Made on a shoestring budget and featuring
a once-homeless man who talks to birds, Judy
Irving's ever-surprising documentary "The
Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill" turns
out to be that rarity: a movie that makes
its audience happier for having seen it.
San Francisco filmmaker Irving had originally
planned to make a short film about Mark Bittner,
a sunny-faced, wispy-haired former street
musician (and former Seattleite) whose sole
purpose in life appeared to be feeding and
nurturing the flock of wild parrots who inhabit
his Telegraph Hill neighborhood. A drifter
who'd been living rent-free for years, Bittner
seemed to find peace among his feathered friends,
giving them names and observing their personalities.
No one is quite sure how these non-native
birds converged here (Former pets whose owners
couldn't keep them? Escapees from a pet store?).
And so Bittner and his flock became minor
celebrities in the City by the Bay, with small
crowds gathering as he conducted daily feedings.
In the film's early scenes, you can see why
Irving at first thought she didn't have enough
of a story to support a full-length documentary.
A nice man, some cute birds — well,
OK, now what? But the tale of this Birdman
of Alcatraz (as San Francisco newspapers inevitably
call him) quickly turns out to be about something
larger: how a loner searching for meaning
in his life found it through a bond with animals,
which in turn led him to a renewed acquaintance
with the human world.
Movie review
"The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill,"
a documentary directed by Judy Irving. 83
minutes. Rated G (although parents of very
young bird lovers should note that not all
of the film's winged characters live to the
final credits.).
At the beginning of the film, Bittner seems
likable but eccentric; he lives in a cottage
so small that dishes are stacked on the back
of the toilet, and his elaborate descriptions
of the birds seem a little wistful. One, named
Sophie, is characterized as "a little
French bird." "You can see her little
beret, can't you?" Bittner asks. (Well,
no, not really.) We also meet Mingus, a split-personality
bird who likes to live in the cottage with
Bittner; Sophie's partner Picasso (the birds
tend to form pairs and stick together); and
Bittner's favorite bird, Connor, a regal but
disgruntled creature who sits separately from
the flock.
It doesn't take a psychology degree to figure
out why Bittner feels so connected to Connor,
a blue-crowned conure who stands out among
the cherry-headed conures who make up the
rest of the flock.
Connor, we're told, once had a partner named
Catherine. Since she died, he's had "some
brief relationships," but he's ultimately
a lonely bird, neglecting his appearance and
keeping a slight distance from the other birds.
(Bittner matter-of-factly explains that his
own long, straggly ponytail is the result
of a decision not to cut his hair until he
has a girlfriend.)
A little drama is stirred up when Bittner's
understanding "landlords" finally
tell him that they'll need him to vacate the
cottage where he's been living rent-free.
Quietly, he tells the camera that he isn't
sure where he'll go.
But as he packs his few belongings (stacking
neatly folded clothes in garbage bags) and
makes arrangements for the birds, there's
a sense that his life is beginning to take
off, just as the flock swoops away when he
goes to say goodbye. He's since written a
well-received book about the parrots, and
the film ends on a happy note that allows
us to leave Bittner knowing that he's doing
just fine.
While the film is one man's story, the bright-eyed
supporting players — charmingly filmed
by Irving herself — steal the show.
One sways back and forth as if dancing, as
Bittner plays the guitar; one swings on a
branch like a stout trapeze artist; another
pokes its head directly into the camera's
lens and explodes into what could easily be
described as laughter. Looking back on "The
Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill," it's
impossible to do anything but smile.
