Birdsong (2012)

Director: Philip Martin                                    Writers: Sebastian Faulks & Abi Morgan
Film Score: Nicholas Hooper                          Cinematography: Julian Court
Starring: Eddie Redmayne, Clémence Poésy, Joseph Mawle and Marie-Josée Croze

One of the common complaints about literature that is made into film, is that the filmmakers change too much, or leave things out, or otherwise tamper with the novel or story. I admit, I used to be one of those who complained. But at some point I realized that films are a completely different art form, and that filmmakers shouldn’t be bound by the constraints of their source material. Often times, when the opportunity arises to film a novel almost completely and emulate everything in the book, it doesn’t really work. Birdsong is an example of this. A best-selling novel by Sebastian Faulks, the BBC series is overlong and as a result, dilutes its drama to the point that nothing in the picture seems dramatic. One of the things film does so well, in the same way as poetry, is compression of the story to give it maximum impact. By attempting to emulate the leisurely pace of fiction, Birdsong is utterly unable to control the narrative in a filmic sense.

Film is an objective medium, which means that the only thing we can know is what the characters tell us, almost exclusively in dialogue. So, long sections of internal dialog where the character tells us what he thinks and feels in the book . . . become long, tedious sections of characters looking at each other and saying nothing. It just doesn’t work. If the screenwriter had made Redmayne keep a diary, or done some kind of minimal voiceover, we might have been able to approximate the novel. But no, it was Faulks himself who co-wrote the screenplay, guaranteeing those long sections of non-verbal staring at each other.

I enjoyed the book, and in many ways it bears a strong relationship to Atonement, based on the novel by Ian McEwan, both of which use World War I for the backdrop of their love stories and a multigenerational approach to the narrative. Unfortunately, even with all of that space in the mini-series, the author decided to ditch the modern section of the novel, much to the detriment of the film. Instead, we have even longer to linger over the two streams of narrative, one from before the war, and one during. Eddie Redmayne is an apprentice to a French manufacturer, learning about modern textile techniques. He falls in love with the man’s wife, Clémence Poésy, while staying in their home, and the two run away together. This is juxtaposed with Redmayne during the war, alternately guarding the tunnel diggers and going over the top into no man’s land.

This is a popular mini-series, no doubt due to the popularity of the novel. But on its own, it lacks the impact of a feature film, the compression that makes the drama so immediate and so powerful. The two leads, Redmayne and Poésy, are very good, as is the supporting cast. But floating as they are, awash in a bloated narrative in which very little seems to happen because of the immensity of the film’s length, it’s ultimately disappointing. For those who have read the novel, it no doubt will be enjoyable, the story familiar, the characters engaging. But for those who haven’t, it will probably come off as over long, which it really is. And that’s too bad, because Birdsong had the potential to be something great, but was simply overdone.