Andrea Arnold, the mind behind Red Road and American Honey, once again showcases her sensitivity in exploring beauty on society’s fringes. With Bird, presented in the Official Selection at Cannes and now part of the EFA Selection at the Sevilla Film Festival, the director takes an unexpected turn. She moves away from the pure social realism that defines her and ventures into a flirtation with magical realism. In her hands, the life of a teenage girl from a deprived neighbourhood in northern Kent, UK, becomes more than just another story of struggle — it’s a modern fairy tale, raw yet full of light.
The protagonist, Bailey (Nykiya Adams, in an impressive debut), is a twelve-year-old girl burdened by the weight of a brutally fractured environment: a Peter Pan-like father (Bug, portrayed by a tattooed Barry Keoghan), a fifteen-year-old brother grappling with teenage parenthood, and a mother trapped in an abusive relationship. True to her style, Arnold – who has a gift for discovering new talent and delving deeply into the emotional intimacy of her characters – immerses us in the complex and painful world of her protagonist.
Amidst the chaos surrounding her, Bailey finds small, fleeting escapes that offer her a brief respite from reality. She wanders around her neighbourhood, letting her imagination take over as she records everything on her phone. Later, she transforms these recordings into something special: she projects them with a small projector in the squat where she lives, creating her own cinema to retreat into. These are fleeting moments, glimpses of the world as she feels it. Here, cinematographer Robbie Ryan (a regular collaborator of Yorgos Lanthimos) brings everything to life with dreamlike visuals.
Everything changes when, during one of these escapades, Bailey encounters a somewhat eccentric homeless person dressed in a skirt who calls himself Bird (Franz Rogowski). In such a hostile environment, his appearance evokes a mix of intrigue and distrust, both in Bailey and the audience. Who is this strange man? Arnold offers no easy answers. Is Bird a real person or a manifestation of the protagonist’s longing? The director skilfully blurs the line between the real and the imagined, creating a magical realism that captivates to the very end.
Bailey’s connection with Bird, initially awkward and distant, evolves into a magical friendship. She helps him search for his family while he encourages her to distance herself from her own. Together, they build a relationship that transcends the ordinary — a mutual reflection of their quest for a place to belong in a world that seems to reject them.
Visually, Bird follows Arnold’s tradition of capturing kitchen-sink settings with a unique sensitivity. From rooms separated by sheets in the squat to the grey streets of Gravesend, every frame is infused with poetic melancholy, contrasting with moments of surrealism.
Perhaps my favourite part is when Bug decides to buy a hallucinogenic toad. A magical toad? (laughs). The idea alone is hilarious, but it fits perfectly with the tone of the story, adding an absurd touch of humour that works brilliantly. The best part? The father is convinced he needs to sing soothing songs to the toad to make it release its ‘magical substance.’ These moments not only bring levity to the protagonist’s family context but are also accompanied by a soundtrack that seamlessly integrates with the narrative. Blur, Fontaines D.C., and even Coldplay create genuinely moving moments. And while I’m not a big fan of Coldplay, I must admit I couldn’t hold back tears during their song at the end.
Bird is a beautiful, heart-wrenching portrait of a young girl learning to fly in a world that constantly clips her wings.