24/27

Cut: Fontaines DC: Bug (2024)

Narrative

Bailey lives with her brother Hunter and her father Bug, who raise them alone in a squat in north Kent. Bug doesn’t have much time for them. Bailey seeks attention and adventure elsewhere. Barry Keoghan dropped out of Gladiator II (2024) to star in this film instead. I had the opportunity 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 fearless filmmakers.

Barry Keoghan plays Bailey’s father and is as captivating as ever

Arnold, whose works such as Fish Tank and American Honey have long depicted the fragile and vulnerable fringes of society, once again presents a deeply moving exploration of youth and its collision with the harsh realities of the adult world. Nykiya Adams is utterly captivating as Bailey, a resourceful teenager trying to make sense of the world around her while living on the fringes of Kent, England. Her performance is revelatory with subtlety, grace, and the kind of honesty that is almost documentary in its authenticity. Through Bailey’s untainted gaze, we are confronted with a world that is both brutal and shocking, but Arnold ensures that moments of tenderness and wonder pierce through the gloom. Adams has created a character who is not simply a victim of her circumstances, but one who finds beauty and resilience in spite of them.

In many ways, his character is emblematic of the broken state of authority that Bailey must navigate

The charm and menace of this portrayal of a man embroiled in shady dealings and moral ambiguity are equal parts heaped upon. Keoghan’s ability to oscillate between warm and cold detachment keeps the audience on edge – he embodies a character who needs to be protected, but is ultimately as lost as the child he’s trying to care for. Franz Rogowski also gives a standout performance, bringing a quiet intensity to the role of a mysterious figure who emerges from the bleachness and occasionally offers glimpses of humanity. Bird is the essence of Andrea Arnold – a captivating, visceral plunge into the lives of living characters on the fringes of society. The cinematography is as restless as Bailey herself, moving with a sense of urgency that draws us directly into the experience.

Arnold has always been adept at depicting complex, conflicting emotions, and Bird is no exception

Arnold’s handheld filming heightens the sense of instability and danger, but there’s also an intimacy to the way he frames Bailey’s interactions with the world—a reminder that there’s still magic to be found even in the most unexpected places. The visual language here is stunning in its ability to capture the beauty and decay of Bailey’s world. What really stands out about Bird is its ability to balance two apparently contradictory feelings: a sense of hope and the pervasive weight of despair. The film manages to capture both the haunting and hopeful aspects of the setting with empathy and ingenuity. The narrative is less about presenting a clear plot than it is about creating an emotional tapestry—a mood piece that speaks to the resilience of the human spirit.

The bird resonates because it refuses to give easy answers

There’s an almost Roger Ebert-like appreciation for the small moments experienced here, the fleeting beauty that reminds us why we watch movies in the first place. Instead, Arnold immerses us in a broken yet deeply real world, a world that reflects the uncertainties of Bailey’s life and her unwavering determination to find her place in it. There’s a poetic quality to the way Arnold captures his characters—not with grand speeches or melodramatic moments, but with the silences, the glances, and the mundane details that create something profoundly human.