WORDS BETTY CUTTING
This December, F Word's Betty Cutting takes a closer look at three films that challenge conventions and take bold creative risks, carving out spaces that feel profoundly human. These stories may differ in scope, style, and subject, but they share a powerful thread of exploring identity, resilience, and the many shades of love and hope.
Each of these films offers something extraordinary—an invitation to reflect, relate, and remember what it means to be alive.
BIRD
If I were to describe Bird to myself I wouldn’t think I’d like it. A social-realist film, filled to the brim with cheesy metaphors, some classic movie tropes (a council estate kid enamoured by a horse, and a character lying in the ocean symbolising a coming-of-age or rebirth), a bit of coldplay, a bird-like character with an unexplained German accent, handheld camerawork and some intrinsically sad family dynamics; yet here I am about to admit it’s one of the best films I’ve seen this year.
Bug is played by Barry Keoghan, a father of two and Bailey, played by Nykiya Adams, is Bug’s 12 year old daughter who meets Bird (Franz Rogowski) at an important point in her life. Bailey is on the precipice of joining a gang, when Bird shows up mysteriously. Bird is, well, bird-like. Birds are a central theme within the movie's looming sense of hope. Hope isn’t a clear-cut concept. To hope means sometimes to take a leap of faith, this feeling of heights is often confronting for Bailey. Bird is frequently found standing on the edge of something and this movie evokes that feeling of ‘being on the edge’ often; with the drug taking, the gangs, the seeking of parental figures, the growing up, the marriage, the pregnancies, the running away, the beach, the friendships, the sibling love and the parties. The ups and downs that are physically explored (through the heights of the tower blocks or the depth of the ocean) are representative of how it feels living with abusive, unpredictable or often absent parents.
Andrea Arnold, takes on heavy topics with the energy of a hallucinogenic toad. Just kidding (you’ll get the reference when you see the film), it’s much more thought out than that. It’s a musically fuelled, violently charged, animal and insect filled, dysfunctional family of a film; the components shouldn’t work but they do. Even the unexpected supernatural twist is deeply moving; maybe a powerful nod to how humans (especially kids) can deal with trauma, through vivid imagination and fantasy.
SMALL THINGS LIKE THESE
Small Things Like These directed by Tim Mielants is an emotive and impactful experience. The cinematography honors the way the book is written. It’s hard for me not to be biased in my review of this film as I loved the book so much. Claire Keegan (the author of the book by the same name) writes every sentence with so much gravity and atmosphere you feel as if not one word is wasted.
Observational filmmaking techniques and sensory cinematography were used to ensure the story translated beautifully to screen. Small Things Like These tells the story of how people of a small Irish town in 1985 were controlled by the church. A coalman, Bill Furlong (played by Cillian Murphy), witnesses a glimpse inside the Magdoline laundries and can’t shake what he saw. The local workers are repressed by poverty and religion and constantly battle with their own proximity to the church laundry.
When such horrors lay on your doorstep you have two choices, you either look towards it or you look away, there is no third option. The brutal horrors of the laundries’ conditions are juxtaposed with the warmth of Bill's impoverished but happy home life. In a way, it had a similar sensibility to The Zone of Interest, but the mechanisms the characters had to deal with the adjacency of the trauma are worlds apart. It’s a quiet movie that's chilling and occasionally heartwarming, with much of the depth of Bill's internal struggle largely left unsaid.
LAYLA
To call Layla a ‘love story’ wouldn’t do it justice; it’s a story of acceptance, boldness, adoration but also fear and sometimes repression. It’s a complex and delicate commentary not just on queerness but on what it means to be human, to express ourselves and how we connect with one another. And how the way we express ourselves informs the way we connect. Not just with lovers, but with friends and with family as well.
Layla, played by Bilal Hasna, is a non-binary, Muslim, drag artist who meets Max (Louis Greatorex) at a business event. Their paradoxical worlds entwine and they’re confronted with some difficult questions. The nuanced portrayal of queerness in this movie feels so important, (not only because we need to watch more queer films with hopeful narratives) but because of the beauty in the complexities. There are so many layers of ‘coming out’ for both characters; for Layla there are religious aspects, performative aspects, sexuality, their new name and their non-binary identification.
The dynamic between Max and Layla encapsulates what it’s like to be in a relationship with someone you feel inherently different to, but also deeply connected to. In some ways, we’re shown the beauty of the grey area; the in-between-ness of Max. He is gay, but he’s corporate. He’s out to his family, but it’s conditional. He is artistic, but in secret. Whereas Layla is bold, divisive, adored and sometimes outspoken. Neither character is painted as good or bad, which makes the film feel incredibly real and human, Max can be ashamed, and Laya can be hypocritical. Their journeys aren’t linear and neither is their love. Sometimes characters predict acceptance yet are met with judgement (when Max joins at ‘Feathers’, or when Layla walks to Max’s workplace); and at other times characters predict rejection and are met with acceptance (Layla's sister). We are shown the importance of safe spaces yet we also witness how those safe spaces only feel safe when you fit in.
I don’t know if I felt inherently empowered, but I felt like that was almost the point. Maybe I don’t need to drastically make changes, and I don’t always have to be my best, boldest self. We’re all figuring it out, and we all have a plethora of different versions of ourselves. And it’s ok to lean into those versions whenever they feel right, even if that does involve putting a stiletto up your arse.
