The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill
Y
Feb 9, 2005
This review was written for the theatrical release of "The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill."
SAN FRANCISCO -- There are few things more primal than the bond between man and beast or, in the case of "The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill," the tender interdependency between man and bird. This genuinely sweet, beautifully constructed documentary from Pelican Media that opens today in San Francisco, where it was shot, has strong art house potential. Good word-of-mouth and support from critics could make the film a sleeper hit.
Filmmaker Judy Irving, whose previous documentaries addressed environmental concerns, focuses here on the personal rather than the global. The subject of her film, Mark Bittner, is a free spirit and sometime musician who spent most of his past 26 years on the streets of San Francisco's legendary North Beach, where he was largely dependent on the kindness of strangers, odd jobs and, occasionally, free rent. Bittner is a brawny, gentle man with a waist-length ponytail whose spiritual quest for meaning takes flight and finds direction through his relationship with a flock of wild cherry-headed parrots.
Legend has it they escaped from a South American cargo ship or a pet shop, depending on who is telling the story, and ended up congregating in the lush "jungles" of Telegraph Hill, an old neighborhood high above the city with spectacular views of the San Francisco Bay.
Over the years, Bittner fed the parrots, nursed them when sick or injured and gave them names. He came to love these wild creatures, distinct individuals with their own frailties and eccentricities. One, aptly called Mingus, bobs his head in time to Bittner's blues guitar riffs.
Circumstances force him to move and leave his beloved parrots behind. His farewells, which are wrenching, will earn tears from all but the most hardhearted in the audience. To her credit, Irving steers clear of easy sentimentality. Her restraint, coupled with crisp cinematography and Chris Michie's original score, results in a spare narrative without a superfluous frame.
On another level, "Wild Parrots" is a nostalgic tale of an almost vanished San Francisco, where elderly Italian ladies in alley bistros handed out free pastries and cappuccinos to those in need and Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg prowled the streets. Caught somewhere between the dreary narcissism of the Beats and the spaced-out hippies, Bittner finds his way with a little help from his friends.
SAN FRANCISCO -- There are few things more primal than the bond between man and beast or, in the case of "The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill," the tender interdependency between man and bird. This genuinely sweet, beautifully constructed documentary from Pelican Media that opens today in San Francisco, where it was shot, has strong art house potential. Good word-of-mouth and support from critics could make the film a sleeper hit.
Filmmaker Judy Irving, whose previous documentaries addressed environmental concerns, focuses here on the personal rather than the global. The subject of her film, Mark Bittner, is a free spirit and sometime musician who spent most of his past 26 years on the streets of San Francisco's legendary North Beach, where he was largely dependent on the kindness of strangers, odd jobs and, occasionally, free rent. Bittner is a brawny, gentle man with a waist-length ponytail whose spiritual quest for meaning takes flight and finds direction through his relationship with a flock of wild cherry-headed parrots.
Legend has it they escaped from a South American cargo ship or a pet shop, depending on who is telling the story, and ended up congregating in the lush "jungles" of Telegraph Hill, an old neighborhood high above the city with spectacular views of the San Francisco Bay.
Over the years, Bittner fed the parrots, nursed them when sick or injured and gave them names. He came to love these wild creatures, distinct individuals with their own frailties and eccentricities. One, aptly called Mingus, bobs his head in time to Bittner's blues guitar riffs.
Circumstances force him to move and leave his beloved parrots behind. His farewells, which are wrenching, will earn tears from all but the most hardhearted in the audience. To her credit, Irving steers clear of easy sentimentality. Her restraint, coupled with crisp cinematography and Chris Michie's original score, results in a spare narrative without a superfluous frame.
On another level, "Wild Parrots" is a nostalgic tale of an almost vanished San Francisco, where elderly Italian ladies in alley bistros handed out free pastries and cappuccinos to those in need and Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg prowled the streets. Caught somewhere between the dreary narcissism of the Beats and the spaced-out hippies, Bittner finds his way with a little help from his friends.
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