Rating: 7 out of 10.

More people are paying attention to him now then when he was in the zoo.

With some saying Flaco the Eurasian eagle-owl deserved his freedom upon escaping from his Central Park Zoo enclosure in 2023 and others saying he needed to be returned in order to survive, there was one question that no one asked throughout Penny Lane’s documentary about the iconic bird. Should zoos exist? It’s obviously a nuanced question that demands its own film, but it is at the heart of both sides of the argument displayed within Wild Inside.

Because the animal keepers were correct when saying he didn’t stand a chance. Regardless of how quickly and effectively Flaco adapted to learn how to hunt at age thirteen, this new environment’s dangers ensured his demise was a case of “when” rather than “if.” But the owlers who followed his journey through Central Park and onto window ledges throughout the surrounding city were correct too insofar as applauding Flaco’s freedom—no matter how short-lived.

I thought we’d get it too when we hear from professionals towards the end of the film explaining how long the lifespans for their captive animals are as a point of pride rather than more evidence of their meddling in the natural order of things. Is it a net positive that Flaco might have lived to age fifty in his tiny enclosure beneath an insanely loud clock? Or is it merely spin considering those same institutions gave up their rescue mission after only two weeks?

It’s a complex subject that Lane does well to broach from all angles so viewers can come to their own conclusion. In the end, there’s probably no true “right” answer because we still have no way of communicating with the animals themselves to learn their desires. We infer that Flaco wanted out because he never went back under his own volition, but that doesn’t mean he wanted to or knew he’d end up suffering from poisons and diseases as a result of that choice.

So, Wild Inside ultimately becomes less about his excursion and more about his impact on the city and world at-large. One could say many of the New Yorkers that Lane interviewed and crowdsourced footage from built a parasocial relationship with Flaco in the same way people do with influencers on social media, but the evidence reveals this wasn’t quite a one-sided phenomenon. He was just as curious in them and did his best to stay in the public eye.

This overlap between nature and nurture that could only be studied through this very unique situation was the most interesting layer of Flaco’s story. We hear about these owls being secretive and hard to find in the wild, yet here he is consistently perching in heavily trafficked areas and even peering inside windows to mimic the glass-walled separation of youth. It’s why I loved when Lane got an expert from the Netherlands to contextualize his habits.

That also lent a sadness, of course, considering Flaco’s new movements during autumn aligned with his species’ mating season. He’s literally a stranger in a strange land searching for a love that will never find him due to every other Eurasian eagle-owl in America being a relative also in captivity. Sure, it’s funny when New Yorkers compare their own romantic struggles to his, but it’s not the same. We personify animals as a means of forgetting harsher truths.

So, it hits home when Bruce admits his guilt after the inevitable occurs. Others shed tears and lament their emotional upheaval, but he puts into words the duality of this experience. When those who wanted Flaco to be rescued all changed their tune the moment he learned to hunt, Bruce knew it wouldn’t be enough. Yet he enjoyed the ride anyway. He embraced the show despite that other shoe waiting to drop. We can only hope Flaco enjoyed it too.

It’s that hope that made it imperative to shift focus onto the photographers and residents who brought Flaco into their lives. Their enthusiasm and curated images place the owl in the best light possible because that’s the light they shone upon him. His hoots for love become joyous rather than forlorn. His window visits become neighborly rather than desperate. We center what Flaco meant to us so we can avoid considering what our impact meant to him.

You can therefore watch Wild Inside as a document of this once-in-a-lifetime moment as well as a dissection of the human condition where it comes to the belief that we know best. We don’t, though. We change our minds and wash our hands clean before hopping back on when it suits our narrative. Hearing a zookeeper use Flaco’s story as a cautionary tale might be exploitative, but so is pretending this was Flaco’s dream come true just because it was yours.


Flaco in WILD INSIDE; courtesy of Sandbox Films. Photographer: Benny Polatseck.

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