The Nightingale

A nasty little film with the potential to prompt unprepared viewers to exit the theater before 30 minutes have elapsed, The Nightingale is expertly made and acted, but dogged by the nagging question of why writer/director Jennifer Kent felt moved to tell this particular story.

Following up her (somewhat overly) praised 2014 grief meditation The Babadook with a historically-rooted rape revenge tale suggests the filmmaker is commendably dedicated to telling stories about trauma.

Putting Irish convict Clare (Aisling Franciosi, BBC’s The Fall) through horrendous misdeeds at the hands of twisted British officer Hawkins (Sam Claflin, Their Finest) also establishes an easy hero-villain dynamic in which to invest, though as the former tracks the latter through the gorgeous Tasmanian wilderness in 1825 with nothing but vengeance on her mind, the narrative’s simplicity becomes painfully and brutally evident.

Injecting The Nightingale with some much-needed heart is reluctant native guide Billy (promising newcomer Baykali Ganambarr), whose initial stubbornness soon gives way to an appealing jaded survivalism rooted in a deep distrust of white people.

The mind-boggling things Hawkins and his soldiers do to Clare is basically what the British have done to the indigenous people of the island — and are still doing, as evinced by multiple heartbreaking (and painful to watch) atrocities inflicted upon some of the film’s dark-skinned characters.

Though optimism and even love return to the downtrodden duo after they bond over their shared ornithological alter egos — she sings like the titular warbler, his nickname is the native word for “blackbird” — bloodlust remains at the film’s core and, unfortunately, never fully dissipates.

Grade: C. Rated R. Starts Aug. 23 at Grail Moviehouse

(Photo: IFC Films)