Never underestimate the healing power — or sensitivity — of an attentive animal.
Even an unlikely one.
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| Sam (Naomi Watts) cannot reconcile her current condition with the robust, physically active woman she used to be: a past lovingly documented by dozens of photos taken by her husband. |
Perhaps worse, the accident also crushed her spirit. As time passed, the previously active career nurse, and happily married mother of three rambunctious young boys — raising this family on Sydney’s Northern beaches, where she ran, swam, biked and surfed every chance she got — spiraled ever downward into a miasma of despair.
And then … a miracle.
Australian director Glendyn Ivin’s Penguin Bloom, based on the popular 2016 memoir co-written by Sam’s husband Cameron and Bradley Trevor Greive, is a charming adaptation of the unlikely incident that turned Sam’s life around. Shaun Grant and Harry Cripps’ script is quite faithful to actual events … as should be expected, given that Sam and Cameron “Cam” Bloom are co-executive producers.
But — and this is important — their involvement has not buried this film beneath an insufferably noble or sugar-coated patina. Ivin unerringly maintains a careful balance, blending heartbreaking anguish — a family in serious danger of unraveling at the seams — with, unexpectedly, hope and gentle humor. The film gets its power from two cast members: Naomi Watts, as the beleaguered Sam; and newcomer Griffin Murray-Johnston, making an impressive acting debut as eldest son Noah.
The story is told from their point of view, either individually, or as part of the shared family dynamic; as a result, Watts and/or Murray-Johnston are in pretty much every scene.
They easily hold our attention.
As does the third crucial cast member. Who has wings.
Ivin begins his film with Sam at low ebb, and sinking lower; details of her accident emerge later, via Noah’s tormented voice-over. He can’t understand why his mother has withdrawn into herself; she can’t understand why everybody else doesn’t acknowledge that she has become worse than a burden, but an entirely useless human being.
That obviously isn’t true, but Cam (Andrew Lincoln) — running himself ragged, trying to ride herd on three noisily active boys, while maintaining his career as a professional photographer — is at wit’s end. He knows that he’s losing his wife and soul mate, day by agonizing day, and nothing seems to help.
Lincoln makes him attentive, caring and cheerful; the latter merely annoys Sam. But we see the true Cam in Lincoln’s gaze, when she’s not paying attention: troubled and even frightened.
Watts needs to be careful, or she’ll be typed as a “tragedy character”; recall her harrowing performance as Maria Belón in 2012’s The Impossible (based on even more horrific actual events … which, come to think of it, also took place in Thailand). That said, she’s equally credible here: pale, haggard with misery and exhaustion, seemingly sinking within herself.
Things change one day, when Noah spots an abandoned infant magpie, likely having fallen from a nest in a nearby tall tree. The boys bring it home, naming it Penguin — Peng, for short — due to its black-and-white coloration. Despite understanding that it’s unwise to keep a wild bird, Sam lacks the energy to mount a serious objection; Cam is grateful for the fresh distraction.
But Peng, as the family — and we viewers — soon discover, isn’t your average bird.
Magpies are plucky, energetic and ferociously smart (which is obvious, given this film’s very existence, and the 10 magpies that genius bird wrangler Paul Manter put through their paces).
Although nearly dead from starvation, Peng rallies quickly and bonds with Noah, in the manner of a faithful puppy. But this shifts one day, when Cam takes the boys on an outing, leaving Sam alone in the house. With, all too soon, a hungry little bird. Who will not be denied.
Forced to think outside of herself, bitching all the way, Sam wrestles into her wheelchair and handles the situation. Things don’t change overnight — one sequence, as Sam confronts all the lovely photos that Cam has taken of her, and the family, over time, is particularly gut-wrenching — but the transformation soon becomes palpable.
Particularly when Peng develops something of a sixth sense regarding Sam’s moods, and occasional moments of crisis. Then they become inseparable.
You can’t help succumbing to what follows.
Felix Cameron and Abe Clifford-Barr are just right as younger sons Reuben and Oli; alongside Murray-Johnston, they look, sound and behave like firmly bonded brothers who have the athletic grace and boundless energy of boys growing up in an actively physical environment. (In a word, they’re a handful.)
Jacki Weaver adds a note of apprehension as Sam’s mother: still terrified over having almost lost a daughter, and now fearful about anything that might further jeopardize her. Rachel House pops up in the third act as Gaye, a rugged, no-nonsense woman who becomes both friend and inspiration to Sam.
Leeanna Walsman and Lisa Hensley appear briefly, but tellingly, as (respectively) Sam’s sister Kylie and best friend Bron.
A film of this type constantly runs the risk of sinking into animal-related slapstick or sugary sentimentality — think of how many bad Disney films have succumbed to the former — but Ivin, Grant and Cripps avoid that trap. They rely instead on an atmosphere of honestly and sincerity, while also ensuring that Peng’s behavior remains reasonable and credible.
As a result, the film’s conclusion is quite powerful. As the saying goes, there won’t be a dry eye in your house.
And I’ve no doubt that the inspirational book — laden with Cameron Bloom’s marvelous photographs — will be flying off library and bookstore shelves.
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