In an evocative throwback to the turbulent times of World War II, ‘White Bird: A Wonder Story’ emerges as a cinematic endeavor that walks the tightrope between poignancy and melodrama. Helmed by the seasoned grandeur of Helen Mirren, this film steers clear of descending into the abyss of sentimentality, redeeming the narrative with her compelling portrayal of Grandmère Sara.
Set against the harrowing backdrop of Nazi-occupied France, the film draws a familiar parallel with another World War II drama, ‘All the Light We Cannot See,’ notable for its depiction of youthful love and hope amidst adversity. Starring Mark Ruffalo and Hugh Laurie, the latter was based on Anthony Doerr’s acclaimed novel and, much like ‘White Bird,’ sought to capture the resilience of the human spirit under the weight of occupation.
‘White Bird’ acts as both a sequel and prequel to the 2017 film ‘Wonder,’ an adaptation of R.J. Palacio’s beloved graphic novel. The film propels viewers back to a time fraught with peril, interwoven with the coming-of-age tapestry of its protagonists. At its core is Julian (Bryce Gheisar), who, after being expelled for bullying Auggie in ‘Wonder,’ finds himself navigating the unfamiliar terrain of a new school. Striving for anonymity, Julian’s approach is to remain detached—to be neither a friend nor foe to his peers. It is this strategy he confides to his Grandmère, which then opens the narrative floodgate to her memories of childhood in war-torn France.
Immersed in 1942, the story unspools in a quaint French village, where Sara, played by Ariella Glaser, enjoys a blissful existence peppered with delightful picnics and the idyllic charms of bluebell-laden woods. Her life with her father Max (Ishai Golan), a respected doctor, and her mother Rose (Olivia Ross), a mathematics professor, is the embodiment of pastoral harmony. Tragedy, however, looms large as the grip of German occupation tightens inexorably around them.
Sara’s world, until then dotted with giggles and innocent crushes on her handsome classmate Vincent (Jem Matthews), gradually unravels. Her teacher, Mlle Petitjean (Patsy Ferran), encourages Sara’s artistic inclinations, unwittingly steering her towards a future that blossoms out of adversity. The story takes a darker turn as anti-Semitic edicts begin to surface, with signs cropping up targeting Jewish businesses and livelihoods.
. A reluctant Max urges the family to flee, but their hesitance proves costly.
Pastor Luc (Stuart McQuarrie), who heads Sara’s school, attempts to safeguard the Jewish children from Nazi clutches. Yet, in a moment of betrayal straight out of a dramatic thriller, Vincent reveals their hiding place, leading to catastrophe. Sara, however, evades capture, seeking refuge in the family barn of Julien (Orlando Schwerdt), a classmate living with the challenge of polio. His parents, Vivienne (Gillian Anderson) and Jean Paul (Jo Stone-Fewings), open their home and hearts to Sara, cultivating a nurturing safe haven amidst the dangers outside.
Forging a bond transcending their circumstances, Sara and Julien embark on imaginary adventures to Paris and beyond. It is a relationship that encapsulates resilience and the innocent defiance of youth. But shadows cast by the mendacious Vincent threaten their fragile sanctuary, setting the stage for an emotional and climactic struggle.
The final act crescendos with a powerful retrospective honoring Grandmère’s artistic achievements, punctuated by soaring speeches of hope and commemoration. Yet, the film occasionally teeters on the edge of melodrama, reminiscent of the overwrought emotionality found in ’80s Bollywood offerings. One could almost expect a Nirupa Roy-like figure to appear, draped in melodramatic grief.
Despite these moments, which tip dangerously close to cliché, Helen Mirren’s masterful performance anchors the film, steering it away from the pitfalls of the genre. Her presence commands attention, keeping audiences engaged and invested in the characters’ journey. Meanwhile, Gillian Anderson’s portrayal feels unusually muted, straying from her typical assuredness.
Visually, ‘White Bird’ is a tableau of pleasing aesthetics—evoking the stark beauty of wintry landscapes with wolves, snow, and bare trees serving as the mnemonic backdrop to a narrative filled with tales of bravery, courage, and the shadows of cowardice.
Currently gracing theaters, ‘White Bird: A Wonder Story’ is a testament to the enduring power of human kindness and relationships in the face of unfathomable odds—a narrative resonating with the undying light of hope amidst the darkest of times.
