The Thing With Feathers: Life, Death And The Things In Between
- Zarah Hashim
- 2 hours ago
- 5 min read
I would like you to imagine that you are a middle-aged man with two young boys who has just lost his wife and the mother of his children. Now sprinkle in your inability to parent and grieve synonymously, what would that produce? Well, Max Porter took this scenario and added a giant crow; yes, the winged black bird which you usually hear squawking in horror films. The novel Grief Is The Thing With Feathers was recently adapted into a film titled: The Thing With Feathers, directed by Dylan Southern, starring Benedict Cumberbatch as ‘Dad’ and David Thewlis as ‘Crow’ (yes, Remus Lupin is now a massive crow), exploring how grief manifests and interrupts the lives which are yet to be lived.
For a book-to-film adaptation, I have to give Southern his flowers as he did a great justice to Porter's novel. The movie accurately uses the novel's dialogue in its script, and I felt myself sitting there feeling a sort of déjà vu because I knew I had heard these words somewhere… I was pleasantly surprised after the screening to notice that the reason they were so familiar is because I had literally seen them before, I had read them, even lived them, you could say. This stood out to me because I find modern book adaptations are too often hollow and unfamiliar to their source, but this one felt whole and comforting. A film with such intimate themes must have substance, and by applying Porter's wonderful prose and poetry to the script, I was able to experience the film in its truest form.
‘Dad’ is a very real character; his grief is something that we are all one tragic event away from, and I think Cumberbatch was the perfect person for taking on such a role. This project requires you to be so emotionally vulnerable, as grief isn't linear. It is consuming, fleeting, yearning, loving and terrifying all at once. I connected with ‘Dad’s’ expression of that. His emotional stagnation despite his ongoing physical existence was displayed so true to the experience of loss, and his crashouts were honestly so valid. The portrayal of his parenting post-loss was deeply moving. We always think we would never do something until we do, and his conflict with his behaviour felt like a scene from reality. This film didn't feel like a film; it felt like moments of reality put on a big screen, ready to be scrutinised.
You never truly understand how someone is feeling because how we process and explain reality is completely unique and subjective. However, a massive crow showing up at my door is close to drawing the line. In all seriousness, ‘Crow’ is an interesting amalgamation of many different connotations, the most obvious being death. I found ‘Crow’ to be oddly comforting, and I think that is a testament to Southern because it's definitely unusual at best. His presence is foreboding, ominous and haunting, yet he always seems to be there. His consistency in a time of complete chaos demonstrates how he is a manifestation of the grief which plagues ‘Dad’. Their relationship becomes obsessive at times, acting as a distraction from reality. This is evident through the montages of Cumberbatch obsessively drawing crows, his mind almost breaking and leaving him in a fugue state of grief. These snippets of ‘Dad’s’ life are reminiscent of the novel's format as Porter wrote in a very fragmented way, the translation of which on the screen was done with the utmost respect, and I felt myself being transported through the moments that I had read about.
I think children in movies don’t get enough credit for their acting, especially in a film so serious, brooding, and complex. Henry and Richard Boxall, who play the two ‘Boys’ onscreen, were exceptional! I cannot believe that at their young age, they were able to portray grieving children, something so unfamiliar and foreign. Their grief reminded me of my own as I, too, was a young child who had lost her father, and so to see that grief explored in the film felt like looking at my younger self. Grief has no age limit, unfortunately, and can creep its way into your life so unexpectedly. Jamie Anderson said, “Grief is just love with no place to go.” I felt that in the screening, in the coffee shop I went to after and all the way home. These characters are all trying to love, but with no destination, hence why they're so drawn to ‘Crow.’ David Thewlis’s role then serves as a place for that love to manifest; it fills the gap left by a presence that was once there. Yes, ‘Crow’ is scary and rude and a bit odd, but grief isn't pretty, which I think Southern also portrays very well. The ‘Boys’ grief is so innocent and displayed with such grace that again it didn't feel like I was watching a production; it felt like witnessing a friend's life and seeing moments of their struggle. The familiarity of these characters, even ‘Crow’, is a testament to Southern’s creative skills and to his actors’ performances.
The pacing of the film adds an extra layer of brilliance as we become submerged in this suburban, middle-class family life. The split sections of perspectives are an ode to the novella and allow us to experience the grief of everyone. In both novella and film, we can see that although ‘Crow’ is a manifestation of grief, he, too, grieves. I think this is important because it reflects how consuming loss is, so much so that we are forced to witness another death. A scene which transforms the genre from drama to horror is when the ‘Demon’ perspective arrives. This has become one of my favourite scenes in the film. It’s graphic and violent, which shows how Southern escalates the darkness of the themes and creates a mastery of thrill. I was on the edge of my seat with anticipation and anxiety throughout this film, culminating in this scene (which alone is worth the entire watch).
We end this review and film with hope, as the conclusions presented to us are how we all wish to heal from tragedy. Death is life’s only guarantee, yet it is the thing which shocks us the most, and I think The Thing With Feathers is a great example of this experience. Southern’s film is enjoyable, not through genre or theme, but through raw and real expressions of life and existentialism. The ode to death through ‘Crow’ and the nod to life through the ‘Boys,’ this film is a surreal entanglement of the grey area between life and death: grief. Even without knowing what grief feels like, you can sympathise with these characters. Their relationship with sadness and their despair is transmissible, and you will leave the theatre feeling all their feels. However, comfort can be found in the ending, which demonstrates that, with time, healing is possible. The grief will always exist, but it remains a comfort; a reminder that you can and have loved, and that is the most important lesson in life.
Edited by Lara Walsh, Co-Film & TV Editor
