Review: Explicit and Disturbing, 'The Painted Bird' Remains True to the Novel

When Jerzy Kosinski's "The Painted Bird" was first published in 1965, it was a runaway bestseller in the U.S. and the subject of controversy in Europe. It was an existential story of survival by a lost Jewish boy roaming the European countryside during WWII. Holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel praised it as "Written with deep sincerity and sensitivity." Meanwhile, the literary world was enthralled by Kosinski's lyrical style, as well as the book's graphic sexual violence. Czech director/writer V�clav Marhoul has done the impossible and faithfully adapted the book to the screen.

At nearly three hours, the visual impact of the film is hypnotizing. Shot in 35mm monochrome by cinematographer Vladimir Smutny and film editor Ludek Hudec contrast the arresting beauty of European countryside and rustic period villages with a panorama human savagery and carnage. Marhoul's script is an achievement of poetic economy, accommodating several languages, including Slavic, Czech, German, and Russian.

An unnamed Boy is sent to an aunt in the remote countryside for safety, but she dies and the house burns down, so he is forced to look for a new home. Marhoul doesn't dilute the story of a boy's brutal existential journey and harrowing tale of survival. He is attacked by villagers, sold to an old crone, and barely escapes, but is fated to be further brutalized – and to be witness to Nazi atrocities and other crimes against humanity.

The film was shot over three years and stars a non-professional actor (Petr Kotlar), who gives a remarkable performance of a lost boy growing up during his brutal journey. When he isn't almost killed by the elements, or dying of starvation, he is being tortured physically and emotionally.

Harvey Keitel gives a completely stoic performance as the priest who takes in the nearly dead boy, nurses him, then turns him over to the creepy watermill farmer Garbos, who rapes and beats him. In his most skin-crawling performance, Udo Kier plays the psychopathic farmer, a brute who enslaves his wife, beats her and gouges out the eyes of a field hand who he thinks has seduced her. The boy flees, but lands in the clutches of Labina (J�lia Vidrn�kov�), who takes him in after her father dies and also abuses him before he escapes after she forces him to watch her commit an act of bestiality. When dragoons are razing a village where the boy is trying to hide, he is rescued by Mitka, a Russian sniper (Barry Pepper), who helps him escape when the other soldiers suspect the boy is a gypsy or Jewish.

The metaphor of "The Painted Bird" is illustrated when the boy, who is taken in at one point by a bird breeder, paints the feathers of a bird and releases it so it can find other birds with the same markings – but the painted bird is, instead, pecked to death by the other birds. The boy internalizes everything to survive, and eventually strikes back and becomes violent.

The film is disturbing and explicit in the extreme, with imagery that is usually taboo outside of horror fantasy. At its premiere at the Venice Film Festival, the film was so disturbing in its sexual violence that audience members walked out, while others were profoundly moved by its unflinching honesty. Remarkably, it has reached the screen in 2020 in a sea of product-driven films and franchise sequels.

Part of the history of the book includes a scandal over its true authorship when Kosinski was not only accused of plagiarism, but he was also attacked for initially given the impression that the book was autobiographical. By then, Kosinski was one of the most successful authors in the world and had many defenders. Meanwhile, whatever the truth of its authorship, Marhoud's film adaptation of "The Painted Bird" is among the most powerful antiwar films ever made.