As a gamer with a soft spot for historical dramas that tug at the heartstrings, I found myself both captivated and frustrated by “White Bird.” The film’s flashbacks to the 1940s, with their specificity and honesty, were a breath of fresh air, offering a compelling narrative that felt grounded in reality. The performances of Ariella Glaser and Orlando Schwerdt as young Sara and Julien were captivating, making their friendship feel genuine and heartwarming.
In the game of life, as I journeyed through “White Bird,” directed by Marc Forster, some of the most gripping scenes were set during flashbacks to the ’40s. These weren’t just ordinary memories; they were wisdom-laden tales my aging grandmother was passing down to me, her grandson, about the importance of empathy and kindness. They were also stories of resilience, and Forster, alongside cinematographer Matthias Königswieser, masterfully captured these moments without succumbing to sentimentality.
In this movie, the director known for films like “Monster’s Ball,” “Quantum of Solace,” and most recently “A Man Called Otto” strives for a specificity and straightforward honesty that frees certain aspects of this teenage film from artificial plot devices. However, a large portion of Mark Bomback’s script leans towards overly sweet emotional manipulation.
The movie “White Bird” serves as both a prequel and sequel to the film adaptation of “Wonder,” another work by R.J. Palacio. In “Wonder,” we followed Auggie Pullman, a 10-year-old boy with Treacher Collins syndrome who faced bullying at school from kids like Julian (played by Bryce Gheisar). This story picks up a few years later, with Julian, now slightly older but still portrayed by Gheisar, beginning his first day at a new school. Here, Julian sees an opportunity to redefine himself and leave his questionable past behind. He opts to keep a low profile, turning down an invitation to join the ambiguously named Social Justice Club when a classmate extends it to him.
In the evening’s course, Julian confides his scheme to his grandmother, Sara – a seasoned traveler from Paris, who happens to be Helen Mirren, attending the opening of her retrospective at the Met. Jokingly, she views this recognition as an apology by the institution for overlooking or neglecting artists of her generation. Accompanying Julian to the dining room for supper, Sara voices her disapproval – she feels it’s inappropriate for someone who was previously punished for bullying to shy away from social interaction. During a dinner marked by close-ups and soft lighting to suggest intimacy, Sara recounts tales from her childhood, revealing how the kindness and bravery of one boy had saved her life.
The story shifts to the autumn of 1942, painting a picture of Sara (Ariella Glaser) – a girl living a comfortable life in a quaint French village. She fills her days with schoolwork, creating elaborate sketches and harboring a crush on the well-liked Vincent (Jem Matthews). Despite the constant stream of news about Nazi advancements, the impending occupation seems distant and unrelated to Sara’s peaceful existence.
However, Sara’s world begins to shift subtly at first, then more drastically. Places she used to shop now display signs denying service to Jewish people. People who were once her friends now behave strangely cold towards her. In intense late-night discussions, Sara’s parents, Max (Ishai Golan) and Rose (Olivia Ross), debate whether or not they should abandon their town.
As roundups commence in the region, the growing impact and visibility of the Nazis becomes increasingly evident, as soldiers forcefully enter homes, workplaces, and educational institutions to carry out brutal arrests. Sara manages to narrowly evade a harrowing raid at her own place with the assistance of Julien (Orlando Schwerdt), a silent boy who had polio and was left disabled. He guides her through an intricate network of underground tunnels to a barn where she resides for several years, eventually integrating into his family. Julian’s mother Vivienne (Gillian Anderson) takes great care of Sara, ensuring she is well-fed, making her clothes, and fiercely shielding her from the prying eyes of suspicious neighbors who might be Nazi collaborators.
Forster’s consistent guidance gives the storyline of “White Bird” a lasting impact, despite adhering to familiar narrative patterns. The pairing of Glaser and Schwerdt is captivating, and the precise portrayal of the restrictive nature of the Nazi regime lends authenticity to their friendship, heightening the film’s tension. It feels genuine that these characters care for each other deeply, and their interactions – whether they occur in reality or within the protective bubble of their imaginative play – foster a greater comprehension of one another and the world around them.
A more straightforward rephrasing could be:
As a gamer, I found that the message about kindness in Julien’s story didn’t quite resonate as strongly here as it did in Wonder. If they had made him truly invested in a certain cause, instead of merely encouraging him to join the Social Justice Club with a bland name, perhaps the themes from White Bird would have left a more lasting impact and felt less like manipulation. Instead, we’re left with Sara invoking Martin Luther King Jr., a figure whose words have been so overused that their true power is often lost, much like the story itself.
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2024-10-04 03:56