Talking Shorts: Gods of our own worlds by Marcin Prymas

The text was created as part of the Talking Shorts workshop during Ale Kino! Pro at the 43rd Ale Kino! Festival.

Marcin Prymas reviews „Birds of Paradise”

Creating a world is no easy task. Whether we are talking about a difficult week-long construction project of the Supreme Being, flirting with the woman who has captured your heart, or attempting to build family happiness. Hungarian-born Polish director Tomasz Ducki encapsulates this fear in his short, animated, comedic parable Birds of Paradise, which can enthrall everyone, regardless of what new worlds currently await the viewer.

Between the opening credits, inspired by 1930s cinema, a bird resembling a hunched black stork ponders how it ended up here. We cannot help him, as we also have just been born into this new, rather incomprehensible world. Into the reality of pale emptiness, where the vastness of an ocean waits for the first continents to grow. The animal, trapped on a small rock of solitude, will soon realize that the construction of the Garden of Eden is in its hands – or in this case, its anus. Digesting the water surrounding him, he will first build a bridge to another bird, and then a shared island serving as a home for them and their progeny. However, every Genesis needs its serpent, the temptation of the apple, the birth of sin, and finally the crime of Cain.

Initially, the world consists of only three colors. The black plumage of the avian protagonists has perversely become the color of life; the all-pervasive whiteness surrounding them symbolizes emptiness; and the orange of their extremely vivid and expressive beaks embodies souls and consciousness. The arrival of the snake, in the form of a red polka-dot boot, changes everything. Titular Birds of Paradise not only learn violence (often slapstick, though some scenes are so creative and disturbing that they are evocative of the legendary Courage the Cowardly Dog), but also discover a whole spectrum of possibilities. Pastel colors appear in their world, and the camera begins to play with frames and points of view much more eagerly – originally the frame perspective was positioned statically, perpendicular to the action. This change is evident in my favorite scene in the entire film, the only one when the island is presented from an isometric perspective. Reminiscent of biblical golden calf, four birds are dancing around a shoe placed like a totem, to the rhythm of piercing cawing and – to break the mood – pelvic thrusts straight out of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. The whole ritual is watched with horror by the local Adam, or in this case Moses, who was recently rejected by his companions for not accepting the primacy of the new deity and his colorful world.

Most of the humor in Birds of Paradise stems from how imaginatively the characters are designed. Each bird has a completely different shape: whether it is a lengthy neck with powerful thighs, a mobile cube, or a muscular giant. Thanks to their homogenous black color, which makes it impossible to identify anatomical details, they constantly surprise viewers with their movements and behaviors. The most charming and heart-melting moments for viewers of all ages occur when the frightened or confused animals cuddle up to each other, effectively transforming into a cute black blob staring into the camera with their many large, black eyes. The highly symbolic and simplified animation serves as another bridge between generations of shared entertainment. Younger viewers can see it as Peppa Pig elevated to the status of art, while older viewers will notice borrowings from the Polish school of poster art, which the director openly admits to in interviews.

Birds of Paradise is a cinematic playground. In true post modernistic style, Tomasz Ducki has scattered blocks of quotations, cultural tropes, and graphic creativity, leaving viewers complete freedom to assemble them. Instead of an adaptation of Genesis, the film could just as well be a fecal comedy, a post-TikTok extravaganza of cute animals, a nostalgic trip into the world of late 1990s Cartoon Network series, or an infinity of other stories, private to each viewer. This malleable nature makes it not only good entertainment, but also potentially great teaching material for film education and for infecting others with a passion for the Xth muse.