Motherhood, Menarche and Marriage Define Catherine Called Birdy’s Medieval Coming-of-Age Musings

After a 12-year hiatus from filmmaking following her cinematic breakout Tiny Furniture, Lena Dunham has re-donned her writer/director’s cap for two wildly distinct films, both released this year. The first, Sharp Stick, is about 26-year-old Sarah Jo (Kristine Froseth) who underwent a radical hysterectomy during her adolescence, causing a delayed sexual awakening (and subsequent affair with her employer’s husband). The second, an adaptation of Karen Cushman’s 1994 children’s novel, Catherine Called Birdy follows a 14-year-old girl (Bella Ramsey) as she comes of age in 13th century England and attempts to avoid being subjected to a financially-driven arranged marriage. Though Sharp Stick is staunchly adult in its storyline compared to the essential coming-of-age formula Birdy follows, both films are perfect distillations of the filmmaker’s matured artistic musings, particularly when it comes to Dunham’s personal reflections on pregnancy, motherhood and bodily autonomy—facets of her own life that were irrevocably altered after she had a hysterectomy of her own in 2018.

We first meet Catherine (Ramsey) in the midst of a playful afternoon rolling around in the mud, returning home to the gentle scolding of her nanny Morwenna (Lesley Sharp). As the only daughter of Lord Rollo (Andrew Scott) and Lady Aislinn (Billie Piper), there is a looming expectation that Catherine (affectionately dubbed Birdy due to her formidable collection of pet birds) will be wed as soon as she’s crossed the threshold into womanhood with the arrival of her “monthly tithings.” With the family fortune nearly depleted, her father begins to line up prospective suitors, anxious for the financial relief that a generous dowry for a virginal wife would provide. Adamantly opposed to leaving her family and the comfort of her home in “the village of Stonebridge, in the shire of Lincoln, in the country of England, in the hands of God,” Birdy predictably frets when she finally experiences menarche (her first period), opting to hide the bloody rags under the floorboards to keep her parents in the dark. After all, if she theoretically can’t bear children for a husband, she can’t be sold off as a viable wife.

Though Sharp Stick premiered back in January at Sundance, Dunham had been crafting the TIFF-premiering Birdy for far longer, spending a decade vying for the opportunity to adapt Cushman’s novel, which she first read and cherished as a 10-year-old girl. It appeared that her passion project was finally on the brink of being made in 2020—but of course, COVID shut down production on the film just six weeks out from shooting. It was during this hiatus from Birdy that Dunham had the idea for Sharp Stick, writing the script in just one week and shooting the entire film in two. As such, the films are inextricably linked, providing an intriguing thesis on the director’s ever-developing feminist perspective: Becoming increasingly invested in examining the (cis) female reproductive cycle and the societal expectations that are immediately placed on someone who can bear children—as well as the apparent biological transgression of those whose wombs cannot or will not serve this function: A hysterectomy alters Sarah Jo’s sexual self-esteem in Sharp Stick; the prospect of having sex and bearing children deeply repulses Birdy, while her mother Lady Aislinn grapples with multiple stillborn children, her womb seemingly inhospitable.

There are other marked similarities between both films, from Dunham’s heightened focus on casting Black actresses in supporting roles (Taylour Paige as Sarah Jo’s adoptive sister Treina in Sharp Stick, Sophie Okonedo and Mimi Ndiweni as the Black wives of white Lords in Birdy) to the emotional overlap between the two film’s protagonists. Surely the racial politics of Birdy—which falls into “colorblind” casting as opposed to its contemporary successor, “color conscious” casting—will be a topic of scrutiny for those who have long commented upon her consistent oversight when it comes to diversity. However, Birdy feels comparatively thoughtful in this regard, the overall omission of racial politicking a welcome respite from a filmmaker who consistently puts her foot in her mouth.