Cannes Film Festvial, Directors Fortnight

Translated into English, "El Cant dels Ocells" means "Song of the Birds." Apt, since this movie is for the birds.

A pretentious piffle, this Directors Fortnight entrant centers on three crowned-heads who waddle across daunting terrain to pay homage to the Messiah. Resplendent in costumes up to the level of most community theater, or, at the very least, bathrobes purloined from a chain motel, the three not-so-wise men are neither smart nor interesting. They bumble along and spout absurdist observations. Unfortunately, these illuminations are faux “Godot” at best.

Similarly, the dim dialogue is complemented by dim visualizations. Often, you can barely see the three old coots, either obscured by rocks or the film’s fuzzy cinematography.

There are intermittent attempts at slapstick and forced mirth, but these three clods, are not, alas, even the Three Stooges. Although nothing of interest, either intellectually or emotionally, happens in this tedious journey, filmmaker Albert Serra prolongs his shots for abnormal amounts of time. Verily, this must instill significance. The aesthetic equivalent of raising the price on junk to make it seem worthwhile to the buyer.

Ultimately, our three robed men come upon Joseph, Mary, a lamb and a baby in a stone hut way. They prostrate themselves, take a slow bath and head out over the hills. Stay tuned.