The film “H Is for Hawk” proves that the stars aren’t the only awe-inspiring performers on screen—the birds are, too. And they hold their own against the formidable Claire Foy, known for her work in All of Us Strangers and The Crown, in a story that centers on presence, grief, and unlikely companionship.
Directed by Philippa Lowthorpe and adapted from Helen Macdonald’s memoir, the movie follows Helen, who mourns the sudden loss of her father (Brendan Gleeson). In her overwhelmed state, she revisits a childhood passion—falconry—and acquires a goshawk as a companion. The bird’s name, Mabel, signals how wildness and tenderness can coexist within one creature.
To bring Mabel and Helen’s bond to life, producers Dede Gardner and Lowthorpe enlisted two crucial partners. They turned to Lloyd and Rose Buck, a married pair of bird specialists with decades of experience in natural history filmmaking alongside legends like David Attenborough. Based near Bristol, England, the Bucks collaborated with the trio to craft authentic bird behavior and on-set dynamics.
Five hawks cover different phases of Mabel’s development, with the main two trained well before filming begins. Mabel 2, though from the same clutch, is shier and more independent, making her ideal for the film’s more nervous moments. Mabel 1 handles the sequences where she flies to and from Helen’s glove and when the character shares space with Mabel inside her home.
Other birds contribute specific traits: Jess, loaned from a Scottish falconry center, suits the calmer, more polite moments; Juha, the smallest and male hawk, appears mainly in high-altitude shots; and Lottie features in hunting sequences, capable of speeds up to 45 miles per hour through the woods.
Before filming began, Claire Foy underwent two weeks of intensive falconry training with the Bucks. Lloyd emphasizes that the success of the project hinged on Foy forming a genuine connection with the birds—and she delivered. Foy is described as perceptive, intelligent, and, above all, kind, qualities that helped the birds respond honestly on camera.
Foy herself cherished the collaboration, noting the Bucks’ extraordinary kindness and the intimate way they treat their birds. The experience of learning alongside them became a profound part of Helen’s journey for Foy, deepening the emotional resonance of the performance.
Lowthorpe highlights Foy’s commitment, praising her physical and emotional instincts. The production prioritized the birds’ welfare: filming ran from October to January to avoid molting, crew members wore muted colors to blend with the birds’ expectations, and mic captures were chosen to minimize disturbance, with some crew operating from higher vantage points or temporarily out of frame.
The director’s approach valued spontaneity: rather than locking in rigid setups, she preferred to capture genuine reactions as the hawks and actors interacted. Foy’s ability to stay in character through long, unscripted takes helped sustain the film’s authentic energy.
In one early moment, Helen introduces Mabel to life inside a home, softly narrating, “This is my kitchen.” The hawk’s wings flutter, a reminder of the delicate balance between ordinary domestic life and the wildness that defines Mabel. The film portrays Mabel as both a lifeline and a distraction for Helen, illustrating how immersion in a demanding, living relationship can feel profoundly transformative.
For Foy, the experience of chasing a hawk while it hunts created a sense of aliveness that spoke to the heart of Helen’s grieving process. She suggests that we often avoid confronting grief directly, instead trying to seal it away. Through Mabel, however, she found a vivid, almost spiritual way to express that raw emotion.
Back in London, Foy looks forward to revisiting the birds and even noting how common raptors have become in everyday life—an owl now sits near her home, and she finds herself scanning the skyline with newfound awareness.
This story isn’t just about a celebrity actor learning to work with birds; it’s about how careful preparation, mutual trust, and a willingness to be vulnerable in front of trained animals can yield cinema that feels intimate, compelling, and true to life.
Would you agree that authentic animal performances can elevate a film’s emotional core more than human actors alone? Or do you think traditional acting partnerships still hold the edge? Share your thoughts in the comments.
