White Bird
Popular but somewhat heavy-handed source material has often been deftly handled by Marc Forster, as he is able to do justice to both its more manipulative and saccharine elements in adaptations such as “The Kite Runner” or “A Man Called Otto”. This skill comes into play again with “White Bird,” which gracefully adapts a YA graphic novel by R.J. Palacio. As a “Wonder story” that is indirectly connected to 2012’s “Wonder,” it could benefit from the popularity of last year’s movie version starring Julia Roberts and Owen Wilson.
This less star studded (though it does feature Helen Mirren in a glorified cameo) period piece entwines the Holocaust with teen romance; thus, its appeal may be narrower but deeper for theatrical audiences though broader when it reaches home formats. While there are certain simplistic aspects of the story here that one might take issue with, the director’s intelligent craft produces an attractive result that achieves poignancy and uplift without overdoing them.
Having been delayed several times before most recently to Aug. 25 Lionsgate now plans to release it sometime in the final quarter of this year, which at least puts it in a better position for year end campaigning, this is very much the sort of earnest, accomplished treatment of a serious historical subject that attracts mainstream awards consideration and also occasional criticism (à la previous youth slanted Holocaust fictions “Boy in the Striped Pajamas” and “The Book Thief”) as too obvious awards bait.
The link to “Wonder” here is a framing device Now a high schooler, Julian Albans (Bryce Gheisar, reprising his role from the first film) is moping home after being expelled from yet another institution for bullying when he’s visited unannounced by Grandmère Sara (Mirren), a famous artist who’s having a museum retrospective here in Manhattan. Prodding his sulk, she discerns an unwillingness to admit past fault, and current desire to fit in at school by just being “normal,” i.e., neither “mean or nice.” She takes issue with that view, choosing instead to illustrate the importance of kindness by sharing her own seldom-discussed distant past.
After an interlude depicting idyllic childhood moments together, the main storyline commences one autumn in 1942. Fifteen-year-old Sara (Ariella Glaser) is your average teenager harmlessly self absorbed but increasingly unable to ignore larger events around her. Though their Alsatian town lies outside France’s officially occupied zone, Nazis are becoming more present locally, along with the anti-Semitism they encourage; her mother (Olivia Ross) still refuses to believe their Jewish family could face arrest and death camp deportation like those occurring elsewhere; her father (Ishai Golan) fears they’re running out of time to flee.
But suddenly, it already is too late. Axis forces arrive to round up all Jewish residents. Sara’s school tries evacuating targeted students, but they’re betrayed ironically by her own crush object, budding fascist Vincent (Jem Matthews) and she alone escapes capture. But her parents aren’t so fortunate, and our heroine would surely be caught as well if not for the last-minute intervention of Julien Beaumier (Orlando Schwerdt), a polio lamed classmate to whom she’s barely spoken before. His parents (Gillian Anderson, Jo-Stone Fewings) take her in; however, suspecting their country neighbors may be Nazi sympathizers, Sara must remain hidden in the barn from any prying eyes.
And so there she spends many subsequent months, her long days and cold nights brightened mostly by the growing friendship (then first romance) with Julien. He imparts what he learns at school after hours to his no longer enrolled charge, more imaginatively inclined, Sara enlists him in games of pretend travel that help alleviate some of the gloominess inherent to being stuck in one place all the time. Mark Bomback’s screenplay does not stray far from the novel its most notable addition might be Julien’s part-time job as projectionist at the town cinema, which enables incorporation of various documentary and fictive archival footage (Chaplin’s “Modern Times” among them).
Palacio’s book is fairly on the nose in terms of messaging, symbolism and imagery for a target readership that is roughly 4th-8th grade level, Forster brings a more sophisticated visual sense here that is inviting without being over-glamorized or condescending indeed opening up what could have been an awfully claustrophobic tale in ways that only enhance its impact.
The rural environments where it was shot, in the Czech Republic, have a fairy tale quality to them they’re lovely and sometimes look like storybook pictures. The only time this goes too far is when wolves come into the picture late in the game; it didn’t work in the book either. While we understand that our heroine needs to indulge her escapist fantasies, it’s one thing for this otherwise (relatively) realistic story to pull a deus-ex-machina vengeance on a villain who could’ve stepped right out of a Grimm fairy tale.
There are still times when Foster gets preachy or maudlin or trite, but he never made “White Bird” as obviously tweenish as “Beaver,” for example. He allows the film to unfold at a leisurely yet sufficiently suspenseful pace that keeps us involved without resorting to excessive melodrama or sentimentality. The physical production values are all top flight, and while Thomas Newman’s piano-and-strings score is unmemorable like so much here, it makes a virtue of restraint.
Mirren’s twinkly eyed impersonation of a Parisian bonne vivante would be more amusing if she didn’t keep popping up for two minutes every 20 pages or so. As with most English language period pieces set in France these days hello, Les Mis! all French people speak with posh British accents, except for when they say things like “voilà.” Among the young lead actors there isn’t what you’d call a breakout performance; newcomer Glaser and Schwerdt from last year’s “Children of the Corn” bring competence if not much distinctive personality to their roles.
Most of the adult actors are limited by their screen time; Anderson doesn’t have much to do until her character takes charge late in the day. But everyone hits their marks solidly, there’s not an ineffective performance here. Forster can seem over contriving at times, but he still gets the desired mix of heartbreak and inspiration for a climax that also includes a pointed call for vigilance against new fascistic movements. The story’s child-friendly equation of such tyranny with bullying remains intact, but the storytelling itself has enough breadth to qualify this as entertainment for all ages. It may seem like Holocaust 101 certainly more sanitized and romanticized than your average Anne Frank dramatization to anyone familiar with “The Sorrow and the Pity” or “Schindler’s List.” But everyone’s education starts somewhere, and “White Bird” offers a method that’s palatable enough for young minds yet dignified enough to suit their adult minders.
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