Kestrel's Eye BY SOYON IM
Life and death, above and below.

A MOVIE ABOUT BIRDS doesn't sound very exciting, but Mikael Kristersson's
Kestrel's Eye may well be the most audacious bird movie ever produced.
Kristersson, who has been making nature documentaries for over 30 years,
eschews voice-over narration for this fea-ture-length work.
The Swedish film opens with a crisp, wintry scene, the camera lingering over
several details: A man sweeps snow off a sidewalk; bare trees surround an old
church; a kestrel flies over a field, then dives in for its catch. With fresh
food in its beak, it returns to the church tower where it makes its nest.

KESTREL'S EYE
directed by Mikael Kristersson
runs February 18-24 at Grand Illusion

Acting as his own cinematographer, Kristersson films these predators at a
marvelously close range. We're right there as they eat a mouse after tearing
off its head. We even watch them mate: There's some squawking for a few
seconds, and the male--not one for cuddling--takes off. Later, we're inches
behind the female's plumage when she lays her eggs. If the birds were ever
bothered by the camera, they apparently got used to it.
While the kestrels hunt, eat, and make babies, we're shown the activities
below from their viewpoint. Winter turns to spring, and snow is replaced by
new grass and daffodils. Once in a while, joggers turn up. Interestingly,
most of the human scenes concern the graveyard next to the tower. We see
caretakers--mostly elderly--tending to the plots, sweeping dirt, and watering
flowers. It's a poignant juxtaposition of the vigorous life of the birds and
the human preoccupation with death, and it makes one expect the movie will
end with the hatching of the kestrels' eggs.
Yet the film drags on, following the growth of the young fledglings. Their
yellow fuzz turns light gray, then dark and clumpy, like lint balls you find
in the clothes dryer. In one remarkable scene, the mother is so busy feeding
her young that she hardly notices another egg hatching. We watch a pink, bald
thing struggling underneath its cracked shell for nearly a minute before the
mother sees it. That the director entrusts his audience to remain focused on
his virtually silent film is a bold testament of his faith in the visual
medium. However, at 86 minutes, Kestrel's Eye runs too long. Some may find
the film poetic and meditative, but also a test of patience after the first
hour.

>From the Seattle Weekly
http://www.seattleweekly.com/features/0007/film-im.shtml


Didi Anstett
mailto: didianstet at aol.com