“Broken Bird” Has Some Wings
As the famous Ben Franklin quote goes, “There are two absolutes in life: death and taxes.” Some people are more comfortable with those absolutes than others. It’s why we have a plethora of accountants and morticians. Joanne Mitchell’s Broken Bird focuses on one of these professions and, given its horror genre classification, it shouldn’t be too much of a leap to guess which one. Although maybe someone should make a horror movie called Tax Day. Broken Bird, based on Sybil, Mitchell’s 2018 award-winning short film, is a slow-burn horror brimming with unease.
Sybil (Rebecca Calder) is an odd person. There’s no other way to say it. She dresses as though she lives at the turn of the 20th century, has one of the most intense stares you’ve ever seen, and is a little too interested in taxidermy. She’s an outsider. Think of the lead from Amélie if she worked at a mortuary. They both share a slightly askew zest for life, a deep-seated impulse to romanticize the world around them. Of course, in Sybil’s world of taxidermy and mortuary duties, romanticization looks a lot different than it would for a waitress living in France. When Sybil crosses paths with a handsome stranger (Jay Taylor), an unsettling obsession begins.
courtesy of Broken Bird
Calder’s performance as Sybil is what holds Broken Bird together. She’s meticulously put together while also straining at the seams to allow the chaos within to flow freely. When the audience meets her, she’s at an open mic night. Sybil performs, but she also sits in the audience, loudly crunching chips as others take the stage. The viewer gets the sense that the crunches are her way of controlling her more dramatic tendencies. That hypothesis is proven correct as the film goes on and the viewer is given a glimpse into the fantasies that threaten to take hold of Sybil’s reality. Calder does a magnificent job of holding Sybil together when she needs to and letting her be free at other moments. It’s a demanding task asked of her, but one Calder rises to.
Broken Bird borrows from the world of Gothic literature and the visual result is stunning. Even though the film takes place in our contemporary world, there’s an archaic nature to the production design. The clinical nature of the mortuary and its almost barbaric tools of preservation feel so icy, even through the screen. Mitchell has meticulously constructed the visual language of her film, and the end result is lush. There are looming shadows holding creepy little secrets that eventually worm their way into the light.
The script from Dominic Brunt is where the film begins to feel muddled. Alongside the story of Sybil is the tale of a police detective (Sacharissa Claxton) who is still reeling after the loss of her son. For much of the movie, Broken Bird keeps these two apart, but it’s clear the conclusion of the film will come when their paths converge. Not only are these two storylines visually disparate from one another, but neither really adds to the other’s larger narrative structure. This might come from the growing pains of taking Mitchell’s short film and extending it into Broken Bird. Perhaps Brunt was concerned there wasn’t enough meat on the bones of everything that happens to Sybil to constitute a meal. Arguably, what makes Broken Bird memorable is the time Calder is on screen. The script doesn’t need to weave together seemingly unconnected stories into a larger one. For a first-time feature director, Broken Bird is quite the introduction. Mitchell has an eye for performance and design that are excitingly fresh.
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