‘Bird’ movie review: Andrea Arnold’s welcome foray into magical realism

British filmmakers have traditionally excelled in the social realist genre, and Andrea Arnold is one of the country’s most accomplished. Emerging with films like Wasp, Red Road, and Fish Tank, each revolved around a female character, isolated and struggling to navigate their lives. These films were pure social realism, although the desire for change or escape were core themes, allowing these characters to dream and fixate on something better.

After Fish Tank, Arnold expanded her horizons by directing the period drama Wuthering Heights, a road movie, American Honey, and the documentary Cow. These films have all received significant praise, with similar themes of femininity, patriarchy, and class becoming defining trademarks. Yet, many fans have longed for Arnold to make another British social realist number. While she has delivered this with her new film, Bird, the director has also blended elements of magical realism into the narrative, an unexpected yet welcomed touch.

We start by meeting Bailey, a 12-year-old girl who films videos on her phone and later projects them onto her bedroom wall, such as birds flying in the sky. Whisked away by her dad, Bug, on an electric scooter, we then hear the frenetic rhythm of Fontaines DC’s ‘Too Real’ as the pair speed through the town centre, Robbie Ryan’s dizzying cinematography joining in on the ride. 

The heavily tattooed Bug is played superbly by Barry Keoghan, although here he looks strikingly different to the character he became known for in last year’s Saltburn (which even gets a cheeky reference). At the house, where every wall is covered in spray paint, Bug informs Bailey that he will be marrying his girlfriend of three months at the weekend, who will then be moving in with her toddler.

As she struggles to process her feelings (with the fact that her mother disowned her for being too troublesome, clearly lingering over her), she expresses interest in her older brother’s vigilante gang. Yet, after spending a night alone in a field, she meets a random stranger who appears seemingly out of nowhere. The strange yet kind man named Bird, played terrifically by Franz Rogowski, leaves Bailey confused yet intrigued, and she follows him to a block of flats.

From here, Arnold maintains levels of intrigue surrounding Rogowski’s character as Bailey’s week unravels. She meets her mum’s violent boyfriend, Skate, and, concerned for the safety of her three little siblings, decides to take matters into her own hands. Between starting her period, trying to look after her siblings, reckoning with her dad’s impending marriage, trying to help her older brother with his own problems, and figuring out the mysterious Bird, Bailey has a lot on her plate.

She is at a pivotal stage of her life, not ready to grow up but simultaneously thrown into situations where she has no choice but to become an adult. Arnold carefully shows Bailey’s most childlike moments, like storming off to her room or trying on makeup for the first time, while also highlighting how many working-class young girls are forced into motherly roles, like looking after siblings, when they’re still children themselves.

The filmmaker crafts an incredibly authentic depiction of working-class lives within Bird. Not only does Arnold illuminate the bleak realities of living with very little money where issues like teen pregnancy, drug dealing, and violence (particularly at the hands of men) are rife, but she also shows countless moments of familial love and particularly the power of community as a uniting and supportive force.

There are many intense scenes that can often be hard to stomach, but Bird is a rewarding watch. There is hope to be found among the pain and confusion, even when it feels like everything is falling apart. While there are a few moments that occasionally feel as though they could be bordering on cliché, like Bailey starting her period as a symbol of her maturing, Arnold prevents these metaphors from becoming one-dimensional.

On closer inspection, her period also serves as a symbol of her femininity and how her gender identity is complicated by the men and women around her who she struggles to identify with (it is no coincidence that both she and Bird have noticeably androgynous qualities).

Bird is a beautiful yet often brutal look at working-class British life that takes similar themes from Fish Tank and brings them into a modernised and relevant setting. While it doesn’t have as special and as raw a feeling as Fish Tank, Bird—with its rich doses of humour and cues from Wim Wenders’ Wings of Desire—proves Arnold’s mastery as one of Britain’s most interesting cinematic voices. 

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