The Parenting Apocalypse

On Bird Box and the terror of having kids

The night after my daughter was born, I cried. These were not tears of joy; these were tears of being completely freaked out. A new small human had appeared in our apartment, and what on earth were we going to do with her? I'd gotten more sleep than my wife, who had to do the real work. But still, I hadn't gotten much, and in my semi delirious state the future looked bleak and unimaginable. The final straw was when our fat, smelly cat, who had apparently noticed that there was a small screamy interloper in the bed, refused to take up his usual position by my cheek. "I'll never scritch the cat as I fall asleep again!" I thought to myself, and burst into tears.

Humans and cats both did eventually get used to the new small human, as it turned out. But there is something truly terrifying about being a new parent—and it's a terror that isn't especially well documented in popular culture. There are lots of movies about the horrors of pregnancy—Rosemary's Baby, Alien, The Thing. There are others, like The Babadook, about how mothers are terrifying, and some, like The Shining, about how dads are. But there aren't a lot about the nightmare of having to live with that new human in your bed, and in your life.

Bird Box is an exception. The Netflix film, by Danish director Susanne Bier, is structured as a typical zombie-ish apocalypse narrative, with some clever narrative twists. For unexplained reasons, people suddenly begin to see some mysterious somethings. A glimpse of the beings, or phenomenon, or whatever, causes most people to immediately murder themselves. A smaller subset of humans are driven insane, and dedicate themselves to forcing everyone else to look. People are only safe inside; whenever they leave shelter they have to cover their eyes with blindfolds. Under these circumstances, civilization quickly, and inevitably, collapses.

The apocalypse, though, is really just an elaborate frame for the real terror of the film, which is raising kids. Malorie (Sandra Bullock) is an artist who is about to become a single mom, despite her best efforts not to think about it. The end of the world actually begins while she's in the hospital for a check up. It's just after the doctor insists that she really needs to admit she's having a child that we see the first victim of the hysteria—a woman in the hospital corridor bashes her brains out by smashing her head repeatedly into a glass windowpane. Shortly thereafter, Malorie's sister, who took her to the hospital, also kills herself. Malorie takes refuge in a house with a handful of other survivors—who, as the genre conventions dictate, die off one by one (or sometimes quicker.)

The conveniently timed post-ultrasound apocalypse can be read as a kind of psychotic break; the nurse demands that Malorie deal with the fact that she's going to have a child, and instead Malorie prefers to fantasize that the world ends. It can also be seen, though, as a metaphor. Being a parent changes everything. It cuts old ties; it creates new ones. It transforms the old world and leaves you in a new one, staggering ahead without a map.

The wave of suicide is also a reference to post-partum depression. Malorie and Olympia (Danielle Mcdonald) another pregnant woman in the house, go into labor at the same time; the distraction triggers a crisis in which almost all the remaining members of the household die. Olympia herself accidentally see one of the things shortly after her baby is born. Malorie seizes the child from her just before she throws herself from a second-floor window.

Malorie doesn't kill herself, but she doesn't exactly reconcile herself to being a mother either. She refuses to name the kids—she calls her own son "Boy", and Olympia's daughter "Girl" until they're five years old. She also refuses to let her boyfriend, and the kid's effective father, Tom (Trevante Rhodes) tell them stories about the outdoors; she's terrified he'll give them hope. Even as she lives in the present with her children, a future with children seems unimaginable.

Eventually, Malorie and the children do escape to safety, and she names them—Girl for the girl's mother, Olympia; Boy for Tom, who died protecting them. A skeptical viewer could take Malorie's capitulation to nomenclature as an enforcement of normative motherhood. Malorie didn't want to be a mom and was even thinking about giving her child up for adoption. We have to have an apocalypse to force her to behave like a woman and take on the responsibility of raising kids.

Given that the film is directed by a woman artist with children, and stars a woman artist with children, though, it's also possible to see it as less proscriptive. Malorie doesn't have to be a mother. She decided to be one.

That decision is terrifying, but also something other than terrifying. The emotional climax of the film occurs as Malorie, Girl, and Boy are going down the river towards a community they hope will shelter them. They have made the entire journey blindfolded. But one of the children is going to have to look to guide Malorie through the rapids. Malorie wants to be the one to look herself, but she can't; if she goes insane, she'll wreck the boat and kill them all.

Boy volunteers to look. Instantly, Malorie snaps at him and declares, "No! I'll decide who looks. I'll decide!" At first it seems like she's going to sacrifice Olympia's daughter. Girl is willing; she volunteers. Malorie looks back and forth between them, and then she says, "No. Nobody's going to look." And they go over the rapids blind, together, the way parents and their children do.

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I published this on my Patreon some years back. I still like it, so thought I would share with you all.