‘White Bird’ Review: Teen Romance Flowers Amidst Nazi Persecution in a Refined YA Adaptation
Marc Forster has frequently demonstrated an ability to tastefully moderate the more manipulative or saccharine aspects of popular but somewhat blunt-edged source material, in bestseller screen translations like “The Kite Runner” and “A Man Called Otto.” That knack comes in handy once more with “White Bird,” a graceful adaptation of a YA graphic novel by R.J. Palacio. A “Wonder story” tangentially related to 2012’s “Wonder,” it may get some boost from the connection to that book’s successful 2017 film version with Julia Roberts and Owen Wilson.
This less-starry affair (with brightest luminary Helen Mirren relegated to a glorified cameo) is a period piece mixing the Holocaust and teen romance, likely to appeal to a somewhat narrower audience — albeit one that will broaden in home formats. Though one can quibble over some of the more simplistic story elements here, the director’s astute craftsmanship delivers a handsome result that hits the desired poignant and inspirational notes without belaboring them.
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Following a series of prior release-date bumps, the last to Aug. 25, it is now slated by Lionsgate to open sometime in this year’s final quarter. That should at least position it better for year-end campaigning, as this is very much the kind of earnest, accomplished treatment of a somber historical theme that attracts mainstream awards attention — if also occasional criticism (à la prior youth-slanted Holocaust fictions “Boy in the Striped Pajamas” and “The Book Thief”) as too-obvious awards bait.
The “Wonder” link is a framing device: Now a high schooler, Julian Albans (Bryce Gheisar, the sole holdover from the previous film) is adjusting to a new educational environ after being expelled from his last institution for bullying. Moping homeward, he’s surprised by an unannounced visit from Grandmère Sara (Mirren), a celebrated artist having a museum retrospective here in Manhattan. Probing his sulk, she notes a reluctance to admit prior fault, and desire to now fit in at school by simply being “normal,” which he imagines as being neither “mean or nice.” She takes exception to that perspective, choosing to illustrate the importance of kindness by revealing a distant past of her own she is usually reluctant to discuss.
After an idyllic-childhood montage, the film’s central narrative begins in the fall of 1942. Fifteen-year-old Sara (Ariella Glaser) is a typical teenager, harmlessly self-involved, though obliviousness to larger events is growing more difficult. While the Alsatian town she lives in lies outside the official occupation zone in France, Nazis are an increasing local presence, as is the anti-Semitism they encourage. Her mother (Olivia Ross) still clings to denial that their Jewish family could be subject to the arrests and death-camp deportations happening elsewhere; her father (Ishai Golan) fears they’re running out of time to flee.
But then, suddenly, it’s already too late: Axis forces arrive to round up all the Jewish local residents. Though Sara’s school tries to evacuate targeted students, they are betrayed — ironically by her own crush object, buddling fascist Vincent (Jem Matthews) — and she alone manages to elude capture. Her parents aren’t so lucky, however, and our heroine would surely be snared too if not for the intervention of Julien Beaumier (Orlando Schwerdt), a polio-lamed classmate she’d hitherto barely spoken to. His parents (Gillian Anderson, Jo-Stone Fewings) welcome the fugitive. They suspect their rural neighbors might be Nazi sympathizers, however, so Sara must be kept hidden in the barn, away from prying eyes.
And that is where she passes many months to come, her long days and cold nights cheered mostly by the evolving friendship (then formative romance) with Julien. After school, he passes on what was learned in classes she can no longer attend; the more imaginatively-inclined Sara involves him in games of pretend travel to vary her gloomy hiding. Mark Bomback’s screenplay seldom strays far from the novel, perhaps its most notable addition being Julien’s part-time employment as projectionist at the town cinema, which allows incorporation of archival footage both documentary and fictive (Chaplin’s “Modern Times”).
Primarily aimed at readers approximately between 4th and 8th grades, Palacio’s book is fairly on-the-nose in messaging, symbolism and imagery. Forster brings a more refined visual sensibility that is inviting without being over-glamorized, opening up a potentially claustrophobic tale in ways that enhance its impact. Shot in the Czech Republic, the rural environs have a slight storybook quality in Matthias Konigswieser’s very attractive widescreen cinematography. The only time that flavor goes over the top is in a late incident involving wolves that also rang false in the source material — while we can understand our heroine’s need for escapist fantasizing, it’s an entirely different matter for this otherwise relatively realistic story to spring deus-ex-machina vengeance on a villain that’s right out of a Grimm fairy tale.
Though the occasional preachy, maudlin or trite note remains, Foster also manages to make “White Bird” less conspicuously conceived for tweens. He arrives at an unhurried yet sufficiently suspenseful pace that engrosses while side-stepping excess melodrama and sentimentality. All the physical production trappings are first-rate, and if Thomas Newman’s piano-and-strings-driven score is unmemorable, it like much else here makes a virtue of restraint.
The film follows current English-language period piece conventions by having actors with posh British accents play French citizens, occasionally throwing in a Gallic phrase or pronunciation. (Mirren’s twinkle-eyed impersonation of a Parisian bonne vivante is actually more distracting, if only because she keeps popping up for a minute or two at infrequent intervals.) There’s no breakout performance among the young thespians here, with newcomer Glaser and Schwerdt of the recent “Children of the Corn” bringing competence if not much distinctive personality to their lead roles. The adult actors are constrained more by the limits of their screen time; Anderson in particular has little to do until a late sequence in which her character seizes focus. But all are well-cast, making effective impressions in a few dramatic strokes.
Forster’s “White Bird” can risk feeling over-contrived at times, but it nonetheless still achieves the desired climactic mix of heartbreak and inspiration, adding a pointed call for vigilance against new fascistic movements. While the story retains its child-friendly slant of equating such tyranny with bullying, the storytelling here transcends a juvenile tenor to achieve all-ages appeal. This may seem a Holocaust 101 treatment — more sanitized and romanticized even than the usual Anne Frank dramatizations — to viewers accustomed to the likes of “The Sorrow and the Pity” or “Schindler’s List.” But everyone’s education on such matters has to start somewhere. “White Bird” offers a means palatable enough for young minds yet dignified enough to suit their adult minders.
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