Words: Olivia Humphrey (she/her)
Andrea Arnold’s diverse filmography is distinguishable by her blend of stirring empathy and hungry grit. Her earthy interpretation of Wuthering Heights (2011) juxtaposes the raw restlessness of American Honey (2016), yet time and again the British director’s works manage to offer sensitive unpredictability and tentative wildness with each hand. Her latest creation, Bird (2024), stars newcomer Nykiya Adams alongside Barry Keoghan and Franz Rogowski, and has earned an array of British independent film award nominations. In a striking portrait of adolescence under chaos, Arnold punctuates an achingly sad story with beauty, magic, and, at times, raucous laughter.
This urban fairytale, of sorts, sees Arnold return to Gravesend, a town in northern Kent, which is the setting of her own childhood. The camera lens is frequently framed in the format of a smartphone screen showing us what our protagonist, 12 year old Bailey, sees through her iPhone in her moments of private documentation. Arnold has laced fantasy into the fabric of this piece, which may come as a surprise to viewers accustomed to her past tone of steely social resistance. Though she rejects the term ‘magical realism’, it is easy to see why critics might use it here: though subtle at first, the audience is confronted with a seemingly inevitable mysticism at the crescendo of the storyline. Unlike other examples of this genre though, Bird does not overindulge in the whimsical – it’s got bite.
We are introduced to the narrative through the eyes of Bailey (played remarkably by newcomer, Nykiya Adams). Through her perspective we meet Bug (Keoghan): her childlike, aimless father, named so for the creepy crawlies tattooed all over his body. Keoghan is superb in this role; his exuberant cheer almost disguises the intrinsic tragedy of his character, sparking an unanticipated, earnest humour. Bug had Bailey, and her brother, Hunter (played by novice, Jason Buda), when he was little more than a child himself. He now reigns over the anarchic graffiti-covered squat they share, alongside his fiance – a woman he has known for 3 months. Between Bug’s outlandish new venture (selling psychedelic skin secretions from his new “drug toad”) and Hunter’s social justice/gang violence extracurriculars, Bailey struggles to find her identity, or assert any sense of control over her life. Bailey’s mother lives with her violent new boyfriend and Bailey’s 3 half-siblings in a run down house on the other side of town, where discarded mattresses serve as trampolines.
But when an extraordinary stranger, who calls himself Bird (Rogowski), flits into Bailey’s life, things begin to change. Bird is a mystifying wanderer with an unexplained accent and an inclination toward rooftops in search of his family, who he believes used to live nearby. What might initially be interpreted as a threat is unveiled, throughout Rogowski’s mesmerising performance, as freshly hatched sincerity. Ultimately, it is for the viewer to puzzle what he is – a serendipitous chance encounter or a protective spirit? This question weaves itself throughout the story, before portraying Bird in a more literal sense than we might ever have expected. The resultant character is an unearthly enigma who occupies both the role of a troubled outsider and a comforting guardian.
Though in the end this film is not actually about Bird’s mysterious identity, the more significant query is what he means to Bailey. She is also something of a changeling; adopting an androgynous style and inhabiting the space between childhood and adolescence, she adapts her behaviour to her surroundings. Her roles as caregiver to her younger siblings, accomplice to her brother, and vulnerable friend to Bird offer us different lenses from which to view her.
At its core, Bird chooses to hold its tangled, demanding characters in high esteem rather than criticise them. The men in Bailey’s life – Bug, Bird, and Hunter – are all flighty enigmas, caught in the slipstream between taking flight and returning to nest. Yet each one cares deeply for her, and is unafraid to show it. Arnold asks us to celebrate these lives, which may look unfamiliar to us, for their moments of tenderness, heartache, regret and joy, each made beautiful through her lens.
We end the film careering through Bug’s boisterous wedding reception, the intoxicated camera careening from excitedly dancing bridesmaids to sweatily exuberant teenagers. In doing so, Arnold raises a glass to unconventional families, heralding them for their beauty, dysfunction, and unadulterated chaos. Bird penetrates what might otherwise have been a bleak tale with a celebration of life, and love itself. In doing so, we are, like its protagonists, set free.
Bird is now available to see in UK cinemas.
