The Shark on the Roof: When Grief Meets Whimsy
There’s something undeniably captivating about a shark sticking out of a roof. It’s absurd, it’s jarring, and yet, it demands attention. When I first heard about Learning to Breathe Under Water, a film that borrows this surreal image to explore grief, I was immediately intrigued. What makes this particularly fascinating is how the film uses the shark—a symbol of chaos and danger—to mirror the internal turmoil of its characters. It’s not just a quirky visual; it’s a metaphor for the way grief can pierce through the ordinary, leaving us to navigate a world that suddenly feels upside down.
Grief as a Creative Catalyst
At the heart of the film is Peter, a bereaved artist played by Rory Kinnear, who installs a metal shark on his roof after his wife’s death. Personally, I think this act is both bizarre and profoundly human. Grief often drives us to extremes—whether it’s through art, destruction, or something in between. What many people don’t realize is that these seemingly irrational acts can be a way of externalizing pain, of giving it a shape we can confront. The shark becomes a monument to Peter’s loss, a physical manifestation of the emotional wreckage he’s trying to navigate.
Kinnear’s performance is a masterclass in restraint. He captures the quiet desperation of a man who’s trying to hold it together for his son, Leo, while falling apart inside. One thing that immediately stands out is how the film uses humor to lighten the heaviness of its subject matter. Leo, a serious and literal-minded child, delivers some of the most amusing lines with a deadpan delivery that feels both endearing and heartbreaking. It’s a reminder that grief doesn’t exist in a vacuum; it coexists with moments of levity, even if they feel out of place.
The Uneven Balance of Whimsy and Melancholy
Here’s where the film stumbles, in my opinion. While the early scenes strike a delicate balance between whimsy and melancholy, the narrative begins to lose its footing in the second half. The introduction of Anya, a Bulgarian au pair played by Maria Bakalova, feels like a plot device rather than a fully realized character. The conflict between her and Peter comes across as manufactured, and the emotional stakes never quite land. If you take a step back and think about it, this is a missed opportunity. The film could have explored the dynamics of a fractured family with more depth, but instead, it settles for melodrama.
What this really suggests is that the film’s strengths lie in its moments rather than its overall structure. The stop-motion animations that peek into Leo’s inner world are delightful, adding a layer of surrealism that complements the film’s themes. The production design, too, is a standout—the clutter in Peter’s house ebbs and flows like the tide, reflecting his emotional state. But these elements can’t fully compensate for a script that feels uneven and a tone that wavers between heartfelt and mawkish.
The Power of Symbolism
The shark, of course, is more than just a plot point. It’s a symbol of the absurdity of life and death, a reminder that sometimes the most inexplicable things can become our anchors. From my perspective, this is where the film shines brightest. It doesn’t shy away from the strangeness of grief, embracing it instead as a source of meaning. The shark becomes a conversation starter, a way for Peter and Leo to connect in the absence of words.
This raises a deeper question: How do we make sense of the senseless? The film doesn’t offer easy answers, and that’s part of its charm. It’s messy, it’s flawed, but it’s also deeply human. What many people don’t realize is that art doesn’t have to be perfect to be meaningful. Sometimes, it’s the imperfections that make it resonate.
A Missed Opportunity or a Brave Attempt?
In the end, Learning to Breathe Under Water feels like a film that’s reaching for something profound but doesn’t quite get there. Rory Kinnear’s performance is a revelation, and the film’s visual and thematic ambitions are commendable. But the uneven execution leaves me wondering what could have been. Personally, I think it’s a brave attempt to tackle a difficult subject, even if it falls short.
If you take a step back and think about it, the film’s greatest strength might be its willingness to take risks. It’s not afraid to be strange, to be messy, to be imperfect. And in a world where grief is often sanitized and simplified, that’s something worth celebrating. The shark on the roof might not make sense, but then again, neither does life. And maybe that’s the point.
Final Thoughts
As I reflect on Learning to Breathe Under Water, I’m struck by its ambition and its flaws. It’s a film that tries to capture the indescribable, and while it doesn’t always succeed, it leaves an impression. What this really suggests is that sometimes, the journey is more important than the destination. The film might swim in circles, but it does so with heart. And in a world that often demands clarity, there’s something refreshing about a story that embraces the chaos.
