The Painted Bird opens with a young boy (Jewish) running through a forest and clutching his pet ferret. He is being chased by some other boys (not Jewish) who beat him to the ground, douse his ferret in petrol and set it on fire. The boy watches as his pet burns alive and I don’t know if you’ve ever witnessed a ferret being burned alive, but my God, I’m not going to get those high-pitched cries out of my head any day soon, just as I’m not going to get this film out of my head any day soon.
You’d think, after those opening few minutes, things could only get better. But they don’t. They really, really, really don’t. And there are still two hours and 47 minutes to go. Painted Bird was shown last year at the Venice film festival where several viewers walked out. I don’t blame them but, on the other hand, I do: it is easy to look away.
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