An overwhelmingly intense portrait of motherhood, passion, and mental illness, “Die My Love” brings together Lynne Ramsay, the Scottish auteur behind such anguished psychodramas as “We Need to Talk About Kevin” and “You Were Never Really Here,” with Jennifer Lawrence, the Oscar-winning actress whose tour-de-force performance marks a viscerally affecting high point in her remarkable career.

Ramsay’s latest (now in theaters, via MUBI) opens as a young couple, Grace (Lawrence) and Jackson (Robert Pattinson), move to a remote house in the Montana wilderness; it belonged to his late uncle, we learn, and appears worse for wear, but both are initially hungry for the start of this next chapter in their lives—and for each other, as they prowl through the tall grass and paw at each other on the kitchen floor. But soon enough, Grace is pregnant, and after the baby is born, the fervent heat of their relationship cools into something distant and unhappy. A writer by trade, Grace is creatively blocked, and the intolerable, enraging sense of abandonment that attends her experience of motherhood begins to emerge in increasingly destructive, unsettling ways. 

Based on the novel by Argentinian author Ariana Harwicz, “Die My Love” first came to Lawrence via Martin Scorsese, who’d read it in his book club and could immediately envision her playing the central character (who remains unnamed on the page). He sent it to Excellent Cadaver, the production company Lawrence co-runs with producing partner Justine Ciarrochi. Taken with this challenging material, the actress had only one filmmaker in mind: Ramsay, who’s been making harrowing films about broken familial dynamics and the all-consuming loneliness they can breed since 1999’s “Ratcatcher,” a Glasgow-set social-realist drama that stands among the greatest debut features.  

Paired up to discuss “Die My Love,” Ramsay and Lawrence spoke for a whirlwind 13 minutes about coming together to tell this story, running on instinct, picking the film’s musical selections, finding its sensorially overpowering visual language with cinematographer Seamus McGarvey, and more.

This interview has been edited and condensed. It was conducted in two parts, also including a secondary, five-minute follow-up with Ramsay.

To ask you first about each other: Jennifer, you’d wanted to work with Lynne since first seeing “Ratcatcher.” What was it about that film, and about Lynne’s filmmaking?

Jennifer Lawrence: Well, when I saw “Ratcatcher,” I knew I needed to see this person’s entire filmography, and so I did—and it’s because her filmmaking was so singular. It was so unflinching. I had never seen anybody make a movie like that. It was just so raw, and it was almost like she didn’t even care if an audience [saw it.] You could tell she wasn’t making it for an audience. 

She was making it because of something so pure—she’s just a real artist. She’s been my favorite filmmaker forever, but I just hadn’t really come across something that I felt would be worthy of her. When I read this book, though, it was clear that it would not be a linear movie. It was poetic, so only one person could do that.

Lynne, what distinguished Jennifer as a creative collaborator, both as an actress and a producer on this project?

Lynne Ramsay: When I received an email about the novel, asking, “Would you read this? We really like your stuff,” I was really flattered.

JL: [laughing] “We really like your stuff.” I’m sure it was more effusive than that.

LR: [laughing] The way we started working together, and talking together, it was all about having a trust within our relationship that was unphasable. For me, what was then amazing was to expect the unexpected. I love when you’re working with actors where you feel—especially with a character like this—that you don’t even know what they’re going to do next. I think I gave enough space—I hope I gave enough space—for that to happen.

But, definitely, it was about a relationship that we developed over time: during the script [phase,] actually with sharing some images, by singing songs, and just talking—you shoot the breeze a bit about it, like, “Who is she?” Really uncovering this character, that was done over a month, so it was all a process of really getting to know each other and getting inside each other’s brains a little bit, you know? It just felt there was a match, and that’s—for me—always what I look for, so it was perfect.

How much did you work to plan out in advance in terms of performance, and how much did you want to leave open and reactive to the pressures of being on set? I was curious about the place of spontaneity in a character so driven by impulse and instinct, and what that felt like to embody.

JL: It was really, really fun—and complicated. I mean, it’s really fun to play somebody that has no veneer, that has no impulse control. You’re just kind of living this internal world. You’re living intrusive thoughts—which is satisfying and fun. 

But I’ve always relied on my instincts. And this was the first time I was playing a mom since becoming one, so I do have my own instincts, but they were very counterproductive to our journey, so it was a little complicated to try to dissect what I would do, as opposed to what Grace would do.

Ariana Harwicz writes in such a lyrical, unsettling style, and there’s similarly such passion and poetry to your film. Lynne, I know this is your fourth adaptation, but what can you say about finding a visual and auditory grammar to tell this story, adapting that text into sound and image? 

LR: Well, it’s a real process. I work a lot on instinct. I think that’s what just clicked with us two; I can feel when something works or doesn’t. Maybe you think it’s going to be great or perfect, and you end up thinking, “Do you know what? Something else is much better.”

You find it in the day. I try to be very present on a set, to look at things that are outside what’s happening, or at moments in between. It just felt like, on this one particularly—and it’s not in every film—one thing I knew was that I really wanted the camera just to follow, to give the actors enough space to let them play in this house, with props or whatever was there. 

She was bored at home; there were moments when I just let it run, and beautiful things happened. There’s a laundry basket in one scene that she tips over. It’s a moment of rage. Then she licks a window. Jennifer just went for it, went for these moments. I never asked her, “Every single beat, you need to do this, you need to do that,” but it felt like the character was trapped. 

And it was funny. That was important for me. I think Jennifer’s got great, great comic timing, and she really brought that to it, and that was important to me. The film was fun in that respect; it was set up to be this thing, but within that, there was a lot of freedom.

I’m curious to ask about the role of music in heightening our experience of Grace’s inner journey. Of course, the needle-drops—Toni Basil, Cocteau Twins, John Prine, and Iris DeMent—keep you on your toes as a viewer, and Lynne, you perform a magnificent cover of “Love Will Tear You Apart” that plays over the credits. At what stage were you envisioning particular soundtrack choices, and was the music in place during filming?

LR: It was very early on that I’d sent John Prine to Jennifer, and she was like, “I love this track.” It seems like a lovely country track, but underneath it is what’s really inside the relationship, you know? And it’s beautiful. Jennifer really responded to it. I hadn’t heard it before; my music supervisor sent it to me. When I did “Morvern Callar,” as well, I’d made all of that soundtrack well before I started. 

We did have music on set—“Mickey” was playing, for real. I thought of the couple having a good vinyl collection, that when they’d lived in New York, he’d tried to be in a band that was unsuccessful, that she threatened to cut off things, and this house was a new hope—even though it was a bit rundown. And it starts from there, then things go… the way they go. [laughs] That meant every piece of music was a little satellite indicator for me, I felt, of these points in the relationship. 

I think about music a lot when I’m writing scripts, and playing music when you’re writing is great as well. It was all open, but it was a process of working quite early on, which I try to do as much as possible.

JL: Lynne is the only director I’ve ever worked with who uses music on set. And so, when it was the wedding scene, you know, when you read a scene like that—where she goes nuts and starts throwing things—it’s a little hard. You’re like, “Okay, well, what? Where’s this coming from? What’s the beginning of this?” 

And so she played the song, “Infinity Guitars,” by Sleigh Bells, and it just immediately got me there. It was such an “arrggghhh” sound of rage — such a cool beat. And so I had that playing in my ear during that [scene].

One of the first lines of dialogue we hear from Grace, as she inspects the house she’s moving into with Jackson, is, “We need a cat.” I wanted to ask about animalism in the context of this film—rats scurrying upstairs, cats prowling in grass, flies buzzing, horses running, dogs yapping. What drew you to this animal symbolism? 

LR: I can talk about that in terms of this character. I don’t know so much in terms of everything, overall, in my work—it’s hard to say. But I used the book as a bit of a jumping-off point; this isn’t a literal translation at all, but there was something so feral, unapologetic, and animalistic about Grace being stuck in this house, like she’s this beast, like there’s something dangerous about her. It kind of came from that. It’s funny that you’ve noticed that it’s the first line of the film. She’s like, “We need a cat.” Of course, he brings a dog home.

Lynne, sound carries emotion so powerfully in all your films. How did you approach the sound design for “Die My Love” with Paul Davies? He’s one of your longest-standing collaborators.

LR: I have worked with Paul in all my films—apart from one short, and I think that was because he was doing something else at the time. We talk about sound being almost like a camera; we focus on this sound, this detail, and we get inside this character, and it’s bringing something up that you don’t expect. 

In the case of “We Need to Talk About Kevin,” it was a sprinkler sound, which actually means a lot in the film, but it’s the most innocuous, familiar sound, and then it becomes a sound of horror, later on. 

I wrote all that [sound] into the script, and I think we have that kind of relationship, certainly on this film as well. We talked about when the sound goes off, when she’s Alice through the looking glass, and when the changes happen. When do we hear? When do we have silence, and when do we let loose something that we’ve really honed in on? 

That process has been going on for years. I always think that sound works so much on your subconscious, in a way that’s often deeper than an image. That is something I’ve always been really interested in. In another life, I’d like to have been a mixer. [laughs]

Jennifer, I wanted to ask as well about the deeply moving scenes between Grace and Pam that you share with Sissy Spacek. 

JL: [grins] I mean, I am a huge Sissy Spacek fan. 

I love your shirt, by the way. [A/N: Lawrence is wearing a shirt commemorating Spacek’s seminal performance in “Carrie.”]

JL: Thank you. She’s an icon! I mean, I’ve known her since I was a teenager. We’ve just always been in each other’s lives, weirdly. I always remember her being so kind and maternal to me. And then I worked with her husband, [production designer] Jack Fisk, on a movie, [“Causeway,” the first film produced by Excellent Cadaver]. And so, when we started playing together… Sissy herself is so aware and sees everything. When she looks at you, it’s like she’s looking right through you. And she’s so maternal. 

It really leapt off the page. I think what was really in the book is more of a normal, average relationship between a mother and a daughter-in-law. But Sissy was so loving and so aware that she ended up being the only one who really saw what was going on with Grace. 

LR: I mean, she glows in conversation, Sissy does. She wanted to understand what was going on, to dig deeper. It was great. She’s a total icon. I didn’t know she was going to take [the role] at first, but she really developed that part. It became much more empathetic. It became much more—like Jennifer was just saying—like she sees what’s happening, or she understands what’s happening much more clearly than Jackson does. And so the film becomes about the two women, which I thought really added to it. It added another dimension to the original material.

I love that glorious, bitter, final sentiment there, in Grace’s toast: “May we live long and die out.” 

LR: Yeah! That scene was really interesting to shoot, as well, because of the way the two women are acting. There is that toast, where Grace says, “Pam,” and then Sissy says, “Grace.” The two of them are really seeing each other, you know? And I remember sitting gripped. I loved that. I was getting goosebumps at that moment, because there was a real understanding implicit between these two characters.

Lynne, tell me about your collaboration with your longtime cinematographer, Seamus McGarvey, who shot much of this film on Ektachrome, shooting night scenes during the day and then manually darkening them. I’m curious about that process and how it interacted with your artistic inspirations on the film. You had an early interest in photography, and you’re also a trained painter—there are compositions in this film that, to me, palpably evoked the work of Andrew Wyeth.

LR: That’s really smart, actually—Andrew Wyeth, I mentioned in the script, so that’s fitting. I have known Seamus for years. He shot “Kevin,” and we shot that in CinemaScope, which was totally right for that film. There, we talked about the epic in the everyday—you don’t normally shoot a film in scope when it’s all in a house; it’s normally landscape, but that choice suited this Mexican standoff of sorts between Kevin and Eva, the main characters.

With this one, it felt more like a portrait, like the actual location of the house dictated the Academy frame. I hadn’t used that before and wasn’t going to use it. We were going to shoot CinemaScope, but when I walked in, I thought we needed to be shooting Academy so we could always see the full length of the doors, to see them coming in and out. I always wanted to see that patio door, and I wanted later to see these layers of the house. It’s a real prison of a house in a way—not that it’s not beautiful, but it feels like that for her. She’s stuck there, so that dictated that. 

I was talking with Seamus also about “Morvern Callar,” which I shot some scenes of, [including a club scene,] on reversal film stock, but you can’t get that same film stock anymore. Seamus was like, “Why don’t we still shoot reversal? Why don’t we try it?” It’s about having it all feel heightened for her. Our minds were rattling; we were looking at these colors in a different way. 

We did all these tests. Seamus is such a buddy, and I think he likes working with me because he can experiment, and we can try things out. We could have come off something a bit more conventional before, and it was like, suddenly, we can be trying all this stuff out again. I’ve known him for 19 years, since I was at film school.

But [Kodachrome reversal film stock] had this otherworldly, dreamlike quality, so we were finding the character through how we were shooting it as well. Seamus is so kind; it’s always such a real collaboration with us, and I think that makes it exciting. He’s really thinking about the story and about the characters. Some DPs come in really technical, but he is thinking about what’s going on as much as I am. It was a real pleasure. We were getting excited like little kids when we were doing camera tests or coming up with ideas while we were shooting.

Finally, I was hoping you could share a bit about Nick Nolte appearing in “Die My Love.” It’s always so wonderful to see him, but this is a very special, moving performance. How did he get involved?

LR: Well, I’d thought of him, and so I asked him one day if he would like to play this. He wanted to meet in person, so I went to Los Angeles, and I met him in Malibu with my daughter, actually. There was just something about him, you know? I mean, his face is mesmeric. And, going back to Seamus as well, in thinking about shooting Nick Nolte, the camera can’t take its eyes off him. It is this screen presence he has that’s really magical and wild.   

It felt like, whenever we turned the camera on him, he didn’t need to do that much, and it was just mesmerizing. And it was beautiful to work with him. We were all quite taken aback by some of his scenes—the whole crew was—when Grace was with him in the woods and when she sees him later in the hospital… There’s nobody like Nick Nolte.

“Die My Love” is in theaters nationwide on Nov. 7.

“Love, Brooklyn” is the story of three people who are stuck as the community they love changes around them. Roger (André Holland) is a journalist who can’t get started on his story about gentrification. Casey (Nicole Beharie) is a gallery owner and his ex, though they cannot quite figure out whether they want to get back together. Nicole (DeWanda Wise) is a recent widow and the mother of a young girl, who has an intimate relationship with Roger but is still mourning his husband and insists she is not Roger’s girlfriend.

In an interview with RogerEbert.com, director Rachael Abigail Holder discussed casting, locations, and her deeply personal connection to Brooklyn.

You have three of my favorite actors in this film, so I’d love to hear about the casting process.

It started six years ago. They were out to another actor when they took me on as the director. And that actor read the script, and he passed on the project. And I was like, “Wouldn’t it be cool if we made it Black?”

And André Holland has been one of my favorite actors for so long. That moment in “Moonlight” made me think, “We need to see this guy fall in love, like from the beginning.” And I thought it would be fun to see him be funny and a little softer than in the other roles he’s been in. So that was basically my pitch. He’d always wanted to work with Nicole, and so did I. But we didn’t know each other. We started pre-production in 2022, and she was shooting “The Morning Show.”

There was a world where we could have just recast her part and kept on going. And we just didn’t want to do it. The way I describe Nicole’s talent is that she creates more than just a little show; she writes multiple chapters of a story in her eyes. She’s amazing.

DeWanda and I have actually known each other since 2006. I cast her in one of my first New York plays. And we’ve just been like in each other’s worlds without really connecting. She’s playing a very different part than what we normally see her in. She had a juxtaposition of being a confident, blunt, and honest woman, yet also incredibly soft. I love her so much.

We often talk about a location being a character in a movie. Still, in this case, the location is the title character and a parallel for what is happening to the characters. You really made it look beautiful. What does Brooklyn mean to you, and what made it the right location for this story?

Brooklyn is and has always been one of the coolest places on Earth, and it has always been in a state of constant change. The best way to describe Brooklyn’s role as a character in our movie is the beginning of the story of this entire production. Paul Zimmerman wrote the script about his 20s, and Paul is now in his 70s. I read it in 2019, and I felt like he was writing about me and my friends. This particular change that we’re exploring in our story has happened before. I just thought that was wild, that it felt so timeless. 

Personally, Brooklyn is where I lived while studying for my MFA. When I was growing up, I lived on Long Island in a predominantly white neighborhood, and I attended an entirely white school. I used to go to Brooklyn every Sunday to go to church with my family. And my family’s West Indian, and Brooklyn’s sort of the landing place for so many Caribbean, West Indian people that going there every Sunday, even if we didn’t go to church, even if we were, like, picking up roti and curry, it felt like I was visiting with family all the time. So, Brooklyn, to me personally, was like my window into my culture.

I want to ask you about one particularly striking scene, where Roger and Casey are at a dinner party with a wealthy art patron named Lorna, and Casey is under a lot of pressure to accommodate her so she will buy more art.

That was one of the funniest and most fun scenes we shot. Cassandra Freeman is another actor who hasn’t had a chance to do their thing. She’s so hilarious, but she’s only played for the most part very dramatic roles. I really wanted Lorna to be a black woman because gentrification is not solely one color. And we all have to look at our relationship to power. I fought hard for her to be a black woman. And I wanted her to be funny too. I wanted it to be light, and I didn’t want it to feel like in-your-face commentary. 

In terms of moving the story along, this is a moment where Casey is vulnerable, and Roger picks up on it. She’s softened and upset in a way that only someone who really knows her can know. I think women, Black women, especially, we have this way when we’re upset, sometimes our upset-ness can look like we’re angry or tired. Nicole has this beautiful way of showing her softness and her vulnerability.

How does the theme of gentrification relate to the past and possible future romantic storylines?

It’s like what Roger says at the end of the movie. You can spend your time being mad about the past and holding on to what the current should be, or what the future should be. And you might be right. But I think life is about trying as much as possible to be mindful about how much you’re staying in the present. 

The homes and other interior spaces in the film reveal a great deal about the characters. 

Lili Teplan is a genius. She worked so hard with nothing and made all of my dreams come true. I had been building decks for every space in the film since 2019, and kept updating it and pulling images. It felt like the little version of me that would spend hours with my stuffed animals, playing, creating, and building. Meeting Lily and her artistry and her ability to make so much out of nothing was like our inner children meeting together. It was just so magical and amazing.  

Our location manager, George Marro, compiled a list of homes and spaces to visit in Brooklyn that we explored extensively. We didn’t have to do a whole build-out. 

What has been the best part of showing the film at festivals?

The American Black Film Festival was really fun, and I think that was the first time I watched it with a predominantly Black audience, a large group of Black people all together. I was like, “Oh, this is a different movie.” I felt like I was watching it for the first time, because a lot of the audience members were reacting and talking to the screen. And at the Black Star Film Festival, it felt like I was watching with my cousins. 

Sly and the Family Stone were most recently front and center in my thoughts thanks to Questlove’s excellent documentary, “SLY LIVES! (a.k.a The Burden of Black Genius).” I reviewed the film for The Boston Globe and Robert Daniels reviewed it on this site. We both awarded the film ***1/2.

Unlike “Summer of Soul,” which also featured the band and its influential leader, Sylvester Stewart (aka Sly Stone), Questlove’s follow-up is a darker affair that celebrates its subject while truthfully documenting the demise of the band he founded.

Without Sly Stone, there would be no Prince; like Stone, he played numerous instruments and wrote all his songs. There would also be no samples for LL Cool J’s “Mama Said Knock You Out” or Janet Jackson’s “Rhythm Nation,” and no paeans to everyday people or ideas for hot fun in the summertime. The unforgettable bass line that propelled “If You Want Me To Stay” through radio speakers and the Hughes Brothers’ violent crime noir, “Dead Presidents,” would never be plucked.

The world would be a less fulfilling place without Sly Stone, both in general, and more specifically, at the family affair we call the cookout.

Thankfully, the singer/songwriter existed to grace us with his gifts through more hits than you might remember. On the flip side, he thanked us for letting him be himself (again). And despite the trials that led him into drug addiction, and the burden of Black genius that Questlove’s title mentions, Stone walked among the living for 82 years. His musical journey ended on June 9, 2025, two days after what would have been Prince’s 67^th birthday.

Born in Denton, Texas on March 15, 1943, Stone grew up in San Francisco’s North Bay area. His early musical expertise included mastering the piano, guitar, bass and drums. He would put this talent to great use throughout the lifetime of Sly and the Family Stone, the band he founded in 1966.

The group contained actual family—Sly’s guitarist brother, Freddie, and keyboard playing sister, Rose. They were joined by trumpet player Cynthia Robinson, Larry Graham on bass, Jerry Martini on saxophone and Greg Errico on drums. Sly and the Family Stone became the first interracial and mixed gender band to have enormous success. Together they cranked out hits starting with 1968’s inclusive call to shake your booty, “Dance to the Music.” That’s the song where Cynthia famously yelled out “all the squares go home!”

I’m sure the squares stuck around. Otherwise, they’d miss such hits as the glorious anthem to racial harmony, “Everyday People.” If they hung around longer, they were privy to 1969’s banger, “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin),” a song that contains the immortal opening lyric “lookin’ at the Devil, grinnin’ at his gun” and a bass line so potent it would knock the right angles out of those squares.

The group’s 1969 album, “Stand” included the hits “I Want to Take You Higher” and “Sing a Simple Song.” The title song, easily one of the best of Stone’s compositions, is a call to stand for what you believe. This task won’t be easy. “There’s a cross for you to bear,” sings Stone, “things to go through if you’re going anywhere.”

Optimism wasn’t the only thing that Sly Stone wrote about—he did create a 1971 album called “There’s a Riot Going On.” That record’s eye-catching album cover, with its redesign of the American flag with nine-pointed stars on a black square (I used to think they were bullet holes when I was a kid), indicated that darker themes were contained within the grooves.

Though the original band dissolved in 1975, Sly and the Family Stone continued making music until 1983. Stone disappeared from public view, and the biggest mystery was whether he would appear with the original bandmembers at their induction into the Rock ‘n Roll Hall of Fame in 1993. (He showed up, much to their surprise.) Stone also appeared briefly in a Grammy tribute to his old band, sporting a Mohawk and stealing the show for the three minutes he performed.

In 2023, Stone penned his own memoir entitled “Thank You (Falettinme Be Mice Elf Agin),” for which Questlove provided a foreword. I’m sure he discussed his trials and tribulations (his drug use, domestic violence and his rumored homelessness) far better than I ever could.

But I can tell you a story about a lonely and confused little kid whose outlook was forever changed by “Everybody Is a Star.” While I’d wager today that my favorite Sly Stone song is “If You Want Me To Stay,” that wasn’t the case decades earlier. There’s a line in “Everybody is a Star” that made me tear up as a kid, because it felt like Sly was delivering a message I should hear:

“I love you for who you are, not the one you feel you need to be.” Even today, I occasionally tear up when I hear that lyric.

Perhaps the burden of Black genius includes speaking to our people in such a way that we’re uplifted. It’s a tough mission, considering what we must endure in this world. Through his music, Sly Stone was more than up to the task. I hope he’s jamming with Prince right now.

Many of my posts lately have mentioned the character of Gandalf from The Lord of the Rings, and that got me to thinking about the kind of role that he plays in his story. That led to me considering similar characters throughout fiction. These types of characters, the mentors and the secondary characters, play a crucial role in their respective stories.

Anytime we get a story with a strong mentor character, the odds go way up that I’ll be tuned in, especially when it’s their turn to give an inspiring speech or just the right piece of wisdom to set the protagonist on the proper path.

With that in mind, I’ve put together a list of some of my favorite mentors in fiction, detailing why I love them so much. True, the majority of them are from the fantasy/sci-fi genres, but that’s just because the stories that have influenced me the most have been in those spaces. This list represents the stories that have had the biggest impact on me, as well as the ones nearest and dearest to my heart. 

Who They Are

Before we get into the list proper, let’s talk about my criteria for a good mentor character. First and foremost, a mentor is wise and experienced. This often means that the mentor is older than the protagonist. They can be, at times, more book-smart or informed than the protagonist, but not always. More often than not, these characters tend to be male, as they often double as a father figure to the protagonist, though this is thankfully starting to change.

Sometimes the mentor is more powerful than the protagonist, but this is not required. In some tellings, the mentor starts out more powerful but then the protagonist eventually surpasses them. Mentors who are less powerful than their protagonists present an even more interesting dynamic as they must guide the hero in wielding powers they may not possess themselves.

Mentors are often self-sacrificing as well, as evidenced by how often they die in their duties or the things they are willing to sacrifice for their ideals. In that sense, mentors tend to have a noble streak even if it’s not always apparent at first glance. 

Who They Aren’t

Mentors, by their very nature, are not meant to be the main character (thus the “secondary character” epithet). Likewise, they are not generally marked by destiny, fate or the demands of the world in the way that the protagonist is. They are, to coin a term from Sky High, “hero support” in a very real way.

Generally speaking, the protagonist can’t go it alone. They usually need help to learn what is required to reach for that seemingly impossible end-point. It is the mentor’s training/wisdom/lessons that will ultimately empower the protagonist on their journey, allowing them to reach higher and go further than they ever thought possible. When the story’s denouement inevitably comes, the protagonist often finds that none of it would have been possible without the help of their mentor.

Perhaps most importantly, the mentor isn’t the one to make the big play, but rather their actions empower the protagonist to become the turning point of the story in their own right.

The Mentor Hall of Fame

1. Uncle Iroh

Avatar: The Last Airbender

Let’s start with one of the all-time greats. Voiced originally by Mako, Uncle Iroh occupies a unique space in that his charge, his nephew, Zuko, is not actually the protagonist. Quite the opposite, in fact, especially in the early parts of the story. Eventually Zuko comes around, after perhaps one of the best redemption arcs ever, and Iroh is willing to share his wisdom with the rest of Team Avatar, and Aang, Kitara, Sokka, Toph and the rest are better off for it.

Iroh doesn’t stop there. He even makes a few cameos in The Legend of Korra, dispensing his usual brand of avuncular wisdom to Avatar Korra. Despite his nearly unsinkable attitude and positivity throughout incredible hardships, there is a sadness at the core of him following the tragic death of his son. In that way, he is not only a surrogate father to Zuko, but Zuko is a surrogate son to him. I think that Mako’s performance really lent the character a depth and nuance that we don’t find very often. While they were big shoes to fill, I think that Greg Baldwin did a fantastic job in picking up the role when Mako passed away.

2. Rupert Giles

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

For me, Giles practically personifies this type of character for many reasons. While he may have the book smarts, experience, and wisdom, he doesn’t have the powers of the Slayer. He’s just a regular bloke who is there to make sure that Buffy is ready to face the challenges before her.

Often, Giles is called upon to back her up in battle against foes that are far beyond the scope of any regular person, which I think makes his bravery that much more extraordinary. While he has only a fraction of Buffy’s physical strength, reflexes, and resilience, he’s always there, he doesn’t back down, and he genuinely cares for Buffy, perhaps more than he should in his position as her Watcher. More than that, he also has a clear understanding of the incredible pressures that Buffy, as the Chosen One, is constantly under. He would gladly take that burden from her but knows that he can’t. Ultimately, Buffy has to be the Slayer. He can’t slay her demons, but he can be there for her when it counts the most.

3. Morpheus

The Matrix

Pro tip: If your mentor character is played by the inestimable Lawrence Fishburne, you are winning at life. Such is the case with Neo from The Matrix. Morpheus is not only a guide to Neo in understanding the Matrix itself but he is also willing to personally sacrifice himself simply because he truly believes that Neo is the One, even when Neo himself has doubts. Like Giles, Morpheus is incredibly good at what he does, but realizes that soon Neo will fully surpass him, and he’s okay with that. His mentee is fated to be something greater than anyone could possibly imagine.

Even when this transition does happen, Neo is canny enough to realize that Morpheus’ experience, world view, and tactical brilliance are things that he will need if he wants to take the fight to the machines. Things got a bit weird in the sequels for Morpheus (and really all members of Team Neo), but I still think that Morpheus is one of the most shining examples of a mentor in the movies, full stop.  

4. Fin Raziel

Willow

Willow was a favorite of mine when I was a kid. Even back then, I saw the similarities to Star Wars, even before I realized that George Lucas was behind both properties. She was an interesting change of pace in that she is initially pretty powerless when Willow encounters her, little more than a talking animal. And yet, she is able to get Willow on the path to being a sorcerer. Eventually, she returns to human form and is back up to her powers that far surpass Willow’s, yet this change does not really alter their relationship. I also applaud her for not lingering on the fact that she has aged during her exile. It shows that vanity barely registers with her, and that the mission to restore peace to the land is much more important to her.

In this story, she is the only one capable of taking on the main villain, Queen Bavmorda, in a spell duel. Raziel ultimately fails when it comes to the boss fight, but she buys Willow the time he needs to save Elora Dannan. But even when she falls in the final fight, Raziel does what any good mentor does: she steps aside to give her protagonist the moment to shine.

5. Obi-Wan Kenobi

Star Wars

The quintessential mentor character, Master Obi-Wan was mentor to two separate protagonists in his day. While his first outing at the job went spectacularly wrong, ultimately giving rise to Darth Vader, one of the most memorable movie villains ever, he is ultimately able to be a mentor to Luke and set his charge on the right path. The remarkable thing is that he accomplishes this without all that much screentime, and does sacrifice himself to allow Luke to get away (ironically dying by the hand of his former protagonist). Not content with that, Obi-Wan even comes back after his death to give Luke a bit more advice on three separate occasions. Talk about a commitment to the role!

When we see these types of characters on the movie screen, it’s so important that the actor behind them exude that type of experience, competence, and wisdom that are so critical for establishing the mentor in the minds of the audience. Sir Alec Guiness did that and made it look effortless. Later on, Ewan MacGregor picked up the role wonderfully. While the prequel trilogy often gets razzed, the moment where Ewan’s Obi-Wan laments to a defeated Anakin that he was the chosen one really hits home. He’s pouring out his sorrow and pain at having to fight his friend, all with the knowledge he has utterly failed in his role as a mentor. The power of that scene really is a testament to MacGregor’s acting chops. 

6. Violet Crawley

Downton Abbey

As mentors go, the Dowager Countess defies many conventions. Violet is primarily a mentor to her granddaughter, Lady Mary, but to the rest of her family at various points, too. That is not Violet’s only role in the series — her frenemy relationship with Isobel springs to mind — but it comes back to that time and time again. Of course, Violet has quite a few blind spots for being part of the old guard of the English aristocracy. Yet in a changing world, she speaks with hard-won wisdom on how to negotiate the upper echelons of power and influence. We find that she’s made many mistakes in her time, and the resulting experience is something she shares with Lady Mary so that her granddaughter (hopefully) won’t make those same mistakes.

One of the most compelling points about her character is simply that she was once in the same position as Lady Mary. She had her time as a countess, living in the main suites of Downton Abbey, then moved on from that time in her life when her husband died. Even in a kind of retirement for the Peerage, she is still a will and force to be reckoned with. Some of my favorite moments in that show come from Dame Maggie Smith’s performance. Much like Lawrence Fishburne, if Maggie Smith is playing your mentor, the universe has smiled upon you. May she rest in peace.  

7. Gandalf

The Hobbit/The Lord of the Rings

I thought I would end this list with perhaps the greatest mentor figure in all of fiction. The opposite of Giles, Gandalf the Grey is almost infinitely more powerful than his protagonist, Frodo Baggins. He’s an immortal, angelic being that has been sent by the Valar to Middle-earth to defeat Sauron. Frodo, on the other hand, is more diminutive than even an average human, and largely powerless. By design, Gandalf is there to advise, to observe, and to help rather than be the prime mover of the conflict. He knows when to impart just the right nugget of wisdom to those around him, elevating them to greater heights, or show them the error of their ways.

When Círdan the Shipwright meets Gandalf as he enters Middle-earth, the ancient elf gives the wizard Narya, the Ring of Fire, telling him “with it you may rekindle hearts in a world that grows chill.” Círdan naturally recognized what Gandalf’s role was fated to be in the coming conflict. Gandalf definitely has some things in common with Merlin from the Arthurian legends. This makes sense when you consider that Tolkien was trying to create a body of myths that were inherently British, rather than a French invention, but he did take a lot of cues from those stories.

In any case, Gandalf really is the gold standard for literary mentor figures on the page and screen, and I would be remiss if I didn’t talk about just how great Sir Ian McKellan’s performance as this character really was. Not for the first time, when the world grows dark, I wish that Gandalf were really here among us to give us just the nudge we need to get on the right path, along with the accompanying inspirational speech so that we don’t give up.

Honorable Mentions

Here are several characters that partially fulfill the role of a mentor, but have enough ‘main character energy’ as the kid’s say. They have the wisdom and experience, but are not necessarily secondary characters with full agency and story arcs of their own as the protagonist:

• Optimus Prime
• Tyrion Lannister
• Polgara the Sorceress
• Mary Poppins
• Captain America
• Professor X 

Final Thoughts

I think what I like most about mentors as a reoccurring device in literature stems from the genuine love they bear for their protagonists. Their journey is a deeply heartfelt and personal one. It isn’t just a job to them; it’s their mission in life. They embody what it means to be committed to an ideal, one that almost always means more to them than their own life.

Mentors are the helping hand that’s extended when the hero needs it most, the purveyors of insight to reframe the hero’s perspective for the better, and the guiding light to show the hero that there’s more to them than they may guess. Finding a person like this in the real world is a true rarity, and if you’ve ever had one in your life, count yourself lucky.

But really, I think that mentors represent the assistance we wish we’d had in those times when help never came, as well as the kind of wise, stabilizing figure that we hope we can be to those close to us in the future.

Thanks for reading!