Birth, Jonathan Glazer’s glossy trainwreck of a film, wants so badly to be haunting, thought-provoking, and unnerving. It succeeds only in being weird, dull, and about as erotic as a funeral. Actually, scratch that—funerals have more energy. At least there’s crying and catered food. This thing just stares at you for 100 minutes and whispers, “What if your dead husband came back… but he’s ten?”
Yes. That’s the premise. Nicole Kidman plays Anna, a grieving widow engaged to a perfectly boring man named Joseph (because of course his name is Joseph). Ten years after her husband Sean dies, a mysterious boy shows up claiming—calmly, seriously, disturbingly—to be Sean reincarnated.
Instead of doing the rational thing, like telling the kid to take a hike or calling his parents, Anna starts melting into a stew of confused feelings, mournful piano music, and what can only be described as emotional grooming by a pre-teen. What unfolds is less a psychological thriller and more a masterclass in audience discomfort. A film where the central question isn’t, “Is he really Sean?” but rather, “Why did anyone think this was a good idea?”
🕯️The Mood: Cold, Clinical, and Deeply Unhinged
The tone of Birth is colder than a marble tomb. It’s got the atmosphere of a $5 million cologne ad, stretched to feature length. Every scene is draped in washed-out greys and muted browns, like the film itself is in mourning. The cinematography is sterile, distant, and full of long, creeping dolly shots that scream, “Something deep is happening,” when really, nothing is.
Glazer’s visual style is a mix of Kubrickian dread and Restoration Hardware catalog, which might work if the script didn’t feel like it was stitched together from discarded therapy notes and a rejected Lifetime movie. Instead of tension, the movie serves up long silences, half-whispered conversations, and Nicole Kidman staring into the void like she’s trying to remember where she left her keys.
👦 The Kid: Little Sean, Big Red Flags
Cameron Bright plays Young Sean, a boy so somber and robotic you start wondering if this is a movie about a reincarnated husband or a malfunctioning android. He speaks in a monotone, stares with vacant eyes, and exhibits the emotional range of a hostage trying to blink Morse code.
And yet—Anna believes him. Not just humors him. Believes. Him.
She cancels her engagement. She sits in bathtubs with him. She lets him give her jewelry. There’s even a scene where they sit in the tub together, naked, and if you don’t feel your soul trying to claw its way out of your body, congratulations, you’re officially desensitized to all things unholy.
It’s meant to be provocative, maybe philosophical. But it lands like a wet towel full of regret and lawsuits. The film insists on towing this line of “Is this real or not?” while waving every red flag in sight. Reincarnation? Maybe. Creepy obsession from a ten-year-old? Definitely. Comfort? Absolutely none.
👰 Nicole Kidman Deserves Better
Nicole Kidman acts her ass off in this movie, and for what? To deliver whispered monologues about loss to a child suitor while dressed like a walking Manhattan wine bar? She spends most of the film looking like she’s about to cry, scream, or faint—and occasionally does all three in the same scene.
And to be fair, she does her job. She commits. There’s a scene—an infamous, excruciatingly long close-up of her face in an opera house—where you watch every emotion cross her soul in real time. It’s impressive, sure. But also a bit like watching someone remember where they buried the bodies.
You don’t know what she’s feeling. You’re just stuck there, watching, trapped in emotional purgatory like a wine mom in a French New Wave film.
💍 The Adults Are Not Alright
Anna’s fiancé, Joseph (played by Danny Huston), is understandably furious when his bride-to-be starts getting all cozy with a haunted fourth grader. He yells. He storms off. He punches the air like he’s auditioning for Days of Our Lives.
But the real kicker? No one actually takes decisive action. Nobody calls the cops. Nobody checks this kid’s home life. Nobody suggests an exorcism or at least a stern talk. Everyone just… sort of lets it play out. It’s like watching a car drift into traffic while the entire cast shrugs and says, “Well, maybe it’ll swerve back.”
🎵 The Score: Droning and Pretentious
The score, by Alexandre Desplat, tries to do the heavy lifting the plot refuses to do. It swells with tragic violins, pianos that cry softly, and strings that rise and fall like the ghost of a soap opera. But all it really does is draw attention to how little is happening. The music screams, “Be sad now!” while your brain screams, “Why is no one calling child services?!”
🧠 The Message? Beats Me
Maybe the film is about grief. Maybe it’s about the irrational ways we cling to the past. Maybe it’s about how bourgeois intellectuals will literally do anything but go to therapy. But if you’re going to make a slow-burn psychological thriller about reincarnation, you better commit to a payoff.
Instead, the ending limps across the finish line with a reveal so underwhelming, it feels like the script just gave up. The mystery unravels, but not in a satisfying way—more like a pair of cheap pantyhose catching on a rusty doorknob. No emotional catharsis. No psychological breakthrough. Just silence and credits, like the film finally remembered it was late for a dinner party.
⚰️ Final Thoughts: Death Would Be Quicker
Birth is the kind of movie that confuses discomfort for depth. It’s beautifully shot, impressively acted, and narratively bankrupt. A meditation on grief where the only thing that dies is your patience. A reincarnation drama that makes you wish for reincarnation just so you can come back and not watch it.
If you enjoy watching emotionally damaged people make morally questionable decisions in beige apartments, have at it. For everyone else: there are faster, less ethically murky ways to waste your time.
Rating: 1.5 out of 5 haunted bathtubs
Bring a therapist. Bring holy water. Maybe bring a priest. Whatever you do, don’t bring popcorn. You won’t be hungry.
