There’s a seismic force Jennifer Lawrence exerts in Lynne Ramsay’s long-awaited Die My Love. In a dream match between maker and star, neither performs in half-measures. The film premiered in Cannes main competition this year to mixed reviews. However, there is sheer consensus on its lead. Lawrence summons jagged, acidic ferocity as a new mother, Grace, who finds her marriage, her creative and regular life cold and dried up. But Grace’s senses rage wildly. Everything else pales next to it. Having moved with her husband, Jackson (Robert Pattinson), into an empty house in the middle of nowhere, she’s bored, vexed, disaffected, desperately hungry for more. Isolation eats into her even as she bristles. The Oscar-winning actress is inveterately primed for her fifth nomination. In Lawrence’s hands, Grace turns into a wanton beast, one you never know when it might snap and charge. The actress outruns few distractingly ham-fisted motifs and strands that don’t entirely blaze. Yet this is a shiveringly sensory experience, sudden flares edging the frames like a supernova of splintering consciousness. MUBI has acquired rights for a raft of territories, including India.