Jonathan Glazer has always been something of an enigma when it comes to looking at his artistry – a director who has mastered the art of short-form filmmaking who moves into directing longer projects, but who takes considerable breaks between films, making him one of the more elusive directors of his generation. In nearly a quarter of a century, Glazer has made only four films, with this year marking twenty years since the film most consider to be his finest work, the psychological drama Birth, in which he tells the story of Anna, a mild-mannered woman who finds her life thrown into disarray when she meets a young boy who claims to be the reincarnation of her deceased husband, an absurd premise that plunges her into a state of despair as she begins to believe these outlandish claims. Written alongside screenwriter Milo Addica, and conceived closely with the legendary writer Jean-Claude Carrière, Birth is quite a daring film, a dark but fascinating glimpse into the mind of someone who has realised that time does not heal all wounds and that sometimes it can even undo the stitches done by the passing years, leaving it more exposed and painful than ever before, especially when the circumstances that surround it are so inconclusive and raw. These emotions are all embedded deeply in the heart of this film, which carries itself with such immense elegance and complexity, that it is impossible to view it as anything other than an extraordinarily audacious piece of cinema that has a lot of deeper meaning, and the steadfast intention to explore these subjects in vivid detail, becoming one of the more affecting films of its era, and a triumphant demonstration of Glazer’s extraordinary talents, which have never been in doubt but are still worth acknowledging simply for the

While Glazer may only work sporadically, his films take on fascinating shapes both visually and narratively, and Birth is the perfect example of this concept in practice. On the surface, the premise seems effortlessly simple, and it could have been conveyed in any number of ways, which is precisely why Glazer’s work is so interesting since he chooses to go in a direction quite different from what we would expect. He takes a simple idea and allows it to flourish into a more complex, engaging film that serves to be a thrilling exercise in exploring the psychology of someone navigating loss. There are several works about people who deal with grief in the immediate aftermath of a loved one’s passing, but not many show how the aftershocks can still linger years later, often re-emerging at particularly challenging moments, as well as those that are not particularly opportune or comfortable. Grief is a subject that is often quite difficult to capture without it becoming overwrought, so choosing to look at these ideas through the lens of an intense psychological drama that skirts around the edges of abstraction, and where many of the most important details are implied rather than explicitly discussed, is quite remarkable and leads to a film that has a lot of complex meaning, but never comes across as heavy-handed, instead relying on its atmosphere to tell this story, developing on the journey being undertaken by the main character as she navigates the increasingly profound challenges that begin to encroach on her mental state, as well as the experiences she has with them in the process of recovering the relationship she has with the people that surround her, which is the foundation of the film.

Much has been written about Birth in terms of the performance given by Nicole Kidman, with many citing this as her greatest work. As is often the case with any canonical actor, such bold assertions are often contested – and while I may be more generous towards Fur or Margot at the Wedding as being her best performance, it is difficult to argue with those who find value in this film especially since it is a performance that finds the esteemed actor depending primarily on more unconventional techniques in bringing this character to life. Glazer’s camera adores Kidman, and whether presenting her in the background or focusing on her face in an extreme close-up, it constantly finds something new and exciting embedded in this performance, which is remarkable and one of the many reasons the film feels so alive and engaging, despite its sombre tone. Kidman matches the challenging nature of the narrative and delivers such a powerful performance, that there may be some merit to the idea that she has never been better. She is joined by a terrific cast, which includes the deeply underrated Danny Huston as her husband-to-be, and NAME as the sinister child who sets the plot in motion. We also have Lauren Bacall, Anne Heche and Zoe Caldwell in the supporting ensemble, each one of them getting unforgettable moments that prove that Birth is much more of an ensemble piece, even if it is Kidman’s brilliant work that we remember the most. It’s a daring and complex performance that feels truly complex, and we find so much value in what everyone in this group is doing with the material.

Navigating genre is a difficult task, and Glazer has often proven himself to be someone who refuses to maintain a singular direction in terms of the work he is doing. He oscillates between styles and genres in a way that is always very inspiring, and Birth has some of the most interesting ideas in this regard. It is primarily a drama, focusing on the daily routine of a woman navigating her high society life while carrying the burden of an immense loss, something that has not been able to fully heal, and while she realises she will never truly be able to overcome, purely because there is something so much deeper about the weight of the trauma that she carries. This leads to the film’s experimentation with tone since it has many flirtations with the abstract that are quite enchanting, but also quite sinister in a very unique way. Despite its efforts to be a much more layered, complex drama, Birth never comes across as inauthentic – every emotion feels genuine. While a lot of this is credited to Kidman’s stunning performance, we have to give Glazer and his fellow writers the credit they deserve for creating a film in which the mood is extremely important and develops on several difficult themes that would otherwise be impossible to have resonated with such intensity without someone whose incredible artistry is woven throughout this film, making it such an engaging and captivating experience in terms of both its form and content. All the varying themes are tied together with such incredible complexity, and we find that Glazer’s ability to blend different ideas is the reason the film manages to be so deeply profound.

Birth is not an easy film, and it touches on several deeper issues, some of which are unnerving, but still oddly beautiful in a way that we may not have initially expected. There is something deeply profound about a film that can make grief look beautiful and poetic, especially when focusing on the psychological aspect that accompanies the period of mourning. However, Glazer has never been one to adhere to the rules in any way, and his ability to develop these ideas without making a film that is overwrought or excessively dark or flippant to its central issues is proof that he’s a tremendous director, someone who pays a lot of attention to the smaller details and proves to be quite a significant figure in terms of using abstract ideas to tell a universal story, or at least one that has its roots in reality, which is essentially the foundation of the film and the reason it has so much resonance. Detailed but profound, and always willing to challenge conventions in a way that is never anything short of surprising, Birth is tremendous – Kidman is at her peak, and she is supported by many terrific actors that all work in synchronicity to bring this story to life. Engaging, complex and always simmering with meaning, Glazer’s work here is incredible, and he once again proves that he is a true master in terms of both style and substance and someone whose selective endeavours into filmmaking have provided us with some truly astonishing works, especially in how they blend abstract ideas with genuine concepts, weaving them together with incredible complexity and an astonishing level of meaning, which is increasingly rare to find in the modern cinematic landscape.