Birds of Passage

Birds of Passage (Pájaros de verano in Spanish) is a striking and fascinating look into an 'alien' world, a term I use here because this film is a deep dive into another time and far different culture. It could be another planet almost. The film is about events in the 60's and 70's especially regarding the Wayuu of northern Colombia, an Indigenous culture quite divorced from Columbia proper with a distinct language and customs quite different from the rest of Columbia. The English translation presented is always that they are 'Indians' but quite unique if you compare only to the Indians of America. If you look at a map of Columbia, the colorful Wayuu inhabit the peninsula that juts out into the Atlantic in the far north. It's a desert area in part but has green agricultural area in the hills, where marijuana was cultivated very successfully. This film is brilliant and riveting but has the drawback in our own culture of having subtitles, but deserves an audience beyond the multiplex. This great work of movie art retells the story of the Wayuu during the late 60's, early-70's, when Peace Corps volunteers were in the area and the gringos were looking for pot. I understand the fascination of tribal cultures from my own Peace Corps service in Iran, also in the late-60's, and the attraction to cannabis from nearby Afghanistan. As is striking in indigenous cultures, the family is everything to the protagonists of the film with trust in the dream world (literally), family tribal elders and the ways of their ancestors. This area had deep poverty before the exporting of the region's very potent marijuana to the states was embraced. The demand was fed by young Americans willing to pay top dollar for it. I can speak to this also as in 1971 Colombian pot was around in New York City that we called the "two puff stuff". I didn't know anything about origins of this marijuana. I did know a pilot, who had served in the Vietnam and flew planeloads of pot out of Columbia into the States so I had some awareness of the demand. There are better descriptions than I will make of plot details of this film here on IMDB. Not noted directly in the film: by the mid-1980's the violent Medellin cartel took over the Marijuana business from the Wayuu and their region descended again into poverty. The Wayuu people stepped away from further drug-related violence, as had been unleased previously within their clan groups who had run their region's elicit trade. I emphasize in my review the universal theme presented in the film of the undoing of greed and betrayal on traditional and humane values. This epic film ends with a 'war' between warring families or clans. This film is from Cristina Gallego and Ciro Guerra, who made the unusual "Embrace of the Serpents", a striking and hallucinatory Oscar nominated film, very highly rated on IMDB, but not by me. I didn't appreciate that film as much Birds of Passage. However, having seen this later film from this incredible team, I'll go back and see 'Serpents' again to give it another view.

Unlike any gangster/drug movie you've ever seen, Pájaros de verano (Birds of Passage) is from the same team that made the astonishing Embrace of the Serpent (2015), and presents a thematically similar narrative, looking at the disintegration of an ancient indigenous culture over a period of years; in this case, the Wayúu people of the Guajira Peninsula in northern Colombia, whose way of life is decimated by the marijuana trade during the 1970s. Written by Maria Camila Arias and Jacques Toulemonde Vidal from a story by Cristina Gallego, and directed by Gallego and Ciro Guerra, the film is thematically focused on the clash between ancient tradition and modern greed, and is deeply respectful of the Wayúu, with Gallego and Guerra clearly troubled by the cultural losses concomitant with monetary prosperity. Partly an ethnographic study and partly a genre film depicting the rise and fall of a drug kingpin á la Scarface (1983), Pájaros strikes a broadly successful balance, allowing genre to inform anthropology and anthropology to enrich genre. On paper, it could be dismissed as just another gangster film, and although their adherence to the genre template does occasionally work against the story they're trying to tell, Gallego and Guerra have made a beautifully nuanced, aesthetically exceptional, and deeply lamentative film.

Loosely based on a true story, and divided into five sections - "Canto I: Wild Grass" (1968), "Canto II: The Graves" (1971), "Canto III: Prosperity" (1979), "Canto IV: The War" (1980), and "Canto V: Limbo" (1981) - Pájaros opens in a Wayúu village in 1968, with a ceremony celebrating the coming of age of Zaida (Natalia Reyes), which doubles as a courtship ritual. When Rapayet (José Acosta) makes a claim on her, her mother Úrsula (Carmiña Martínez) is unimpressed, because as a small trader of coffee and liquor, he is Zaida's social inferior, and hoping to put him off, she assigns him a dowry far beyond his means. However, he seizes on something suggested by his business partner, Moisés (Jhon Narváez), who has pointed out that the local American Peace Corp are looking for someone from whom to buy weed to bring it back to the US. Selling them the marijuana they want, Rapayet is not especially bothered that such illegal trade is frowned upon by the Wayúu, and he quickly makes enough money to secure the dowry, marrying Zaida. By the time we reach Canto II in 1971, Rapayet and the increasingly hot-headed and reckless Moisés are flying planeloads of weed across the border, and making so much money they have to weigh it rather than count it. However, as time passes, and the business becomes bigger and bigger, Úrsula warns Rapayet to tread carefully, but as the profit continues to escalate, so too do the tensions between the various players, compounded by Úrsula's cruel and uncontrollable son Leonídas ([link=nm9820632).

That Pájaros is aiming for a grand, folkloric tale of national significance, along the same lines as more traditional Colombian myths such as La Llorona or El Mohan, is seen in the fact that it both begins and ends with a blind bard narrating the events. Taken directly from the Homeric tradition, the presence of this figure immediately indicates the kind of story this is.

Aesthetically, although not as striking as Embrace of the Serpent, Pájaros still looks fantastic. Cinematographer David Gallego does a fantastic job of capturing the vast openness of the desert, with exquisitely composed shots that make full use of the 2.35:1 format, often dwarfing the characters against the immensity of the desert background. In terms of performances, Carmiña Martínez is the standout, tapping into the similarities between Úrsula and the queen in any number of Greek tragedies, someone whose beliefs are grounded in ethics, but who is on a preordained path of tragedy from which she cannot escape. And just as the gods were indifferent to the suffering of Euripides's Medea and Sophocles's Electra, so too are the deities of the Wayúu.

Throughout the film, the economy of Gallego and Guerra's visual language is striking. For example, early on, Rapayet, Zaida, and Úrsula are all shown living in small thatched huts made of stone and wood. Later, however, they live in in a heavily guarded sprawling modernist mansion in the middle of the desert. Another example is that, initially, we see Rapayet and Moisés using only one plane to carry their weed, but later, they have a fleet of planes at their command, telling us in one shot how much the scale of their operation has increased.

Although they remain within the parameters of the crime drama, depicting the rise and fall of a gangster, Guerra and Gallego are more concerned with the impact of the drug trade on the Wayúu than the drug trade itself. Uninterested in going into detail about the logistics of Rapayet's operation, they instead use the genre template as a platform from which to examine the clash between the ancient local traditions of the Wayúu and the ubiquitous and corruptive nature of monetary accruement as found in the twentieth-century world at large. The Wayúu are proud of how deep their customs run and how long they have maintained them, but their nonconformist and isolationist ideology has never faced anything as insidious as the avarice introduced by Rapayet. Just how corruptive it is, is seen in Leonídas, a boy who has grown up amidst amorality, corruption, and crime, and whose soul is built on Mammonism and entitlement. In the film's most disturbing scene, to "prove" his manhood to his friends, he forces a man to eat dog faeces for a wad of cash. Nothing in Wayúu history has ever prepared them for this level of barbarism.

In this sense, Pájaros is fundamentally about the clash between tradition and modernity; codes of honour and reciprocity destroyed by greed, materialism, and mistrust. In depicting the society before the birth of the drug trade, however, Gallego and Guerra are trying to reclaim Colombia's history for Colombians. All a lot of people know about Colombia comes from films made almost exclusively by non-Colombians for non-Colombians (think of Americentrist films such as Blow (2001), The Infiltrator (2016), and American Made (2017)). The film thus has an anthropological basis, immersing us in Wayúu culture throughout. However, Gallego and Guerra don't need to go into detail about the ins and outs of dream analysis, the systems of hegemony and protocol, the exchange-based economy, or the specifics of why one necklace is sacred but another is not. We're shown enough to understand how these people live - the centrality of family, the respect for the natural world, the reverence for the dead, the significance of communal ritual, the importance of ancient customs and superstitions, and above all, honour in all things.

The film makes its intentions known in the opening scene, which is built around Zaida's ceremony, just as The Godfather (1972) indicates its main focus with the opening depiction of a wedding. Without any dialogue, the scene establishes the socio-political centrality of ritual and introduces us to the hierarchies and spiritual beliefs. This opening scene is contrasted with a later scene depicting a "second burial"; a custom where a casket is unearthed and opened, and the bones of the deceased cleaned and reburied. Unlike in the opening, the ritual in this scene is surrounded by men with machine guns; a nice bit of cinematic shorthand to show us how much has changed. In another example, after doing something to anger a rival clan, Leonídas is hidden away in a hut, and Úrsula performs a protective incantation. Leonídas, however, is unimpressed, saying he'd be happier if he was protected by men with guns. Elsewhere, a motif running through the film is the threat of a locust infestation, and when violence inevitably erupts, it's presented like a plague on the land, something that cannot be contained and that will blight all it touches.

In terms of problems, there are a few. For one, Rapayet is an extremely stoic character and very vaguely defined. He doesn't really come across as a person with an interiority, so rather than being someone who pursues things, he is someone to whom things happen, a cypher at the mercy of what the writers need him to be at any given moment. Along these lines, Zaida fares even worse. Despite the opening scene suggesting her centrality to the narrative, once she and Rapayet are married, she essentially becomes a background extra.

These few issues notwithstanding, Pájaros de verano is an exceptional film about the clash between the old and new worlds. A melancholy corrective to films such as Loving Pablo (2017) and shows such as Narcos (2015), it tells a story of a traditional culture decimated by greed. Making a powerful statement about what has been lost, by and large, Gallego and Guerra handle the integration of ethnographic study and genre film very well, with the movie as a whole serving as an excellent example of how talented filmmakers can use genre to serve their own thematic ends without necessarily making a genre film. Neither a thriller with some local details thrown on top nor a documentary with a manufactured dramatic structure, Pájaros is compelling and heartfelt throughout. The sense of detail, the cultural specificity, and the tragic inevitability of the story serve to fuse the socio-political, the ethnographic, and the thriller into a whole that is unlike any drug film you're likely to see.

Birds of Paradise takes a familiar subject, the Colombian drug scene in the '60's and '70's, and makes it into a watchable Godfather saga. Family is the center of the action leading to, you guessed it, warring drug kingdoms. The cinematography is lush, the actors authentic, and the themes eternal.

The stuff that makes the world happy, weed, comes down from the mountains to the small airplanes, which fly north to the US, a pleased customer bringing prosperity to otherwise impoverished Colombians. Marriage promises families forever linked until capitalism, not communism, rends even the strongest familial ties.

The five "cantos" embrace happiness and misery in equal measure: wild grass, the graves, prosperity, the war, and limbo. The coming out party of gorgeous Zaida (Natalia Reyes) presages a bright future for her Wayuu tribe with a blazing-red silk dress and stunning face paint. However, the imposing mother Ursula (Carmina Martinez) demands an expensive dowry that suitor Rapayet (Jose Acosta) might have difficulty offering. This matriarch gives the lie to any theory that Latino culture is purely patriarchal.

Ambition leads to drug running, family feuding, and temporary wealth. The riches are embodied in the colorful fabrics that are flamboyant and garish at the same time. The dark downfalls could be written about anywhere.

Birds of Passage is an engaging and beautiful gloss on the effects of tribalism and the corruptions of wealth and power, exacerbated by the obsession with the belief in family to die for at all costs. It is a glowing and menacing reprise of the Colombian Corleone days set amongst the indigenous Wayuu, for whom only a few moments are in paradise.

Greetings again from the darkness. It's not unusual for movies to "trick" us into embracing a drug dealer, and even kind of rooting for them - despite the near universal condemnation of such folks when we are outside of a dark theatre. Co-directors Cristina Gallego and Ciro Guerra were the producer and director behind the Oscar nominated EMBRACE OF THE SERPANT (2015) about an Amazon tribe striving to hold tight to their way of life despite outside interference. This time out, they focus on the rural Guajira territory of Columbia, with its desert conditions and villagers committed to their own traditions.

The film is based on a true story and covers the time period of 1960-1980, and is separated by chapter titles that include the year and a hint of what's to follow. We first see Zaida (Natalia Reyes) as a girl in confinement as she prepares to be introduced as a woman to the villagers. This is one of the more elaborate rituals of the village, and it leads to Rapayet (Jose Acosta) asking for Zaida's hand in marriage. Her mother Ursula, a respected village elder, sets the dowry at what she believes in an unattainable level for Rapayet: 30 goats, 20 cows, and 5 necklaces. Ursula has unwittingly set off a chain of events that eventually brings the family money, power, and tragedy. How can a few goats and cows cause this? Well, when one is poor and needs to quickly assemble a large dowry, what better way than to enter the drug trade? And that's exactly what Rapayet does.

Rapayet's friend and partner in the coffee trading business, Moises (Jhon Narvaez), joins him in the transition of careers, and while Rapayet is content to build his empire quietly and under the radar, Moises runs amok with the power and money. Ursula is respected for her abilities as a dream reader, and she's constantly dousing Rapayet's business with the cold water of her visions ... worried mostly about the safety of her daughter Zaida. By 1971, Rapayet's business of peddling marijuana to gringos is booming, and by 1979 (in a chapter entitled "Prosperity") we see the results: a mansion-fortress in the desert protected by guards with automatic weaponry (a sure sign that bad news is on the way).

What began as a look at peaceful remote villagers sticking to the traditional path of their ancestors, transforms into a drug war featuring cartel mobsters. Cinematographer David Gallego contrasts the beauty and simplicity of traditions with the danger and violence of new money and new world order. Leonardo Heiblum's score is a terrific complement as well. The infancy of the Columbian drug trade presented here conveniently places blame on the free-spirited youngsters of the Peace Corps; while the story plays out like a Greek tragedy, replete with mixed messages on revenge, capitalism, tradition, greed, and family ties. It's a rags-to-riches story that pulls no punches when it comes to the price paid for taking an illicit shortcut. It's a path that can destroy lives and culture.

This marvelous movie takes place in Colombia, within the Peninsula of the Guajirain, a sparsely populated and arid area, and mostly played with Wayuu autochthons. This timeless univers is characterized by a rather pronounced communitarianism, each village highlighting its differences with the surrounding ones, while the origin of these differences remains, as often, unexplained and obscure. Nevertheless, they share ancestral traditions, folklore and values such as honor and family bonds. Thus, during the first 30 minutes, we do not really know when the film takes place, until the informative and surprising appearance of cars. Thus, we may guess that we are in the 60s / 70s. A marriage proposal between a man and a woman from two neighboring tribes will be, by a strange combination of circumstances related to an exorbitant dowry, the opportunity to integrate the marijuana trafficking, which is a very lucrative universe while slowly distorting personalities. Like in a Greek tragedy, these families will ineluctably suffer a descent into hell, via the classical 'eye for eye, tooth for tooth' philosophy.

The film is visually sober and simple, but of an exacerbated aestheticism, with an unusual care about details, including birds. Moreover, the actors are excellent, especially the two main ones: José Acosta (Rapayet) and Carmiña Martínez (Úrsula).