Birdsong vs the Biblical Epic

Two years after The Nativity Story and Spanish/Catalan director Albert Serra produced El cant dels ocells (Birdsong). In contrast to The Nativity Story which sought to position itself as a new, family friendly take on the epic in the hope of reproducing the success of The Passion of the Christ, Birdsong deliberately took almost the opposite approach. Just as Pasolini's Il vangelo secondo Matteo opposed 50s and 60s Biblical Epics such as King of Kings, so Birdsong can be seen as an antidote to the excesses of The Passion. Rather than the cast of thousands Birdsong  had a cast of just six. Instead of excessive, lavish sets the film is nearly all filmed outside on deserted landscapes. There are no moral victories, promises of sex, or analogies between the past and the future, indeed the line between the two is somewhat blurred. Birdsong is essentially an anti-epic.

This 'anti-epic' style is typical of Serra's broader body of work, "a cinema of gentle observation and slow demeanour, in which eccentric characters incarnated by non-professional actors bring new dimensions to well-known fictional and religious archetypes". (Delgado 2013: 12) Two years earlier he had produced a similarly sparse version of the Don Quixote story Honor de Cavelleria (2006) and his 2013 film Història de la meva mort (Story of my Death) similarly drained the stories of Cassanova and Dracula of their melodramatic excesses.

Serra's work is just one example of "a new kind of cinema that exists on the margins of the Spanish film industry, to question its premises." (Javier 2014: 95-96) Javier suggests that films such as this "create images that seem to resist the recent explosion of our current 'multi-screen' reality. As opposed to the 'excess image' dominating screens in the contemporary world, this cinema opts wholeheartedly for simplicity and restraint". (2014: 96) Nowhere does this movement contrast more greatly that with the excess of the Biblical Epic.

The most obvious indicator of this is Serra's long, static takes, reminiscent of the style of Roberto Rossellini's later films. Rossellini held that by minimising artificial, and potentially manipulative, editing, not only created more genuine films, but it also reminds the viewer that what they are watching is just a reconstruction, not the real thing. Such long static takes, beautiful compositions and minimal soundtrack make the viewing the film not unlike that of viewing paintings in a gallery. Serra treat his audience to incredible image after incredible image, somehow investing each with great meaning from very little.

Instead of putting the film in context and recounting all the events surrounding Jesus' birth, or even just covering the complete story of the magi's journey, Serra "reduces the symbolic journey of the Three Wise Men to the characters' simple wanderings through stark mountainous areas or across wide open plains where they are mere blots on the landscape and, on many occasions, actually disappear from view". (Javier 2014: 97). Such a portrayal of these "solitary wanderings undermine narrative momentum, inviting the viewer to contemplate, in silent long takes, images of the empty landscape he traverses" (De Luca 2012: 194). The "temporal elongation of the shot surpasses by far the demands of the story". (2013: 193)

Indeed, so low key is the film's aesthetic that the story's most iconic moment can almost creep up on the viewer without them really noticing. When the kings finally find the Christ child there is no crowd of curious onlookers. The holy family are on their own; their visitors lacking in an entourage. This is s a genuine moment of earthly royalty encountering divine royalty without the pantomime that usually accompanies such encounters. Serra produces "a moment of pure reverence, highlighted by the film's only instance of non-diegetic music, when the three men finally prostrate themselves before the mother and child, and the family's private life takes on monumental significance." (O'Brien 2011: 109-110)

It is this moment that most captures "the tradition of Dreyer, Rossellini [and] Pasolini" as the director intended. (Hughes) It's an understated moment that rather than relying on pomp, ceremony, a powerful soundtrack and over-wrought acting performances is built on the slow realism of al that has gone before it. It not only brings to mind the climaxes of Dreyer's Ordet (The Word, 1955), Rossellini's Viaggio in Italia (Journey to Italy, 1954) and the moment when Christ is removed from the cross in Pasolini's Il vangelo secondo Matteo (Gospel According to Matthew, 1964), but extends the tradition.

Part of the reason this strategy is successful is the way it humanises the three kings, going further than even Pasolini dared. They hide from the rain, put their quest on hold to go for a swim and they even seem to get lost at one point. They even bicker over which way to go, each trying to nudge the others into making the decision so they can escape blame if the plan fails. Yet despite this, the film still leaves them shrouded in mystery. We know not what motivates them and drives them on their pilgrimage, yet somehow the characters are very engaging.

Serra also sees something "absurd" in the characters' mission.

All of the ideology, what Jesus means, we added later. We’re talking about the pioneers. Just three men who probably feel stupid, you know? They don’t know why they are going to see this child, or where they’re going, or how long it will take. They’re following a star to find a small child in order to adore him. (Hughes 2009)

This forms an interesting contrast with the approach in The Nativity Story. Both films seek to inject humour by portraying three men who have come to be known as wise, acting like ordinary people. Yet in Birdsong this is done without revealing a great deal about who these men are or stripping away the mystery; in contrast, in The Nativity Story, everything is explained, the characters are given names, backstories and motivations, yet both the humour and the attempt to draw parallels between us and them falls flat.

Just two years, then, after New Line had produced the first Nativity epic, this film becomes the first Nativity 'anti-epic'. A tendency that would be repeated twice more in the following decade in Little Baby Jesus of Flandr (2010) and Le Fils de Joseph (Son of Joseph, 2016).

==================
Delgado, Maria. M. (2013), 'Introduction', in M. M. Delgado and R. W. Fiddian (eds.), Spanish Cinema 1973-2000: Auteurism, Politics, Landscape and Memory, 1-20, Manchester: Manchester University Press.

De Luca, Tiago. (2012), 'Realism of the Senses: A Tendency in Contemporary World Cinema' in Lúcia Nagib, Chris Perriam, Rajinder Dudrah (eds.) Theorizing World Cinema,183-206, London: I.B Tauris.

Hughes, Darren (2009), 'Albert Serra Interviewed on El Cant dels ocells (Birdsong)', Senses of Cinema. Available online: http://sensesofcinema.com/2009/conversations-on-film/albert-serra-interview/(accessed 22/4/2017).

Moral, Javier. (2014), 'Behind the Enigma Construct: A Certain Trend in Spanish Cinema' in Duncan Wheeler, Fernando Canet (eds.), (Re)viewing Creative, Critical and Commercial Practices in Contemporary Spanish Cinema, 93-104, Bristol: Intellect Books.

O'Brien, Catherine. (2011), The Celluloid Madonna: from Scripture to Screen. London, U.K. : Wallflower Press.

O'Brien, Catherine (2016) 'Women in the Cinematic Gospels'. In: Burnette-Bletsch, Rhonda, (ed.) The Bible in Motion : a Handbook of the Bible and its Reception in Film, vol. 2, 449-462, Berlin/Boston: De Gruyter.

El Cant Dels Ocells (Birdsong)

El Cant Dels Ocells means Birdsong, but there's barely a bird to be seen, let alone heard. It's also about the three kings, but their royalty is similarly silent. This is perhaps the least monarchical depiction of Jesus' royal visitors that I can recall, including those in Pasolini's Il vangelo secondo Matteo.

Pasolini's film has clearly had great influence on Birdsong's director Albert Serra. The starkly beautiful black and white photography, the use of ordinary looking actors and the stripped down feel are all very reminiscent of Pasolini's masterpiece. There's even an angelic figure, portrayed by a young woman, wearing a white dress that looks like it was made from a sheet.

Yet Serra dares to go further still. As iconographic as his images are, he humanises the three kings further than Pasolini ever dared. They bicker over which way to go, each trying to nudge the others into making the decision so they can escape blame if the plan fails. They hide from the rain, put their quest on hold to go for a swim and they even seem to get lost at one point. They meander their way around the opening half of the film as if their only hope is that sooner or later Odetta will launch into "Sometime I feel like a Motherless Child". But this time she never does.

The film, with its long, static takes is reminiscent of the style of another great Italian, neorealist, Roberto Rossellini. Rossellini believed such takes created the most genuine films. Not only is the footage shorn of any artificial, and potentially manipulative, editing, but it also serves to remind the viewer from time to time that this is just a film. A reconstruction, not the real thing.

The result of the Serra's long static takes, beautiful compositions and minimal soundtrack is not unlike viewing a series of paintings in a gallery. Serra treat his audience to incredible image after incredible image, somehow investing each with such meaning from so little.

So low key is the film's aesthetic that the story's most iconic moment creeps up without you really noticing. When the kings finally arrive there is no crowd of curious onlookers. The holy family are on their own; their visitors lacking in an entourage. It's a genuine moment of earthly royalty encountering divine royalty without the pantomime that usually accompanies such encounters.

Yet for all it's demystifying of the royal trio, the film still leaves them shrouded in mystery. We know not what motivates them and drives them on their pilgrimage. And somehow the lack of an answer only drew me into the film more. It's very much in keeping with the transcendental style of film typified by directors such as Bresson and Dryer - the spirituality which permeates the film does so almost because of its meditative pace and lack of action.

El Cant Dels Ocells (Birdsong) is an incredibly slow film in which nothing happens. And I feel all the better for having seen it.

More on Birdsong

It was disappointing not to catch Albert Serra's El Cant Dels Ocells (Birdsong) anywhere last Christmas, and a further disappointment was in store when I tried to get a copy of the film on DVD for this Christmas. Sadly, despite rave reviews, the film has only had very limited distribution.

But seeing as it's Epiphany today, I thought it would be fitting to link to a couple of pieces on the film that might be of interest.

First up, there is a review of the film over at Cinema Scope. Then there is also an interesting interview with Serra by Senses of Cinema's Darren Hughes. Hope they ease the disappointment of taking down the Christmas decorations.

Birdsong at London Film Festival

The programme for the London Film Festival has been announced and amongst the treats for thos eable to attend is Birdsong (El Cant Dels Ocells). The festival has done a great job with its website: in addition to a neat summary there are also 11 stills from the film both in colour and black and white.

The film will be playing on Thursday 16th October at 18:30in National Film Theatre 3 and again at 16:15 the next day (Friday 17th October), this time in the ICA Cinema. I'm not sure whether I'll be able to make it, but the following snippet from Maria Delgado capsule review certainly tempts me:

Serra’s visual palette, however, moving effortlessly from Laurel and Hardy’s Another Fine Mess to Welles’ Chimes at Midnight, shows a film-maker effortlessly able to draw on the mythology of the past to examine what spirituality means in our present day world.

El Cant Dels Ocells (Birdsong) Playing this Week at TIFF

Back in June I mentioned a new film on the three wise men El Cant Dels Ocells (Birdsong) by Albert Serra. As I'm currently writing a piece on Nativity Films for the Winter edition of The Reader I thought I'd check to see if there is any news on it getting a general release in the run up to Christmas. Whilst there doesn't seem to be any news on that, it does appear that Birdsong will be playing this week at the Toronto International Film Festival as follows:

Tuesday September 9th 5:00pm AMC 5
Wednesday September 10 8:30pm Varsity 5
Friday September 12 5:00pm AMC 4

It turns out that the film will also be playing at the Vancouver International Film Festival where they will also be showing Waiting for Sancho - Mark Peranson's documentary about the making of the film. The VIFF dates are as follows:

Birdsong - Oct. 5th at 6:40pm - Empire Granville 7 Theatre 3
Waiting for Sancho - October 6th 7:00pm - Vancity Theatre
Birdsong - Oct. 7th at 1:15pm - Vancity Theatre.
Waiting for Sancho - October 7th at 3:45pm - Vancity Theatre

I'm looking to hear the reports of Vancouverites and fellow Bible film fans Peter Chattaway and Ron Reed in due course.

El Cant Dels Ocells (Birdsong)

Amongst the things I missed whilst on holiday last week (was it only last week?) was news of a new film about the magi. Birdsong (El Cant Dels Ocells) is Albert Serra's take on the story which showed at Cannes this year. Justin Chang from Variety describes it as:

Hushed, contemplative, but often quite droll, experiment offers beautifully sculpted images on a black-and-white canvas across its sometimes hypnotic, sometimes tedious runtime... Three robed men (all played by thesps with the first name Lluis) tread very, very slowly across a craggy landscape, bickering comically over how they should proceed in their search for the Christ Child. Grounded in desert dunes and rocky ruins, pic reps a profound attempt to locate the spiritual within the material. There's no disputing Serra's remarkable eye (some brief underwater footage is especially mesmerizing), though most shots, such as one that reduces the men to specks on the horizon, are sustained well past the endurance point. Absent any unnatural light, much less a guiding star, nighttime shots are impenetrable.

It sounds very similar to Ermanno Olmi's Cammina, Cammina which I reviewed last year (although perhaps the images are a little more refined). That's an observation shared by Peter Chattaway who's not yet managed to see Olmi's film. Doug Cummings is considerably more positive, however. "Serra has found an even more exalted and stunning sky-and-earth atmosphere (the rocky, volcanic heights of the Canary Islands substituting for the Mid-East desert) than he did for Honor de cavalleria". There's also a good length review from l'Humanité which notes Serra's indebtedness to Pasolini and concludes that with "its use of a wide screen, of static shots (with very few exceptions), this contemplative, sensitive film takes us on a quest for the essence of cinema, even as its characters are questing for the essence of something else."

There's not a great deal of further information on this film, even in the more Cannes-friendly section of the press. It's in Catalan and Hebrew and at 96 minutes is considerably shorter than Cammina Cammina.