Last week, I gave Jack Black quite a bit of stick, and while that was definitely warranted, I inadvertently stumbled across a movie that unexpectedly brought him back into my good graces. Surprisingly, with a movie I watched years ago and didn’t like. And the critics—and audiences—didn’t like it either, with the film garnering only a 41% RT score and a matching 41% audience score. But, while mindlessly scrolling Max (I still hate calling it that) and looking for a time waster to do chores by, and with birding fresh in my mind having recently watched Netflix’s flawed, but watchable quirky whodunnit The Residence, I decided to give The Big Year another gander.
A big year, in birding (which still sounds silly to me, but apparently is the correct term over bird watching; though, truth be told, it seems like it’s the birds who do the birding and the humans who do the watching, I’m not going to argue with how birders want to be referred to and end up like Tippi Hedren) terms, is when a birder decides to see as many species of birds as they possibly can. It’s a personal challenge that can turn into an informal competition amongst the birding community. In The Big Year, it’s presented as a dream by Brad Harris, played by Jack Black (that one episode of Community), Stu Preissler, played by comedic legend Steve Martin (Only Murders in the Building, Father of the Bride), and reigning champ, with 732 species of birds spotted as evidenced by his vanity license plate, Kenny Bostick, played by the man who wowed his way into America’s hearts, Owen Wilson (that same episode of Community that Jack Black was in, Loki). Brad has a full time programming job, an ex-wife, and not much else, Stu has a career he’s trying to retire from and a grandchild on the way, and Kenny has a wife who wants to start a family and is frustrated with her husband’s one track mind. Rounding out the cast are talented names like Rashida Jones (Parks and Recreation, Our Idiot Brother), Rosamund Pike (Gone Girl), Dianne Wiest (Bullets over Broadway, The Birdcage), Kevin Pollack (The Usual Suspects, The Whole Nine Yards), Joel McHale (Community, Animal Control), Brian Dennehy (who was in perhaps my favorite duel ever from the western Silverado, First Blood), Anthony Anderson (Romeo Must Die, Black-ish) and more. Oh, and did I mention it’s narrated by John Cleese (Silverado, Fawlty Towers) in the manner of a nature documentary? This is such a talented cast with so much comedy pedigree, you can expect some big laughs.
But you’d be disappointed. The Big Year presents itself as a comedy; this informal personal challenge has the look of a massive, all-consuming competition with an economy that rivals the ridiculousness of the competitive tornado-chasers in Twisters, but it’s not particularly funny. I can tell the scenes which are supposed to make me laugh, like when an announcement that a specific species of bird has been spotted and two dozen grown adults rush Black Friday style to bicycles to race each other to see it before it flies away or when Kenny figures out how to make Stu seasick on a birding tour boat. But they don’t land comically—they’re quirky, but not funny. The idea of all this, it’s supposed to be completely ridiculous and hilarious and it just isn’t. In fact, Jack Black’s Brad here is almost understated—and very understated by Jack Black standards—playing a lonely computer programmer who wants to have his big year and has little else on his mind other than that, isolated from just about anything but birds and his job. Normally when a comedy fails at being comedic, that’s the end of it. And this was largely my memory of it from watching it the first time. It was a comedy that didn’t make me laugh, which is why I haven’t revisited it in over a decade. Watching through the whole movie again, I still can’t remember a moment where I got more than a chuckle, though admittedly, I did get a few and handful of smirks as well. So, at this point, you’re probably wondering why I’m taking the time to tell you about this forgotten birding movie from 2011. And I don’t blame you.
But the thing that makes this movie good are the moments that weren’t meant to be funny. It paints a picture of three very different men, all at very different stages of life. Kenny is a successful business owner on the verge of starting a family with a frustrated wife who doesn’t want to play second fiddle to his winged first love. Stu is an extremely successful entrepreneur who is so afraid of the stage that comes after the stage after retirement that he retired once and it didn’t take, so he’s now trying to retire again, as much as his employees don’t want him to go. His wife supports his passion, but his son and daughter-in-law are expecting their first child as he takes this opportunity to have his big year. And Brad…well, Brad is a little lost. His ex-wife is getting remarried, his father doesn’t understand his bird obsession, and his mother is trying her best to support him, and he’s working a full time job while trying to have his big year (yes, all the main characters here are white men, those were the times, with a few gender stereotypes thrown in along the way, but nothing that offends the ears too much).
They compete with each other—Kenny is the leader of the flock, the holder of the record, the king atop the hill that everyone wants to overthrow, but along the way, they find ways to connect with each other. One of the most quaint things about this big year concept, something that to me still sounds ridiculous, but perhaps I’m too jaded by this modern world in which we live, is that it goes by the honor system. People fill out their journals with the birds they’ve seen—or even just heard, as long as they’re sure they can identify the birdsong—and that’s taken at their word. When a dubious opportunity to cross off a rare bird arises, it’s rejected until there’s real confirmation that the birder heard what he thought he heard.
Kenny is positioned as an antagonist here, and yet he’s not really a bad guy. He’s certainly his own worst enemy and a pretty bad husband, and he has a few tricks up his sleeve to deal with the competition, but he’s never so underhanded that you hate him. Stu and Brad are underdogs, despite Stu coming from a place of serious privilege, and they form a friendship out of their shared love of birds and birding that was actually heartwarming in a time where so much of the world’s aim is to divide us from each other and we gatekeep hobbies to shame those who are newer or more casual at it. And yet, Stu and Brad, competitors at the opposite ends of life—chronologically and financially, as Brad is spending basically all his life savings and then some on this quest and Stu can afford the finest things in life (though he refuses to fly in private planes or hire guides, because he feels that’s not in line with the spirit of the big year; to him, that’s the equivalent of big game hunting from a helicopter)—find real friendship with each other. They share this passion, they share their lives, their fears, their concerns. They’re there for each other and that touched me in a way I didn’t expect from this unfunny comedy. It showed that there’s more to this movie than a lack of laughs. In a moment where Brad is explaining to his father about his favorite bird, a rather plain looking grayish brown feathery fellow (I think that’s the scientific name) and why it’s his favorite, well, readers, I fully admit to some water spraying into my eyes, forcing me to wipe it away. Complete freak occurrence, I wasn’t tearing up at all.
We don’t just get to see plenty of birds and absurd scenarios in this film, but we also get to see a year in these men’s lives and everything that entails. We get to see the parts of their lives that happen around birding, the things they miss, the things that make them feel alone, the things that make them feel a part of something. We see the cost of their passion, the toll it takes on them and the people around them. The moments where The Big Year isn’t trying to be funny are the moments where the movie truly, truly shines. It’s in those moments where the movie pecked its way into my heart and went from a failed comedy to a mildly comedic slice-of-life film, the kind I really enjoy. So often in media and society, we praise the sacrifice; we praise those who eschew all of life’s normalcies in order to achieve their one thing, the one thing that makes the quiet nights and lonely holidays worth it. We deify those who give up everything to achieve something, we give Oscars to movies about assholes whose great accomplishments outweigh the dirt on their souls. But The Big Year isn’t about that. It’s not about the relentless pursuit of perfection, it isn’t about the need to give everything up to attain your goal at any cost. It’s about the costs, it’s about the need to balance our lives, our passions, our relationships. The Big Year is a movie about remembering that there’s more to life than that one thing. That there’s so much that’s important in life and that it’s important to be present for that too—to be there for the big moments, to be there for the people you care about, to be there for yourself, to make connections with people. It’s a movie that on its surface is about the destination, but in the end, is about the journey. And whether that journey is one that should even be taken.
It wasn’t that long ago that I lamented the state of the adventure film and wondered how adventure films are supposed to move forward without leaving that uncomfortable, culture-pillaging, colonizing taste in your mouth. Yes, the movies has its flaws. Much of the supporting cast, while stacked with talent, is fairly one-dimensional and under-utilized. Rosamund Pike’s character in particular is reduced to a stock wife who just wants a baby, even though she plays the hell out of it. But maybe this is it, as imperfect as it is. Small stories about regular people having low stakes adventures as part of their daily lives. Maybe critics and audiences alike missed a trick here 14 years ago when this movie first came around. Yes, it could have been done better, it could have had more depth to it, more time spent fleshing out the supporting cast. But maybe The Big Year isn’t a comedy after all—maybe it’s an introspective adventure movie that serves to remind us of the things that are really important in life and celebrates the things that surround our adventures more than the adventures themselves. When I put on this 1 hour, 44 minute (4 minutes longer than the theatrical release, both of which are on Max) film I didn’t like, I was looking for something that was meaningless and filled up the empty space while I did some chores. What I got was much, much more than that and much, much more than I bargained for. I didn’t plan on writing about this. I didn’t think of it as a hidden gem I needed to bring to you or some important film that made me feel something. But I do now. And I do hope you give it a chance with an open heart. Because it helped open mine up a little.
If you’ve made it this far, I should give you a bit of a programming note. I’m in the middle of a move and may not be able to stick a weekly schedule in July, but I will do my level best to keep this coming to you. I love sharing movies and TV shows with you, dear readers, and I appreciate every single one of you. As Pride Month comes to a close, I want to tell you all that I appreciate you and who you are. Thank you for being here.
