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Bailey seeks attention and adventure elsewhere
Narrative
Bailey lives with her brother Hunter and her father Bug, who is raising them alone in a squat in North Kent. Bug doesn’t have much time to devote to them. Barry Keoghan dropped out of Gladiator II (2024) to see this film instead. Adapted from Fontaines D.C.: Bug (2024). I had the opportunity to screen Bird at Newfest last Wednesday at the SVA Theater and it left an indelible impression on me – an experience that makes it easy to see why Andrea Arnold remains one of our most distinctive and fearless filmmakers. Arnold, whose works such as Fish Tank and American Honey have long depicted the fragile and damaged edges of society, once again offers a deeply moving exploration of youth and its collision with the harsh reality of the adult world.
Nykiya Adams is absolutely mesmerizing as Bailey
, a resourceful teenager trying to understand the world around him Living on the outskirts of Kent, England. His performance is a revelation, full of subtlety, luxury and the kind of honesty that feels almost documentary in its authenticity. Through Bailey’s unblemished gaze, we encounter a world that is both cruel and confusing, but Arnold ensures that moments of tenderness and wonder break through the gloom. Adams has created a character who is not just a victim of her circumstances, but a character who finds beauty and resilience in spite of them. Barry Keoghan plays Bailey’s father and is as fascinating as ever. His portrayal of a man embroiled in murky affairs and moral ambiguity is layered with charm and menace in equal measure.
on the fringes of society
Keoghan’s ability to oscillate between warmth and cold detachment keeps the audience on edge – he embodies a character he’s meant to protect but ends up as lost as the child he’s trying to care for. In many ways, her character symbolizes the fractured space of authority that Bailey must navigate. Franz Rogowski also delivers a standout performance, bringing a quiet intensity to the role of an enigmatic character who both looms large and sometimes offers glimpses of humanity amidst the darkness. Bird is the quintessential Andrea Arnold – engaging, visceral to the lives of the characters. The camerawork is as restless as Bailey herself and moves with an urgency that draws us right into her experience. Arnold’s use of handheld cinematography reinforces the sense of instability and danger, but there’s also an intimacy in the way he frames Bailey’s interactions with the world – a reminder that there’s still magic, even in the most unexpected places.
The film manages to capture both its haunting and hopeful aspects with empathy and ingenuity
The visual language is amazing in its ability to capture both the beauty and decay of Bailey’s world. What really stands out about Bird is its ability to balance two seemingly contradictory emotions: the feeling of hope and the weight of the universe. despair. Arnold has always been adept at portraying complex, conflicted emotions, and Bird is no exception. The story is not so much about producing a clear plot, but more about creating an emotional tapestry – a mood piece that speaks to the tenacity of the human spirit. An almost Roger Ebert-like appreciation of the small moments here is the kind of fleeting beauty that reminds us why we watch movies in the first place.
The bird resonates because it refuses to offer easy answers
Instead, Arnold immerses us in a fractured but deeply real world, one that reflects the uncertainty of Bailey’s life and her steely determination to find her place. There’s a poetry to the way Arnold captures his characters—not through grand speeches or melodramatic moments, but through silences, glances, and everyday details that add up to something deeply human.
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