‘Learning to Breathe Under Water’ Review: A Shark in the Roof Covers a Hole in the Heart in an Empathetic Crowdpleaser

A 25-foot fibreglass model of a shark — or its rear half, at least — adorning the roof of an otherwise ordinary terraced house in suburban Oxford, England, the Headington Shark is the kind of local curiosity that makes any casual passersby think, “There must be a story there.” And there is: It’s a work of protest art devised in 1986 by sculptor John Buckley and homeowner Bill Heine as a statement against nuclear warfare and military airstrikes. Forty years later, however, “Learning to Breathe Under Water” imagines quite a different one, taking the eccentric artwork as the starting point for a fictional tale of grief, healing and household repair, and as the visual cue for its own eccentric stylistic flourishes. If the real-life shark sculpture was a controversial point of community debate, however, Rebekah Fortune‘s highly likable, heart-on-sleeve tearjerker won’t be nearly as divisive.

Warmly received at Karlovy Vary — where it premiered in the Special Screenings sidebar — “Learning to Breathe Under Water” should continue to please crowds on the festival circuit before being scooped up by indie distributors with an eye for offbeat but audience-friendly (and indeed family-friendly) fare. Sympathetic turns from Oscar nominee Maria Bakalova and BAFTA nominee Rory Kinnear will help raise the film’s profile, though its best performance comes from 11-year-old Irish actor Ezra Carlisle (recently seen in “Hokum”), who’s immensely appealing but never cloying as our gravely earnest, often accidentally funny protagonist and narrator.

For the purposes of this tale, the Headington Shark has been relocated to an otherwise nondescript family home in an nondescript Irish town, where middle-aged British artist Peter (Kinnear) and his pre-teen son Leo (Carlisle) have lived a quiet, sedate life together since the death of their wife and mother, respectively, some years ago. Peter installed the peculiar sculpture in the throes of grief, though he’s loath to explain why to anyone; it’s a curiously attention-seeking act from a man who would rather recede from society. Bright, curious Leo is more socially engaged, though he keeps his friends at school strictly separate from his home life, where Peter’s ongoing depression dictates the mood and their joint routine. In his bedroom, where a gaping hole in the ceiling has been cut to accommodate the shark, Leo murmurs his secret thoughts into the beast’s synthetic belly; it’s one-sided therapy, but he feels better for it.

A concerned teacher recommends Anya (Bakalova), a freewheeling Bulgarian au pair in need of a place to stay — and while Peter is initially reluctant to let anyone into this melancholy household of two, he concedes he could use some domestic help. As nannies go, Anya isn’t Mary Poppins levels of magical, but she’s cheery and kind-hearted, and that goes a long way. Leo visibly lightens and blossoms under her care; Peter is a harder nut to crack, but with her encouragement, he makes tentative steps toward rejoining the outside world. Though Richard Brabin’s script has its share of kooky humor, it’s pleasingly grounded and credible regarding the characters’ internal growth: The film mostly doesn’t trade in drastically transformative arcs or pat solutions, but incremental, hard-won changes of heart and mind.

Fortune’s previous feature, the 2017 teen drama “Just Charlie,” sensitively examined an adolescent soccer prodigy’s gender dysphoria and trans awakening, and she once again demonstrates a gentle aptitude for articulating complex emotional struggles from a youthful point of view. Assisted by naive animated intrusions on the frame that illustrate his singular imagination and frequently lateral trains of thought, Leo’s narration is endearingly odd but not overly cutesy, and Carlisle’s excellent, unaffected performance sells the character’s earnest vulnerability with just a hint of deadpan irony. “People say that, but they don’t laugh,” he replies when Anya says he’s funny; with his tense body language and solemnly set brow, he inspires as much concern as amusement.

Occasionally, “Learning to Breathe Under Water” cuts corners: Fortune and production designer May Davies find a visual shorthand for the characters’ psychological state in the ocean-blue shades of the house interiors, as dictated by Peter, versus the sunshine yellows of his wife’s personal effects, hidden away in the attic. A third-act shift toward recovery happens a little too quickly; a heated speech by Anya about the symbolic significance of the sculpture lands a little too directly on the nose. But Fortune’s thoughtful little charmer accomplishes the tricky task of dramatizing trauma and healing in terms accessible to all ages. It doesn’t patronize its young protagonist by going over his head, while still identifying those aspects of adult life — why people die, lie, leave, or build sharks in their roof — he won’t understand for a while yet.