Bailey seeks attention and adventure elsewhere
Story
Bailey lives with her brother Hunter and 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 star in this film instead. Edited at Fontaines D.C.: Bug (2024). I had the chance to screen Bird at Newfest last Wednesday at the SVA Theater, and it left an indelible mark on me, an experience that makes it easy to see why Andrea Arnold remains one of our most distinctive and courageous filmmakers.
Barry Keoghan plays Bailey’s father, and he is as captivating as ever
Arnold, whose works like Fish Tank and American Honey have long portrayed the fragile, bruised edges of society, once again offers a deeply moving exploration of youth and its collision with the harsh realities of the adult world. Nykiya Adams is absolutely mesmerizing as Bailey, a resourceful teenager trying to make sense of the world around her while living on the fringes of Kent, England. His performance is a revelation, full of subtlety, grace, and the kind of honesty that feels almost documentary-like in its authenticity. Through Bailey’s unblemished gaze, we are confronted with a world that is both brutal and unnerving, but Arnold makes sure that moments of tenderness and wonder cut through the darkness. Adams has created a character who is not simply a victim of his circumstances, but a figure who finds beauty and resilience despite them.
In many ways, his character symbolizes the fractured state of authority that Bailey must confront
His portrayal of a man entangled in shady dealings and moral ambiguity is coated in equal parts charm and menace. Keoghan’s ability to oscillate between warmth and cold detachment keeps audiences on their toes – he embodies a character who is supposed to protect, but who is ultimately as lost as the child he is trying to care for. Franz Rogowski also gives a standout performance, bringing a quiet intensity to the role of an enigmatic figure who looms over society and occasionally offers glimpses of humanity amidst the bleakness. Bird is quintessential Andrea Arnold: a visceral, immersive dive into the lives of characters living on the fringes of society. The camerawork is as restless as Bailey herself, moving with a sense of urgency that draws us right into her experience.
Arnold has always been adept at portraying complex and contradictory emotions, and Bird is no exception
Arnold’s use of handheld cinematography amplifies the sense of instability and danger, but there’s also an intimacy to the way she frames Bailey’s interactions with the world, a reminder that magic can still be found, even in the most unexpected places. The film’s visual language is striking in its ability to capture both the beauty and decay of Bailey’s world. What really stands out about Bird is her ability to balance two seemingly contradictory feelings: a sense of hope and the ever-present weight of despair. The film manages to capture both the unsettling and hopeful aspects of its surroundings with empathy and wit. The narrative is less focused on presenting a clear plot and more on creating an emotional tapestry, a mood piece that speaks to the resilience of the human spirit.
Bird resonates because it refuses to offer easy answers
There’s an almost Roger Ebert-esque appreciation for small moments here, the kind of fleeting beauty that reminds us why we watch movies in the first place. Instead, Arnold immerses us in a fractured but deeply real world, a world that reflects the uncertainties of Bailey’s life and her unwavering determination to find her own place in it. There’s a certain poeticness to the way Arnold captures her characters, not through grand speeches or melodramatic moments, but through the silences, glances, and mundane details that add up to create something deeply human.
