Mark Reviews Movies: PENGUIN BLOOM

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Review by Mark Dujsik | January 26, 2021

While it may seem like an odd behind-the-scenes crewmember to highlight, Penguin Bloom makes sure to give a high-placed credit to magpie trainer Paul Manter, and it's a well-deserved placement. This movie, an alternately dispiriting and sappy drama about a woman who unexpectedly becomes disabled, gains a lot from what must have several magpies, "playing" the bird that gives the woman a big boost of inspiration. The bird may be a key player and the source of the movie's title, but when it seems to be star of a story such as this one, that's probably a good sign of a few underlying problems with the material.

The story comes from a true one, with a screenplay (written by Harry Cripps and Shaun Grant) based on the book Penguin the Magpie: The Odd Little Bird Who Saved a Family by Cameron Bloom and Bradley Trevor Greive. There's a solid story here, about overcoming adversity and doubt, but this telling of that tale takes so much time getting to the "overcoming" part that its primary goal seems to be misery. The magpie may have meant one thing in reality, but in this movie, it's the only glimmer of something even a bit cheerful and hopeful.

That kind of defeats the purpose of this story. In it, Sam Bloom (Naomi Watts) is paralyzed from the chest down after falling from a balcony somewhere in Thailand. Noah (Griffin Murray-Johnston), the eldest of her three sons (The other two are played by Felix Cameron and Abe Clifford-Barr), relates what happened on that family vacation, while also recording photos of his mother in her pre-accident condition—athletic, adventurous, affectionate.

Now, she spends her days in bed or in a wheelchair around the house, depressed and refusing to go anywhere. Her husband Cameron (Andrew Lincoln) can't help her mood. Her kids go on with life as if she isn't around, or at least, that's how Sam imagines it. Her mother Jan (Jacki Weaver) tries to help around the house on regular visits, but Sam doesn't appreciate the way her mother treats her as some helpless thing in need of constant care and attention.

The tone and aim of this story hit a few wrong notes right from the start, and director Glendyn Ivin latches on to those miscalculations for almost the entirety of the movie. Sam may resent her mother's approach to and attitude toward her, but there's an undeniable sense that the filmmakers share that feeling in some way. The character is portrayed almost exclusively by way of her disability. Multiple scenes focus on the difficulties Sam has in trying to get into and out of bed, in doing everyday work around the house (One of the early scenes has her knocking over things while making her sandwiches for her sons), and in participating in life with her family.

To this movie, everything that's important about Sam revolves around the accident, which plays out multiple times in flashbacks (going far beyond establishing a sense of trauma and simply wallowing in the pain and shock of the moment), and her physical limitations. We know little about Sam, except that, once, she was one way—full of life and seeking excitement—and, now, she is portrayed as nothing more than a physically and emotionally devastated shell. Watts, of course, communicates this pain and suffering well, but there's a cynicism attached to the way Sam is presented. Disability here isn't seen as an obstacle or a hardship with and through which one will and must live. It's almost seen as a form of living death.

Eventually, the magpie, which fell from a tree, arrives, discovered and cared for by Noah. It becomes like a family pet, jumping around and running with clacking talons through the house. Sam is annoyed by the bird to the point of resenting it (The implication is that it reminds her of herself now), but the bird, which the family names "Penguin," seems to have some sense of empathy. The magpie goes to Sam when she's feeling particularly down, and it alerts the family when something happens to her.

Penguin is admittedly cute (It even carries around a stuffed animal as a friend), although the animal is anthropomorphized to such a degree that we're shocked the filmmakers went through so much trouble to use a real bird. Its behavior is almost cartoon-ish, but again, the repeated diversions offer some comfort amidst all the obvious anguish and unspoken guilt of what happened and what is happening to Sam.

Obviously, the bird, which gradually learns to fly, becomes a source of inspiration for Sam, who starts going out, begins to talk to her family about her and their feelings, and even takes a kayaking class with a local instructor (played by Rachel House, whose first brief appearance, before becoming comic relief for an uncomfortable family meal, finally provides some genuine, if tough, human empathy). That's the real heart of this story, but Penguin Bloom barely touches upon it, saving the really inspiring part for a text coda.

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