Mother, sacred matter

by Angela Bosetto

Since contemporaneity is a rather elusive concept, in order to develop a reflection related to it, it is necessary to establish a starting point. Therefore, for an excursus on the current sacred dimension of motherhood in cinema, it is interesting to begin with the 75th Venice Film Festival (2018), where Roma by Alfonso Cuarón (which went on to win the Golden Lion and three Academy Awards) and Suspiria by Luca Guadagnino (a remake of the film of the same name by Dario Argento) were both in competition. These two films are seemingly at opposite ends of the spectrum, yet they are interconnected by the powerful way in which they explore (albeit in antithetical directions) the idea of the “spiritual mother”.

From the dawn of civilization to the present day, motherhood has remained closely tied to the realm of the sacred. Science has examined the entire process in minute detail, and yet the “ineffable” spark that gives rise to new life continues to arouse infinite wonder and, let’s not deny it, profound fear. This duality is reflected in how each of us perceives our own mother. Quoting Carl Gustav Jung, the archetype of the mother figure “is projected onto the real mother, attributing to her power and charm. The prototype of the mother inherited by the child decisively influences the idea that the child will form of their own mother”. And since every archetype contains both light and shadow, the maternal image can manifest itself either in a radiant form (linked to a divine sphere of wisdom, tenderness, generosity, and fertility) or in a dark one (hence the figure of the “witch” or mater terribilis). Since the human sacred dimension is directly connected to the archetypal one, the idea of spiritual motherhood lies at the heart of Roma (where the humble housemaid Cleo becomes the emotional center of the wealthy family she cares for) as well as of Suspiria (in which the protagonist, rejected by her biological mother and disillusioned by the esoteric alternative, becomes a supreme Mater herself, embracing a pagan matriarchy hidden from the male gaze).

Beyond the horror genre (where gestational anguish has always thrived), contemporary cinema, especially that made by women, is particularly inclined to reject what it calls “false propaganda about the joys of motherhood”, while exploring its most controversial aspects, from children born of violence (a theme that today explored by non-Western female directors too, such as Meryem Benm’Barek in Sofia, 2018) to postpartum depression (and the recent Night Bitch by Marielle Heller, 2024, and Die My Love by Lynne Ramsay, 2025), from the agony of losing a child (Pieces of a Woman by Kornél Mundruczó, 2020) to the obsessive desire to have one (Lamb by Valdimar Jóhannsson, 2021; Other People’s Children by Rebecca Zlotowski, 2022), all the way to the refusal to carry a pregnancy to term (Happening by Audrey Diwan, 2021).

One is therefore led to wonder whether, on today’s big screen, there is still room to express a vision of motherhood that goes beyond trauma (or uncritical glorification), and the answer, surprisingly, is yes. In fact, in recent years, it almost seems as though the seventh art is rediscovering its deep spirituality. A capacity of loving unreservedly, whether their children are adopted or less fortunate (Vittoria by Alessandro Cassigoli and Casey Kauffman; A Time with My Mother by Ken Scott, 2025), today’s cinematic mothers do not merely question social conventions (Parallel Mothers by Pedro Almodóvar, 2021; Broker by Hirokazu Kore-eda, 2022; Holy Rosita by Wannes Destoop, 2024), but go so far as to transcend the very boundaries of life itself, understood both in an existential sense (Small Body by Laura Samani, 2021; The Eternal Daughter by Joanna Hogg, 2022) and in terms of space and time (Petite Maman by Céline Sciamma, 2021; Everything Everywhere All At Once by Daniel Kwan and Daniel Scheinert, 2022). And if from Maura Delpero, already known for Maternal (2019), one might have reasonably expected a reflection with mystical overtones like Vermiglio (2024), who would have predicted that the surgical Julia Ducournau would shift from the hybrid machine-fetus that ravages the female womb (Titane, 2021) to an apologia of the maternal embrace as the ultimate stronghold against the collapse of the surrounding world (Alpha, 2025)?

Perhaps it is because we live in times of desperate loneliness, and, as Pope Francis suggested, mothers, by blood or by heart, remain the strongest antidote to the spread of selfish individualism.