Albert Serra sublimely re-imagines the nativity; documentarian Mark Peranson watches in awe. By BRANNAVAN GNANALINGAM.

THE NATIVITY TALE is one of Western Civilization’s most potent stories, and it’s rare for anyone to have grown up in the West and not have been associated with it (Christian or not). Despite being so familiar, the remarkable achievement of Birdsong (El Cant Dels Ocells) is that it manages to re-flavour the Magi narrative with new spices. Focusing squarely on the three wise men (or kings depending on how the tale is told), and portraying their blind faith as a secular, almost everyday one, Serra demystifies the characters. Instead, they are argumentative, confused, even jolly chaps, not exactly sure of what they’re searching for, but desperate for something.

The film is programmed in the new In Praise of Slow Cinema section of the festival, and it’d be fair this wouldn’t be a film you’d watch unprepared. Extreme long takes, moments of darkness and stasis, minimalist black and white imagery, and silence, all make this an uncompromising but hypnotic watch. And while Albert Serra perhaps pushes the contemplation mode a little too far at points to the point of banality, there’s no denying his singular vision. In fact the banality might almost be his point – spirituality becomes an ordinary, everyday thing – three men bumbling in a desert not sure if they’re meant to be doing what they’re doing – rather than a celebration of the sublime. That said, the sublime occurs when they finally arrive, made all the more potent by their journey that we had witnessed.

It looks and feels like Pasolini’s The Gospel According to St. Matthew, the film where a committed Marxist made one of the more spiritually moving films of all-time simply by making the focus the everyday-ness of the story, and the need for spirituality in an alienating landscape. Serra also utilises the austerity of the Canary Islands’ landscape to similar effect, the three figures cut insignificant figures against it. It’s like a one-corner painting, where the life in the corner of the frame draws attention to the silence and emptiness around.

THE FILM is accompanied in the programme by Mark Peranson’s witty documentary on Birdsong, Waiting for Sancho. For many audience members, this will act as a complement to Birdsong. However, it stands alone as a depiction of the filmmaking process, albeit a process which any producer would not want to see. Peranson played Joseph in the film, and is a Canadian film critic. He decided to film the process, and was granted access as long as he didn’t get in front of the camera himself. Serra focuses on the interactions between the actors, the crew and Serra, and Serra’s single-minded pursuit to create the film despite not really knowing how the film was going to be shot. It’s all very improvised and ad hoc, a fascinating insight into how a work of great beauty can be created through the everyday. What elevates the documentary from a simple ‘making-of’ piece is the beauty of Peranson’s images, a stunning coloured contrast to the film itself. The two works manage to show creativity and spirituality as something banal, as something everyday, all of which makes it all the more important and remarkable.

See also:
» In Praise of Slow Cinema: Birdsong