Liz and the Blue Bird is the most cathartic movie watching experience I’ve had in a while. It’s an affirmation of my steadfast belief in the value and importance of art/media and our relationship with it, and an honest appraisal of the nature of relationships.
At times, watching Liz is a painful process. It’s the ambiguous nature and timeline of loss, the feeling of losing something that hasn’t been lost yet and the desperate attempts at getting it back. It depicts such a common relationship and dilemma but heightened to such painful clarity as to open and reexamine old wounds and later patch them up.
It feels more like an experience than a movie: not just a moment captured in time but a memory that breathes and lives its own life. The wide and varied range of emotions that this film will evoke depends as much on the viewer as it does on the movie itself. The titular Liz and the Blue Bird serves as both inspiration and draft for Mizore and Nozomi’s friendship, much as we find footing and meaning in the busyness and chaos of life and our relationships through art and fiction.
Liz is a movie whose characters are drawn with such frail lines it feels like their existence can fade away at any moment. It’s this desperation for being and being with that defines Liz and those that find refuge in its narrative.