Courtesy of A24


By Peyton Mcmanus

I’m going to be honest with you: No movie makes me cry quite like “A Ghost Story” by David Lowery (The only rival is “Everything Everywhere All at Once,” at which I ugly cried so hard I gave myself a migraine, but that’s beside the point). 

“A Ghost Story” follows the process of grief and makes the audience feel every single moment of it. Lowery makes you feel every ounce of sadness, nostalgic joy and bittersweet longing in this movie,,and the diegetic addition of “I Get Overwhelmed” by Dark Rooms adds yet another layer of beautiful tragicness to it all. 

But besides the cinematography and why it’s an absolute visual work of art (it is), it’s also a masterpiece of a script. Being in love is one of the scariest things in the world. At any moment, the thing that takes up most of your waking time, the person that you love more than anything else in the world, could slip away from you. “A Ghost Story” expertly plucks at those heartstrings, exploiting that fear that we all carry: what if it ends? 

The argument against “A Ghost Story” is often that it is “too slow.” There is, admittedly, a 5-minute scene where one of the characters does nothing but sit on the kitchen floor eating pie and crying. Especially in our increasingly fast-paced world, this can cause a lot of modern audiences to lose interest. My plea is this: stay with it. Turn your phone off, quiet your mind and soak in every moment of this movie. Because those scenes you wish you could skip are representative of the stage of grief that all of us wish we could skip over. You can’t escape the emotions of that scene, just like you can’t escape your emotions when you’re grieving somebody. 

On a broader note, films don’t always have to make you feel good. Art isn’t supposed to make you feel good, it’s supposed to make you feel human. While I love Marvel films and other formulaic, feel-good movies as much as the next person, the idea that all art has to be this way deprives you of experiencing some of the most intense artistic films you will ever watch. In my opinion, it deprives you of an essential experience. 

“A Ghost Story” isn’t supposed to be a movie musical or a superhero film. It is art through film, and it is the most beautiful representation of grief, love and loss that I have ever witnessed. Every time we get that glittery, beautiful feeling of being in love, a ghost begins to haunt the back corners of our minds, saving room for grief, stockpiling it should we need it. It’s a pressing anxiety that many cannot let go of, and even once you do, the fear is always there. 

The two main characters relate to the audience in different ways, and throughout the film, it’s easy to find yourself reflected in both of them. They are never named, just known as C and M, yet their relationship is shown in a nuanced and complex way, and it leaves the audience grieving something that never existed, and the life that they never had. 

The scene that many people refer to as their reason for disliking the movie––Rooney Mara’s character eating pie––is actually my favorite. I think it speaks volumes to Lowery’s genius as a director and Rooney Mara’s ability as an actor that a scene where a grieving woman eats pie for five minutes has such a profound impact on the audience’s emotions. Sitting there, feeling every emotion that Mara took me through, was like I was facing some of my greatest fears, and no matter how much I wanted to leave, they were inescapable. 

“A Ghost Story” follows the haunting and loneliness of the end of a relationship, and the way the shells of ourselves left from relationships past follow us around until we’ve somehow made peace with them. It’s a superb representation of the baggage our souls carry, and why loving and losing might be the worst thing in the entire world, but it’s also what makes us human. 

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