‘When does nudity transition from being considered pornography to being viewed as art?” This age-old debate is often settled by cultural tastemakers, and generally, the verdict leans towards “art” especially if the subjects involved aren’t conventionally attractive.
A more complex question arises with “Is this grief-porn or grief-art?” In film, the term grief-porn might imply that the movie exploits sorrow for emotional manipulation, using clichéd formulas; whereas grief-art would imply that it authentically communicates universal, sincere emotions.
This issue tends to loop back on itself. In movies depicting grief, the authenticity of the emotion is paramount. The film’s impact hinges on the depth of the protagonist’s grief and the audience’s ability to empathize deeply with these emotions. Thus, you can only deem it art if you’re already deeply moved by it. If the portrayal of death and subsequent emotions feels forced and manipulative, this reasoning can be quite frustrating.
Specifically, let’s talk about “Hamnet,” a screen adaptation of Maggie O’Farrell’s 2020 novel. On the surface, it qualifies as art—Jessie Buckley and Paul Mescal deliver stellar performances with a magnetic and authentic presence. The film boasts gorgeous visuals alongside sharp, intelligent dialogue.
It’s not a spoiler, but rather common knowledge that Hamnet, the only son of William Shakespeare and Agnes Hathaway, succumbed to the plague at age 11. The death of a child is a profound tragedy, hence any critical comments about the young actor’s performance are generally considered inappropriate, and rightly so.
Several cinematic conventions about grief lend the genre intellectual weight and a certain gravitas: one is the notion that women experience emotions more intensely than men, especially in their roles as mothers and their ties to nature and the mystical. In the film, Buckley’s character finds solace under tree roots, overwhelmed by a maternal anxiety that is tinged with premonitions. Her premonitions include visions of her deathbed featuring only two of her three children, hinting at impending doom.
These feminine qualities also shape the film adaptation of Helen Macdonald’s memoir “H Is for Hawk.” Here again, two exceptional actors, Claire Foy and Brendan Gleeson, embody their roles impeccably. Following her father’s sudden death, Foy’s character seeks solace through an intense connection with a bird of prey, echoing her ornithological bond with her father. This relationship stands as a stark refusal to accept his death, shown through her obsessive care for the bird and neglect of her own well-being. The underlying message is clear: true grief can stop time, a concept seemingly understood and manifested only by women.
The portrayal of grief in these films often feels somewhat doctrinaire. What qualifies as grief-porn is that viewers are compelled to wallow with the character in their despair; whether it’s Buckley’s loud mourning or Foy’s haunting silence, the films allow no room for external perspectives. You’re either completely enveloped by their grief, or you’re outside, unable to comprehend.
The “natural world” here is a euphemism for birds; Agnes has a hawk, and Shakespeare’s romantic gesture is a handcrafted glove—a nod to his family’s trade. Bird enthusiasts criticized the film’s historical accuracy regarding the species of hawk used, preferring a goshawk to the anachronistic Harris’s hawk introduced in the 1960s. In the narrative, whether it’s a kestrel in the book or a hawk in the film, these birds symbolize freedom and defiance of societal norms. Similarly, in “H Is for Hawk,” the bird takes up a role reminiscent of Ted Hughes, and in other films like 2024’s “Tuesday” and last year’s “The Thing With Feathers,” birds represent various aspects of death.
Fatima Clarke is a seasoned health reporter who bridges medical science with human stories. She writes with compassion, precision, and a drive to inform.
