Who can afford magical realism? A review of Andrea Arnold’s “Bird”
Andrea Arnold’s latest film is steered by a sense of wonder one does not find in your typical family drama. The story of a young girl on the brink of coming of age navigating a hostile family life in north Kent, “Bird” (2024), is anything but one-dimensional.
Throughout her career, Arnold has often been pigeonholed as a social realist. Although her skills as a director shine in social realism, reducing her to that label would be an unfair oversimplification of her talents. Whether it be hazy Americana in “American Honey” (2016) or documentary filmmaking in “Cow” (2021), Arnold’s strengths lie not in a particular genre but in the sensitivity of her storytelling. Her newest entry continues this exploration by dipping into magical realism as she questions who we allow the fantastical.
Despite being widely popular in literature, magical realism has yet to find a defining identity in cinema. Now, the pioneering texts of the genre, such as “100 Years of Solitude” (1967) or “Like Water for Chocolate” (1989), may be remembered for their fantastical occurrences but are deeply grounded in the economic and political conflicts that our characters live in. This quality has often been absent in many film iterations of the genre.
Aside from “Pan’s Labyrinth” (2006), arguably the genre’s most successful cinematic example, magical realist films don’t seem interested in exploring the political tension between fantasy and reality that has characterised the genre since its inception. Films such as “Birth” (2004), “Midnight in Paris” (2011), and “Birdman” (2014) all neglect this aspect to instead focus on the magical as it pertains to character studies, usually centering on affluent protagonists. As a result, magical realism, as a film genre, has morphed and diverted from its literary counterpart. No longer are these stories led by passion-fueled characters living on the margins of society, but rather actors or housewives quietly struggling to resolve internal conflicts. Despite this, there has been little debate over calling the films above works of magical realism. Yet, conversations about “Bird” seem hesitant to acknowledge its fantastical elements, even though the film shares more in common with the genre’s original sentiment than many of the previously mentioned.
Following 12-year-old Bailey (Nykiya Adams), as she lives with her caring but chaotic single dad Bug (Barry Keoghan) in a squat in Gravesend, north Kent. We see how her fractured home life is transformed when she encounters Bird (Franz Rogowski), a mysterious stranger looking for someone from his past. Arnold paints a portrait of Bailey’s life where teen gangs, hallucinogenic frogs, violent stepdads, and magical birds all fit in.
Abandoned buildings and grey roads act as the characters' playgrounds. Throughout most of the film, Arnold’s hand-held, almost documentary style invites us to hop on the back of Bug’s electric scooter and be part of the town. Where parents casually snort lines in front of their children, and injustice is seen as something that one “sorts” through their own will. Where kids have been left behind by the systems in place, and so are briskly pushed into adulthood. But also, where Bailey encounters acts of kindness, be it some period cramp medication given by Bug’s fiancé, a favour from her half-brother’s friends, or even sympathy from a mysterious stranger. Arnold harkens back to the fundamentals of magical realism- the interplay between harsh conditions and fantastical release. The socioeconomic effects on the community at hand are never explicitly stated but are always lingering in the character's interactions. These tensions almost act like a contradicting dichotomy and inform the story's magical elements. The fantastical doesn’t act as an escape from the harsh reality Bailey is living through but a direct manifestation of her desires for freedom and adventure as she confronts more adult responsibilities.
The magical moments are deeply connected with themes of nature that run throughout the film. The peaceful moment out in the field, before Bailey meets Bird, is anticipated by a myriad of winds blowing back and forth. The way Arnold heightens the natural elements through sound design and cinematography integrates the magical with the natural. Franz Rogowski's masterful physicality throughout the film also looks to imitate nature. We catch glimpses of Bird standing on the building's terrace as he walks back and forth through the railing. The natural world not only mixes in with the fantastical but even acts as a spiritual guide or “guardian angel” for Bailey. The British lower class has largely been portrayed as dull, urban, and grey in media. So, Bailey’s access to nature and magical interactions with Bird almost seem like a privilege. These aspects of Bailey’s life don’t fit in with the societal narrative assigned to her. Arnold’s subversion of these norms is refreshingly humanising.
Arnold’s impeccable tact in telling stories about working-class England does not come from her films’ grittiness or likeliness but rather from a keen interest in capturing life in all its complexities. When light and darkness coexist, so can the real and the fantastical. “Bird” reclaims magical realism to the system’s outcasts, granting a sense of release and wonder to the marginalized. No longer viewing the magical as a commodity only the privileged can enjoy.
