Andrea Arnold pours an abundance of creativity into her latest dive into realism, yet grapples with sustaining a uniform equilibrium between its peaks and valleys. *Bird* narrates the coming-of-age tale of a disadvantaged 12-year-old girl in Southeast England and her bond with an enigmatic stranger. The film balances gritty, concrete elements with the surreal, probing the limits of what the camera can capture. This self-referential style serves as both the film’s most mesmerizing aspect and its largest drawback.

Arnold, recognized for her wandering lens that captures rural and suburban scenes, continues this lineage in *Bird*, her first narrative film in almost ten years. However, this time her handheld technique appears more frantic than exploratory, often obscuring instead of illuminating. Still, the sensitivity her performers bring to their characters helps offset the film’s visual imperfections.

Though the film may not be entirely cohesive, its individual moments can be breathtaking, with some approaching the divine. These instances remind viewers that even Arnold’s lesser works eclipse many filmmakers’ peak achievements.

### What is *Bird* about?

Bailey (newcomer Nykiya Adams), a resilient 12-year-old biracial Black girl, resides with her aimless white father, Bug (Barry Keoghan, *Saltburn*), in a dilapidated housing project in Kent, England. Their town, aptly named Gravesend, mirrors their grim futures. Nevertheless, Bug is organizing a wedding celebration he cannot afford. His fiancée, Kayleigh (Frankie Box), is about to move in with her baby daughter, much to Bailey’s discontent. Feeling adrift, Bailey reacts defiantly and seeks to join the vigilante group led by her 14-year-old half-brother, Hunter (Jason Buda).

Arnold’s narrative often remains vague, with relationships unveiled through brief, muffled exchanges. This ambiguity is purposeful, reflecting the disjointed state of Bailey’s family. Initially, it’s uncertain whether Bug is Bailey’s father or brother, or how Bug and Hunter are related, highlighting Bug’s inadequacy as a parent.

Hunter and his companions take justice into their own hands, targeting domestic abusers and showcasing their attacks on social media. While this subplot could easily stand alone, it serves merely as an incidental detail in Arnold’s fragmented universe. Although it eventually intertwines with the storyline, it feels like a lost chance to delve into a morally intricate facet of Bailey’s existence.

After being barred from these vigilant escapades for her own protection, Bailey meets a peculiar yet amicable character named Bird (Franz Rogowski, *Passages*). Bird asserts he’s in Gravesend to search for his long-lost relatives. However, similar to many aspects of the film, this narrative thread gets sidelined just as it piques interest. Despite that, Bird’s transient presence brings a sense of enchantment to the film.

### Franz Rogowski brings a shimmering warmth to *Bird*.

From the moment Rogowski enters, his tender, gentle presence starkly contrasts Bailey’s harsh environment, creating an air of intrigue. Their connection is founded on shared experiences: Bird challenges gender conventions with his flowing skirt, while Bailey defies expectations with her short hair and audacious spirit. They cross paths in a desolate field, as though both are in search of an escape from their realities. Bird embodies a sense of possibility that Bailey’s surroundings seldom offer.

Bird’s serene smile and seemingly authentic kindness appear foreign to Bailey and perhaps to most individuals in her world. Rogowski portrays Bird with unwavering hopefulness, whether it’s regarding his quest for his parents or simply an inherent trait he possesses.

Bird often balances between character and symbolic representation, especially when Bailey begins capturing his image with her phone and casting it onto her bedroom wall. At times, he is seen perched on rooftops, gazing down at her like a celestial being. His presence is both exquisite and otherworldly, a breath of fresh air that both Bailey and the film are in dire need of.

### *Bird* flirts with self-reflexivity, but doesn’t fully commit.

Regrettably, Bailey’s propensity for filming her surroundings is another idea that remains underdeveloped. *Bird* reaches its most potent moments when it taps into Bailey’s viewpoint, yet the film never fully investigates whether she is projecting compassion onto the world or uncovering it in overlooked corners. Arnold, typically skilled at capturing the nuances and rhythms of her environments, often presents scenes in such a jarring manner that they become disorienting. The film flows too swiftly and chaotically to dwell on its visuals, be they Arnold’s or Bailey’s, causing Bailey’s perspective to feel ephemeral, even as the narrative dives deeper into her familial complexities.

Nevertheless, Bird’s compelling presence, viewed through Bailey’s lens, is just fascinating enough to unify the film. As youthful drama transpires, it is enriched by peculiar, almost magical events involving animals. These strange