‘Bird’ Review: Andrea Arnold’s Fable is Salvation in Pure Cinematic Form | Cannes

British filmmaker Andrea Arnold has always been interested in humans: the way they live, love, and carry their wounds through a world that is not made for them, really. Her protagonists, women at various ages and stages in their lives, have dealt with the harsh realities of poverty (American Honey), deprivation (Fish Tank), caging social norms (Wuthering Heights), and most of all, marginalization (Red Road). In 2021, she premiered the documentary Cow in Cannes Competition and it didn’t seem at all different from the work she had done before. Cow saw its protagonist, Luma, much like all of Arnold’s films saw their humans: with sincerity and an enormous amount of respect. Witnessing her return to the Croisette with Bird is a true gift to Arnold fans and cinephiles alike, for it is a film that has the power to restore your faith in… well, everything. 

Newcomer Nykiya Adams is Bailey, a 12-year-old tough girl who has already learned to fend for herself in a small town somewhere in Kent, England. She comes from a broken home, her parents living separately and with new partners and younger kids and when we meet them, we see they are very young, too. Bug (Barry Keoghan, as wondrous as ever) is optimistic, but easily distracted and Peyton (Jasmine Jobson) is demanding, but a little scared of her new life. Both live in pretty poor conditions and Bailey seems already closed off enough to not mediate between them. Life is like this sometimes: you just have to trudge through it.

While this is perhaps a defeatist thought to ascribe to a pre-teen, the film is honest from the get-go that nothing comes easy for Bailey. As usual, Arnold steers away from psychological insights when it comes to her characters and, instead, lets the camera do the work. Her longtime collaboration with Robbie Ryan has metamorphosed into a singular way of looking, a lens that defines the Arnold/Ryan signature against his other (still stellar) work as a cinematographer. Handheld, slightly unstable, tracking into close-ups, and lingering sways over faces, hands, and instances of touch: the build-up of affect is so smooth and gradual, that its bursts often happen when you’re least expecting them. In this way, the visual style of Bird rejects conventional narrative markers of development and climax, as every frame and every face are of equal importance.

If we have to say something about the plot—although one does not really go to Arnold for the plot—it follows Bailey in the week before her father’s wedding. On that side, things are tense and suffocating as a new person (the fiancee) comes in and demands things (a luxury Bailey never had herself). On the side of her mom, there is an abusive boyfriend who treats Bailey’s half-siblings as the help. Something has to happen, she thinks. So it does.

One morning, Bailey meets a peculiar man: notably a foreigner, a stranger (Franz Rogowski, magnetic and enigmatic) presents himself as Bird. He speaks softly and approaches the girl rather playfully, a wide smile confounding her guarded skepticism. It is the meeting of two worlds, of softness and hardness, but the age-roles are reversed. What could be seen as a troubling configuration (a man approaching a young girl in a barley field) turns whimsical under Andrea Arnold’s watch. We get to learn more about Bird in due time and Bailey lets him in; in her home, in her heart. A simple story of acceptance and bond-building is never that simple in the social reality of a squat, though. Street and domestic violence also find a way to steer the narrative, but at its heart, Bird holds Heaven and Earth, the ideal and the real, in equal regard. In addition, animals play a very special role in this film, too, but it all remains rather oblique until the end. As it should be, in every good fable.

While Arnold has rarely worked with established actors, Rogowski and Keoghan make an exception. Even though they only share one scene, their presences are shaped in contrast – both fatherly, but two completely different iterations of what fatherhood may mean to a girl. Both actors seem to wear their performance heart on their sleeve when they speak—Rogowski opting for mystery and inquisitiveness while Keoghan channels chaotic, but utterly devoted care—but they never outshine Adams as the epicenter of the film. Her Bailey is the glue that holds this world together and as quiet as she is, the enormous strength shines through. 

Like Bailey, Bird, too, gradually softens, and we can track that process through the songs that appear in the film, like Coldplay’s “Yellow” and  Blur’s “The Universal” (both are wonderful singalong moments). But one question remains: if Bailey is the film’s protagonist, why is the title Bird? The answer may be reserved for the film’s third act, but I’ll give you one clue: sometimes, the protagonist is not the main character in their own story…

Grade: A-

This review is from the 2024 Cannes Film Festival, where Bird premiered in Competition. It will be distributed in the U.S. by MUBI.

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Savina Petkova

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