The Testament of Ann Lee

The Testament of Ann Lee is a cinematic masterpiece and feels like a work of art. Amanda Seyfried is truly incredible. The visuals, cinematography, and score are absolutely stunning and the best of the year. Cannot recommend this movie enough.

Mona Fastvold opens her masterpiece not with its prophet, but with her believers. In a forest clearing, a dozen women begin to move as one. They are gasping and have their hands raised toward the light cutting through the trees. Their movements are erratic at first, then rhythmic, then something close to ecstatic. The sound of their breath mingles with the rustling of leaves until it becomes music. Then one of them, Mary Partington (Thomasin McKenzie) turns to the camera, locks eyes with us, and begins to speak. She tells us of the woman who led them, the one they called Mother Ann. That opening scene sets the tone for everything that follows. It’s hypnotic, primal, and strangely tender faith made physical. Fastvold doesn’t start with Ann because this isn’t just her story. It’s the story of belief itself, seen through those who surrendered to her vision. When Ann Lee (Amanda Seyfried) finally appears, we follow her during her childhood and her very religious upbringing; she is quiet and unassuming. Then, as a grown woman, we follow her as she discovers more about herself and starts the Shakers movement. Throughout her life she is marked by grief, not grandeur. She’s trapped in an abusive and complicated marriage to Abraham (Christopher Abbott) and is haunted by the deaths of her four children who never even turned one. But gradually, she begins to experience something profound: visions **** who calls her to renounce all carnal desire and to lead others toward purity. Seyfried plays these moments as an awakening. Her followers see that light too. Mary Partington, a young woman drawn to Ann’s strength, becomes her most devoted companion. Others, like her brother William (Lewis Pullman) and John Hocknell (David Cale), follow in search of salvation or purpose. Together, they form the beginnings of a movement that challenges the moral and social codes of their time. The Shakers grow fast, and when persecution intensifies, Ann leads them across the ocean to America, the “New World,” a place that seems to mirror their search for spiritual rebirth. Shot on the beautiful 70mm, Fastvold films their journey with breathtaking beauty: the creak of wooden ships, the frost gathering on windows, the first sight of vast wilderness. Once they settle, the Shakers’ worship becomes their language with song and dance in the form of prayer. The musical sequences are not conventional numbers; they are acts of spiritual possession. When the Shakers begin to “shake,” huffing and trembling in unison, the screen itself seems to quiver with them. Fastvold and choreographer Celia Rowlson-Hall transform worship into choreography, movement into revelation. The rhythm of the bodies and Daniel Blumberg’s astonishing score merge until it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. In these scenes, The Testament of Ann Lee becomes a mesmerizing cinematic experience. Blumberg’s music deserves special mention. More than a dozen original hymns are reimagined into compositions that feel both ancient and modern. The score breathes, sometimes literally, with the sounds of inhalation and exhalation blending into melody. By the midpoint of the film, you start to feel it in your chest. The combination of sound, motion, and faith becomes overwhelming. And at the center of it all is Amanda Seyfried, giving what might very well be the performance of the year. She’s just a force of nature here. She is radiant and completely believable as a woman who could inspire such devotion. You can see the conviction in her every movement, the weight of her belief pressing down on her body. Every scene she is in, she completely owns, and the movie wouldn’t have worked without her as the lead. Seyfried’s accent slips occasionally between English and Irish, but it never once breaks the spell. Fastvold’s direction is astonishing in its control. The film’s period detail is impeccable, the muted colors of the 18th century, the rough textures of wood and cloth, and candlelight scenes. But what truly stands out is her restraint. She doesn’t tell us how to feel about Ann or her followers. There’s no cynicism, no sermonizing. Instead, she observes in a curious, empathetic way. She understands that faith, in all its beauty and madness, comes from the same place: the desire to make sense of suffering and to be a community. Interestingly, Fastvold resists giving us intimate psychological portraits of the characters. Even Ann remains somewhat unknowable, her humanity eclipsed by her holiness. But that distance feels intentional. The film mirrors how her followers must have seen her, which is not as a woman of flesh and flaws, but as a presence, an idea. The absence of character depth becomes part of the design, part of the mythology. By the time the film reaches its final act, Ann’s movement expanding and fracturing under the strain of her own ideals, the film achieves a kind of rapture. It’s both awe-inspiring and devastating.