A misunderstood teen, with the world against him.

This wasn’t just a film—it was a powerful, informative message. It showed how cruelly someone can be treated just for being different. The world tells you to express your feelings but never tells you how. Some people express themselves through music, some through words, others through writing, art, or other outlets.

Sean Randall (Connor Jessup) expresses himself through writing, but because of this, he’s shut down—ironically, all because of a school counselor’s own suggestion. With the entire town against him, all he wants is to tell the truth. But people don’t want the truth—they want a version of justice that aligns with their perspective, not that of the accused.

If you don’t understand why this film is called Blackbird, it’s because of a beautiful metaphor spoken by Trevor (Alex Ozerov) in prison:

“You don’t whistle. Birds whistle. And birds are free. We aren’t free.”

And it was true—especially for Sean. He had locked himself inside a mental cage his whole life, believing that nobody liked or loved him (thanks, Mom). When he embraced his goth identity, it only strengthened his belief that he was an outcast—when, in reality, he made himself one. His father tried desperately to show him love, but Sean was already too far gone in his own mindset. That is, until Deanna (Alexia Fast) came along.

For once, a film that actually tells the story from the accused’s point of view, rather than the lawyers, victims, or families. I have a lot of respect for this approach because it’s rare. And in the context of this film, it’s a beautifully misunderstood perspective. The message was clear, harshly obvious, and a direct reflection of how society treats those who are different.

Take the evidence room scene—Cory (Craig Arnold) was accused of threatening Sean, saying that if he went near his girlfriend again, he’d kill him with his bare hands. Yet, was anything done about that? Nope. Probably because Cory wasn’t considered “dangerous” in the same way Sean was. But anyone who truly understands Sean’s character knows how ridiculous that is.

Speaking of ridiculous—the first court case was completely unrealistic.

No solid evidence. No testimony. The trial for placement and bail lasted four minutes.

Basically, that entire trial was bullshit.

There’s no way Sean would have been deemed dangerous without proper evidence proving intent to commit a crime. Sure, they had evidence that he might have had the motivation or the means—but they failed to consider the most important factor: the actual person. His own lawyer didn’t even object when the prosecution claimed he was a danger to himself and others, instead suggesting that his actions stemmed from mental health issues. In other words, he basically called Sean mentally unstable—which could have either gotten him off with mandatory psychological evaluation or institutionalized. But even that didn’t happen.

The first thing that should have happened was a psychological assessment to determine if he was truly dangerous. That would have justified the prosecution’s argument. But without it, this was just opinion over fact. More bullshit.

Now, setting aside that nonsense—the film itself was great.

It’s your classic story of a teenager who believes he’s alone in the world—until someone finds him, helps him open up, and allows him to change in ways he never thought possible. The ending leaves us with hope: when Deanna tells him her final words, and he replies that nothing is ever really easy. After that two-month period is up, I’d like to believe they find their way back to each other—because that seemed like the start of something truly beautiful.

If you like inspiration, deep messages, goth aesthetics, and teenage self-discovery, give this movie a watch.

Side note: If they were trying to use the pentagram as a symbol of something “bad” or “evil,” they messed up. An upside-down pentagram represents evil. A standard five-pointed pentagram typically represents goodness.