'White Bird: A Wonder Story' review: Kindness is the bottom line

In 2017, the film “Wonder” was a surprise critical and commercial success for Lionsgate. Adapted from a children's novel by RJ Palacio, the film starred Jacob Tremblay as young Auggie, a boy with the facial deformities of Treacher Collins syndrome who teaches his family and peers the importance of kindness. (Julia Roberts and Owen Wilson co-starred as her parents.) Naturally, the studio quickly greenlit a sequel, adapted from one of Palacio's “Wonder” spin-off books.

It's been seven years since “Wonder” came out, and the long-awaited sequel, “White Bird: A Wonder Story,” which has been plagued by both pandemic- and strike-related delays, is finally hitting theaters. Directed by Marc Forster and written by Mark Bomback, “White Bird” has a very loose connection to the original film, but takes a more global historical approach to the same message about the importance of small but high-risk gestures of kindness.

Bryce Gheisar returns as Julian, Auggie's bully in “Wonder,” who has been expelled from school for his cruelty. Now that he's the new kid at a new school, he struggles to fit in. But Julian gets a chance to reinvent himself, which is underscored by a surprise visit (and lesson) from his grandmother Sara (Helen Mirren) that completely changes his perspective on life. how to move around the world.

Thus unfolds the true story of “White Bird,” which is not about Julian, who merely serves as a framework and tenuous link to the world of “Wonder.” “White Bird” is actually Sara's story about her childhood in Nazi-occupied France and the harrowing events she experienced there as a young Jewish girl.

If you've ever seen (or read) young adult Holocaust films or fiction, “White Bird” will look familiar. A similar approach is needed to real-life stories like Anne Frank. Teenager Sara (Ariella Glaser) is the adored and privileged daughter of a professor and a doctor (Ishai Golen) who lives an idyllic life in a small French town. Attracted to the handsome Vincent (Jem Matthews), she and her friends make fun of the quiet Julien (Orlando Schwerdt), who is disabled by polio. Isolated from the harsh realities of the occupation until laws limiting Jewish freedom invade their city, Sara's family makes plans to escape, although they are unable to escape Nazi raids.

Sara, however, manages to escape into the snowy forest, and Julien escorts her through the underground sewers from the school to his family's barn, where he hides her and where he and her parents (Gillian Anderson and Jo Stone-Fewings) look after her. . for her. She will remain there, hidden, until the forces of fascism that have infected her community must be reckoned with. But the story is about the connection he forges with Julien and the circumstances that allow him to learn to evaluate character through shared humanity and bravery, not status and power.

The strength of “White Bird” lies in its performers, especially Glaser and Schwerdt, who offer complex, nuanced takes on young people experiencing global atrocities on an intimate scale, while also trying to navigate the complications of connecting as teenagers. Both are excellent and keep the film emotionally grounded.

Forster presents a somewhat sanitized view of the Holocaust that is sobering but digestible for younger audiences. The pastoral setting remains picturesque and almost fairytale-like. As Sara's memories tell it, it has a kind of bright haze, sometimes almost too beautiful. Computer-generated flowers bloom before our eyes. A cranberry red coat stands out clearly against a snowy winter background. It's an interesting stylistic choice (and you may have seen it in another highly celebrated film about the Holocaust), but it speaks to the narrative element of the film, the way our brains create memories that might be more vivid and charming, even after of decades.

As a “wonder story” and a Holocaust story, the message of “White Bird” is not surprising, though it is important: Empathy matters, especially in action, and caring for others can often mean putting oneself in danger. , but we must do it. that anyway. In the great tapestry of human existence, we are all connected. It may be a message we've heard over and over again, but it's worth repeating.

Katie Walsh is a film critic for the Tribune News Service.