The Thing With Feathers Almost Wastes a Great Benedict Cumberbatch Performance

by

In my perspective, it’s refreshing not to have every story unfold as a nerve-wracking nightmare. Not every production should startle audiences with sudden jump scares and cacophony of disorganized chaos. While it’s true that labeling your film as horror can generate buzz and potentially secure a broad release, or even an attractive deal with companies like A24, NEON, or Blumhouse, there’s a risk of self-destructing in the process.

In Dylan Southern’s film The Thing with Feathers, Benedict Cumberbatch portrays a grieving widower trying to cope with his wife’s recent passing and raising their two young sons. He is an artist who fills his home with charcoal drawings of birds, and starts experiencing visions of a colossal, talking crow that overtakes his body, using vulgar language to ridicule his sorrow. The crow, named Crow, claims it’s there to assist him. “I won’t depart until you no longer need me,” it declares. Yet, this towering figure in the shadows also possesses an imposing, unnatural voice (provided by David Thewlis), and at times, pursues our protagonist through dimly lit supermarket aisles.

Disregarding my light-hearted comments about distribution challenges in the 21st century, it’s plausible to view grief as an all-encompassing terrifying landscape. But watching The Thing with Feathers, one gets the impression that it grapples with its identity as a movie.

Whenever the camera zeroes in on Cumberbatch, it becomes clearer. A gifted man with a captivating voice and an intriguingly contrasting face, the actor has occasionally had trouble finding suitable roles: His persona often leads people to cast him as peculiar characters, yet he shines brightest when portraying bewildered, average men. And here, he might be more bewildered than ever. He attempts to project strength, but his grief overwhelms him. When the camera catches him weeping in the quiet hours after the children have retired, we witness a man who has surrendered all control. As Crow starts manipulating him, the father’s resistance becomes dissonant dance moves, mechanically executed but strange. He makes birdlike gestures while he draws, embodying his characters and perhaps revealing something about himself in the process. It’s one of the finest, most dynamic and imaginative performances the actor has delivered to date.

Regrettably, the movie appears to be as perplexing as its protagonist. The father’s encounters with Crow gradually take on the air of therapy sessions, serving as a psychological exploration through a symbolic terrain that the man must navigate to confront his emotional turmoil. Although intriguing, director Southern continues to strive for shock value, attempting to incorporate unsettling and eventually monotonous horror aspects into a narrative that carries its own profound emotional weight without needing extra fireworks. The storyline becomes increasingly murky, bordering on the comical, with the emergence of another ominous figure, a Demon, which shares some similarities with Crow but is supposedly distinct. Is the ambiguity deliberate? Perhaps. Is it essential? I’m unsure.

The movie draws inspiration from Max Porter’s novel “Grief is the Thing with Feathers.” If you’re curious about the symbolism behind the crow, it might represent grief or despair. However, unlike the novel, this film doesn’t seem to be a horror story. In Porter’s book, the protagonist is an academic working on a biography of Ted Hughes, known for his “Crow” series of poems written after the death of his wife, Sylvia Plath. The title of the novel references Emily Dickinson’s poem “Hope” is the Thing with Feathers.” At Sundance, Southern explained that he altered the protagonist’s profession because academia didn’t seem suitable for a movie, and also because he was fond of graphic novels. As a result, he removed the academic and poetry elements, which seemed crucial to the novel’s impact. He did introduce a Demon, though, which seems to be a departure from the original work. While filmmakers have creative freedom, this blend of genres creates an unsettling experience that doesn’t fully support the narrative. It also risks overshadowing Benedict Cumberbatch‘s remarkable performance.

Read More

2025-01-27 01:53