For some, The Thing with Feathers will be an uncomfortable watch, while for others, it may prove too creative for its own good, but for me, it is a film that wraps us tightly in its wings and reminds us that dawn eventually follows even the darkest of nights. The Thing with Feathers premiered at Berlinale 2025 and is currently awaiting a UK-wide release date.
If I were to ask you to explain the emotions and feelings associated with grief in just one or two words, what words would you choose? I’m guessing words like distress, anguish, anger, and regret would come up, but what about horror? We all know living through grief can be like living through your own horror movie; therefore, it’s no surprise the genre has provided us with many films exploring the horror of grief over the years, from Daddy’s Head to The Babadook and Don’t Look Now. Dylan Southern’s film adaptation of Max Porter’s novella “Grief is the Thing with Feathers” may be one of the most artistically bold movies exploring grief in recent years: a hybrid mix of horror and drama that leaves an indelible mark.
However, it has also proved divisive among my fellow critics. Some have called it a misfire; others have said it lacks nuance, and some have said it lacks focus. However, for this critic, the discourse generated by The Thing with Feathers highlights its greatest strength, as it forces us to confront the differing and uncomfortable emotions and behaviours surrounding grief.
Benedict Cumberbatch is a comic illustrator and writer who has suddenly lost his wife following a tragic accident. Left with his two young boys (Richard Boxall and Henry Boxall), he sees his role as one of stability, attempting to maintain the family home at all costs, even while things spiral out of control around him. His wife was the one who cooked breakfast, got the boys ready for school, and kept everything in the home running smoothly, and he is aware that things are rapidly falling apart without her.
As a dad, he feels like he is failing, and even communication with his two sons feels fraught with tension and problems. But, as he attempts to navigate his own sense of loss and the growing troubled behaviour of his boys, turning to the bottle as a deadly crutch, there is another presence invading the home: a crow brought to life from his illustrations who feeds off the family’s unhappiness (voiced by David Thewlis). Is this crow death incarnate? A figment of his imagination? Or is it a self-created protector in black, attempting to guide the family toward healing?
Adapting Max Porter’s stunning novella, which referenced Emily Dickinson’s poem “Hope is the Thing with Feathers“, was never going to be easy, and there is real bravery in director Dylan Southern opting to adapt this story as his first fictional feature. A passage in Porter’s novella says, “Moving on, as a concept, is for stupid people because any sensible person knows grief is a long-term project. I refuse to rush”. That passage summarises the emotional undercurrents that run through Southern’s delicate mix of horror and heartbreak.
While Cumberbatch knows he has to protect his boys and find a path through the grief that stalks him, he cannot. Like an out-of-control fire slowly burning everything in its path to cinders, grief consumes everything this dad touches under the shadow of the towering crow, played by Eric Lampaert, that follows his every step, reminding him of his failures through labels like “Sad Dad” and “English Widower.”
Ben Fordesman’s stunning cinematography creates an atmosphere laced with tension and fear as the family home becomes both a prison of pain and a fortress of protection. Here, the academy ratio enhances Fordesman’s visuals, creating a sense of claustrophobia as the panorama of family life painfully narrows. At the same time, Zebedee Budworth’s score and the Hitchcock-inspired sound design add layers to the horror as wings flap around the auditorium, heralding the arrival of the “crow”. However, it is the brilliant central performance of Benedict Cumberbatch and the natural, unforced, and heartbreaking performances of Richard Boxall and Henry Boxall that lend The Thing with Feathers its raw emotional power.
Several scenes, in particular, highlight the devastating effects of self-sabotage, uncertainty and introspection during grief and our ability to pull people into our darkness. As Cumberbatch’s dad asks his sons to make models or pictures of their mum as they remember her, he casually adds that the winner will see their picture or model return to life for a day. He knows this isn’t possible and knows the pain his game will cause, but the desire to share the suffering he keeps locked away leads to one of the most painful moments in the film, as he says, looking at the boy’s loving creations and hopeful faces, “Mum isn’t coming back, all you have are memories now.” But, for all its darkness, Dylan Southern’s film never gives up on the hope that things can and will change given time.
How mainstream audiences will react to The Thing with Feathers is yet to be seen, and I would bet that, like critics, it will divide people, and that’s good. Grief is complex; it is different for each of us and has no set timeframe; it can last for years, months, or even decades. Southern’s film not only understands this, but it reflects upon the challenging behaviours surrounding this, behaviours that others, even those closest to us, may struggle to understand or accept.
For some, The Thing with Feathers will be an uncomfortable watch, while for others, it may prove too creative for its own good, but for me, it is a film that wraps us tightly in its wings and reminds us that dawn eventually follows even the darkest of nights.
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