Taylor. The lyrics are sharp and specific, with lines like “this is your burial” and “born to be a widow of love” that feel tailor made for a dramatic on screen moment. You can hear the fingerprints of Charli and Twigs in the phrasing and hooks, giving the song a pop edge that cuts through the heaviness.

“My Mouth Is Lonely For You,” the lead single, shifts things into something more intimate but still stylized. The beat has that skeletal, slightly off kilter feel that immediately recalls Twigs’ production sensibilities, while Hathaway’s falsetto floats over it effortlessly. It’s sensual, a little strange, and surprisingly funny at moments. “Chapstick and chocolate” is going to stick, which keeps it from taking itself too seriously. That balance between high art and pop instinct is really what makes this whole soundtrack work.

“Holy Spirit 2” revisits the opening track but strips it down at first, leaning into a slower, almost ballad like vocal before building into something much bigger. When the drums finally come in, it explodes into this Bleachers adjacent, arena ready moment that feels designed for a pivotal scene. “Dark Cradle” continues to build on the album’s core themes, leaning into obsession and power with lines like “everybody has an obsession” and “now I got the taste of blood in my mouth.” There’s a layered, almost ghostly quality to the background vocals that feels like Charli and Twigs hovering just beneath the surface, adding texture without pulling focus.

By the time you get to “Blue Flame,” things take a darker, more atmospheric turn. The intro is genuinely eerie, and the track plays like a slow burning descent, complete with a breakdown that feels like it’s meant to underscore some kind of emotional or narrative collapse. And then “Cut Ties” closes things out in a way that almost feels intentionally disorienting. The acoustic foundation is a surprise, trading in the maximalism for something more stripped and dreamlike. Hathaway drops into a lower register, delivering lines like “used to walk with you, ’til I saw something bigger” with a detached, almost spoken quality that feels very reminiscent of Lana Del Rey and deeply tied to the film’s emotional core, especially in relation to Coel’s character.

As a standalone listen, Mother Mary: Greatest Hits absolutely holds up. But what makes it especially compelling is how clearly it’s in conversation with the film’s narrative. These songs feel like they belong to a larger story, one about fame, identity, obsession, and reinvention. Even without seeing the film, you can feel the arc.

Ultimately, this is a rare kind of soundtrack that doesn’t just support a movie, it expands it. It’s camp, it’s high drama, and it’s meticulously crafted pop with just enough weirdness to keep it interesting. If this is what “greatest hits” sounds like in the world of Mother Mary, consider me fully converted.

Mother Mary: Greatest Hits is out now.