Rather than viewing the Holocaust as a phenomenon, The Painted Bird focuses on the ancient prejudices behind the Holocaust. This prejudice is something that people have always feared to know, but lurked in the deepest part of themselves. The contrast between the film's few Western actors and its many Slavic actors seems to add to its overall self-hating Slavic bias: the film is judging itself, but this Slavic masochistic introspection can be tiresome. In this rebellion, the depiction and development of personal psychology is lacking, and the non-Slavic characters and backgrounds appear rather bland. "The Painted Bird" succeeds in presenting to Slavic and non-Slavic audiences a hopeless, under-expressed lament for the guilt of the region. But the peculiarity of its self-denunciation undercuts its critical edge, disappointing audiences because the world of the film, though dramatic, is too coherent and self-sufficient.
It would be wrong to classify The Painted Bird as sensational or without any high aspirations. It's just that this movie is very difficult to watch. The film is brutal, but very serious. Photography brings excellent black and white film shooting, every frame is shockingly desolate and desperate, even a sun-drenched field is full of threats, and the people in the picture are almost dehumanized without exception. Many actors have presented their superb acting skills in the film, and their performance is remarkable, but the core of the story is still the little boy. The film is an extraordinary film, with art, power and shock.
