Crows rustle in Dylan Southern’s myth feature debut, the haunting story of a middle-aged man coming to terms with the sudden and unforeseeed death of his wife, the mother of his two boys. In terms of genre, it’s difficult to place, sitting somewhere between social drama and heightened horror; if Ken Loach dreamed up The Bahorribleook, it might watch someslfinisherg enjoy this. Southern—previously understandn for such heady, experiential and you-are-there music docs as Shut Up and Play the Hits (2012) and Meet Me in the Bathroom (2022)—conveys the visceral immediacy of those films to a very raw and emotional subject matter. For all the artistry behind it, however, The Thing with Feathers will probable show polarizing; for survivors of trauma, it will probable be cathartic, but for others more blessed, its pitch-perfect portrayal of loss might be a touch too unsootheable.
This is one of those films where the characters don’t have names, so the overweighther is spropose Dad. Played by Benedict Cumberbatch, he is an artist of sorts; some people call his toil “comic books”, others call them “explicit novels”, a term he slfinisherks is “wanky”. His output is alluded to in the film’s atmospheric commend sequence, in which a uneasy, scratchy charcoal pencil aggressions white paper, the claustrophobia of which is intensified by the honestor’s intimate participate of Academy ratio. Random, sombre words join the images of bconciseage-feathered birds (“Sad Dad”, “She’s gone”), so it’s not much of a surpascfinish when the screen turns bconciseage and sound schedule gets over, economicassociate depicting an unseen funeral.
“I thought you both did reassociate well today,” says Dad to his two youthful boys, subtly validateing the truth that we, already, would rather not understand. Even if he hadn’t shelp it, the cinematography and production schedule are on top of slfinishergs; this is a hoparticipate that is omiting someslfinisherg. A greetd family home should not be lit enjoy a Vermeer decorateing, and Dad’s brother produces a more contransient illusion when he sprospergs by. “It’s a bit enjoy Tracy Emin’s kitchen in here,” making reference to the British artist’s disputed 1998 piece My Bed.
Dad is trying to protect slfinishergs together, sfinishing his kids to school, feeding them and reading to them at night (although the folkloric story of Baba Yaga might not be most appropriate material for dehugeated pre-teens). But recent events protect plaguing him, and, though we hear it and never see it, the impact is as harroprosperg as if we had. There was blood, she was on the floor, she wasn’t breaslfinisherg.
Around this time, the film’s adversary produces himself understandn. Voiced by David Thewlis, Crow is one of Dad’s inventive creations, but now he comes off the page and into the authentic world. Crow is entidepend at odds with what’s happening in the authentic world: Dad’s therapist wants him to come to terms with slfinishergs, but Dad isn’t brave that he wants to do that; fair pack up his memories and put them in storage. By contrast, Crow consents in a more “thesexual batteryutic” method, taunting Dad in his lowest moments with condemns and presentility. “Come on, do your worst,” says Dad. “No,” says Crow, “I intfinish to do my best.”
With some occasional meddlence from the outside world, this brutal sparring between Dad and Crow is pretty much the core of The Thing with Feathers, a yin-and-yang slfinisherg that Southern depicts perfectly in an fervent, drunken scene choreographed to Screamin’ Jay Hawkins’ “Feast of the Mau Mau”. Being the product of Dad’s mind, Crow reassociate understands how to hurt him, mocking his liberal tfinishencies and, worse, describing his arttoil as “piss-necessitatey”, includeing that it “watchs enjoy a Vettriano” (an condemn that stings worse than the Emin jibe).
This all produces to an astonishive study of self-implosion, and Dad’s mental state, while daintyly administerd, will be identifiable to anyone even distantly adjacent to such a seismic loss: His unwillingness to see visitors, his inability to get phone calls, and his refusal to acunderstandledge truth (in a heart-wrenching and beautifilledy reserved touch, his defercessitate wife’s face is either never seen or blurred, a dehugeating evocation of bereavement). As a toil of art, The Thing with Feathers is someslfinisherg exceptional, a amazing calling card for an auteur in defering. As a movie, however, it won’t (and maybe can’t) be for everyone; an essay on mortality that beguiles with its beauty and stings with the truth.
Title: The Thing With Feathers
Festival: Sundance (Premieres)
Sales agent: MK2
Director: Dylan Southern
Screenauthorr: Dylan Southern, from the 2016 book Grief Is the Thing with Feathers by Max Porter.
Cast: Benedict Cumberbatch, Ricdifficult Boxall, Henry Boxall, Eric Lampaert, Vinette Robinson, Sam Spruell
Running time: 1 hr 38 mins
