Songbird hits close to home
Film a lesson in pitfalls of making art about a virus, writes Alyssa Rosenberg.
Songbird, a thriller about a near future in which rampant, mutating coronaviruses prompt permanent lockdowns and quarantine camps, isn't exactly relaxing viewing amid still-spiking cases. But it is worth watching as a historical artifact — and for lessons it offers on how, and how not, to make art about the pandemic. Although the end of our pandemic is still far off, the nightmare scenario of director Adam Mason and co-writer Simon Boyes now seems more like a dystopia than a grim possible outcome.
The plot of Songbird, which began shooting in July, reflects what we worried about this past spring and summer. The story follows Nico (K.J. Apa), a former paralegal and bike courier who is one of a few people immune to the film's scourge, “covid-23.” Everyone susceptible is quarantined, including Nico's girlfriend, Sara (Sofia Carson). Anyone who falls ill is immediately interned by the sinister and vast Department of Sanitation.
Given how real-world events have evolved, the concepts that initially made the project appear timely and edgy are already dated. Songbird resonates better in its smaller moments, which provide its substantive value — as a record of how the pandemic made people feel.
Nico and Sara's sweet, chaste flirtation over video calls is reminiscent of the migration to online dating in recent months: When they finally meet, even the slightest gestures of physical intimacy take on a charge.
Piper, a wealthy mother played by Demi Moore, has to tell her lonely, immunocompromised daughter that she can't have friends over. “What are you going to do? Call Sanitation on two 12-year-olds?” the girl sasses. But in another scene, the child's bravado disappears, and she asks if her mother wishes for a different, stronger daughter. Piper's response will resonate with parents who have struggled to keep their children safe this year: “Why would I want to go anywhere if you couldn't go with me?”
Although Songbird tries to frighten viewers with a lurid vision of a landscape where the only connection to the outside world is dropboxes that sanitize deliveries with UV rays, the film's scariest scene is more intimate. Piper's corrupt, cheating husband, William, sneaks out to meet his mistress, the young singer May. William strips off May's mask and kisses her as the camera lingers on her terrified face.
The scene crystallizes the idea that willingly exposing another person to a deadly virus is an ugly assault. William's actions toward May aren't about sex or closeness, but a raw assertion that his desires matter more than her safety. People who flout masks and social-distancing guidelines may not recognize themselves in his character, but those in compliance may recognize in May's reaction their own feelings of powerlessness and rage at others' activities.
An entertainment industry long addicted to spectacle, and humbled by the pandemic, should take note: Songbird is best when its storytelling is most focused on human emotions, and most disposable when it's a blockbuster.