The Starling (2021)

What makes The Starling special is the way it turns grief into something you can feel in your bones without drowning you in it—using a small, almost absurd nuisance in the backyard as a pressure valve for pain that has nowhere else to go. Melissa McCarthy gives one of her most grounded, quietly devastating performances, while Chris O’Dowd captures the numbness of a man trying to find a reason to rejoin his own life, and Kevin Kline brings a worn-in gentleness that feels earned rather than sentimental. Theodore Melfi keeps the tone tender and human, with flashes of wry humor that don’t undercut the sadness so much as make it survivable. It’s not for everyone—if you’re raw about infant loss or suicidal ideation, it may hit too close—but if you want a drama that treats healing as messy, awkward, and ultimately possible, this one stays with you.

The Starling is clearly aiming for a bittersweet, healing-after-tragedy drama, using an aggressive backyard bird as a not-so-subtle metaphor for grief and the daily fight to keep going. The problem is it often plays like it’s pushing you to cry on cue, with broad, familiar beats and a tonal wobble between quirky comedy and heavy loss that doesn’t always blend. If you’re sensitive to stories about infant death, suicide attempts, or you want a nuanced, quietly observed take on mourning, this may feel emotionally manipulative rather than cathartic. That said, Melissa McCarthy and Chris O’Dowd bring sincerity, and Kevin Kline adds a gentle presence that can make the film watchable if you’re in the mood for something earnest and straightforward rather than subtle.