Mark Reviews Movies: BLACKBIRD (2020)

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Review by Mark Dujsik | September 17, 2020

Even the specter of death cannot put an end to some familial dramas. In the case of the family at the heart of Blackbird, the imminence of death, indeed, seems to elevate the tensions and escalate the resentments that have defined some of these relationships. There isn't much time remaining for some of this mess to be discussed and, as unlikely as it may seem, be worked out, so if things are going to come to the surface, this is the last chance.

That's the emotional undercurrent of screenwriter Christian Torpe's story, based on his screenplay for 2014's Stille hjerte, which was not released in the United States. The setup involves the family's matriarch, who decides to end her life before a debilitating disease overtakes all of her bodily functions. One might think such an occasion would be a time of personal reflection, interpersonal reconciliation, and spiritual rumination about the fact and mysteries of death, but if that's the case, one might not know too many families.

Director Roger Michell plays this partly as a comedy, because the contrast is amusing—witnessing such a mournful and difficult occasion transform into a series of arguments and accusations and outbursts. There are so many conflicts and quarrels and suspicions that one cannot imagine a scenario in which the mother, if her plan succeeds according to her schedule, will leave this world with everything settled.

At least she believes everything is more or less right with her family, give or take a sibling rivalry between a hard-nosed daughter and the seemingly more free-spirited one, a husband who puts on a brave face despite his obvious heartbreak, and some less solid marriages. She might depart from her life with some peace, blissfully ignorant of the deeper problems happening within her family. What kind of family, though, will she leave behind?

The mother is Lily (Susan Sarandon), married to the ever-watchful and affectionate Paul (Sam Neill, whose presence here serves as a comforting balm on all of the drama), a doctor who knows better than the rest of his family why his wife wants to die now. At this point, Lily has lost the use of one arm and walks with a limp. In a shorter amount of time than she might hope for, the disease will paralyze her, and she doesn't want to live to see that day. With the day of her death, to be granted by some medication, on the calendar, Lily has planned a big reunion, a final get-together, with the whole of their family.

Eldest daughter Jennifer (Kate Winslet) arrives with her husband Michael (Rainn Wilson), a trivia nut with meaningless factoids prepared for just about every situation, and teenage son Jonathan (Anson Boon), a straight-A student—except for that one B that his mother is certain to announce to everyone present. That's the kind of person Jennifer is, and people can either accept that they'll have to live with it—as her husband and son do—or try to avoid her.

That latter option has been the strategy her younger sister Anna (Mia Wasikowska), who—like to so many things in her life—is late for the big, sad party to say farewell to her mother. With her is Chris (Bex Taylor-Klaus), her wife with whom Anna has shared several years of on-again-off-again uncertainty. There's that tension, but there's also Jennifer's obvious disapproval of her little sister's, well, life. Why was Anna late again? Why does she keep disappearing? When is she going to figure out a career or even a steady job? Is she even a lesbian?

The final person in the mix is Lily's long-time friend Liz (Lindsay Duncan), who has spent decades as an honorary member of the family. She's honored to be there for her best friend's final days and to provide whatever comfort she can in the meantime.

Torpe gets right to the point in establishing these assorted dynamics of familial dysfunction. The rest of the story merely observes how they proceed under the stress of knowing this will be the last time they'll be together as a whole family, realizing how strained these relationships have become, and discovering that there are some things some of them have to say to Lily—as uncomfortable as they may be—while there's still a chance.

Michell's approach to the material is to act as an objective observer. If there are any close-ups, they are few and unmemorable (save for the ones at the story's climax, when they instantly bring a sense of intimacy that's intentionally removed from the rest of the film). The director instead leans on wide shots of multiple characters, set against the backdrop of assorted spaces, and a few long takes, which allow the performances considerable opportunities to breathe and lend a sense of spontaneity to the fights.

Those performances are, at best, great (Neill, Winslet, Taylor-Klaus, Sarandon, and Wasikowska) and, at least, provide us with a strong sense of personality (Wilson, Boon, and Duncan simply don't have as much to do in their roles). They carry and elevate the material beyond some its gaps (Some of these characters, such as Jennifer's family, just seem like ornamentation) and its strangely anticlimactic final revelation (The question of what Liz is really doing here becomes a concern, which genuinely undermines all of the build-up toward some breakthrough or breakdown with the sisters).

The success of Blackbird is pretty simple. Torpe has written a strong, insightful screenplay about actual characters. The actors accept and fulfill the challenge, and Michell stands back and lets them work the material for what it's worth.

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