Fragments of hope: ‘Birdsong’ documentary review

I think it’s just such a beautiful thing to be able to step outside and listen to all of this natural sound; it’s all around us; it’s free.

Recently I had the immense pleasure of watching Birdsong, a documentary film directed by Kathleen Harris and produced by Ross Whitaker and Aideen O’Sullivan for True Films. 

This sensitive and beautifully made film follows Irish ornithologist and field recordist Seán Ronayne during a project to sound-record all of the bird species in Ireland, both resident and migratory. There is a lot more than that to absorb, though, which we’ll touch on here.

It’s likely impossible to not be moved from the opening scene, where the musical score, cinematography, and artistic direction immediately establish a caring relationship between the birds (portrayed with sound and image) and Seán Ronayne, who appears lit by golden sunlight. This care easily transfers to the audience, or so I felt. The cinematography also offers us the gift of seeing the birds in a way that feels intimate.

Seán visits a handful of significant places in Ireland, carrying recording gear and guiding the audience through the project: he’s typically looking for a specific bird species that should be found in those places. Or he may be listening to the whole rich soundscape, away from road and industrial noise – something, he explains, that is unfortunately rare in Ireland. 

Starting on Tory Island, County Donegal, Seán tells us about the near-disappearance of the corncrake, due to intensive mechanized agriculture practices; because of that, a familiar and frequent soundscape between late April and August is no more. Still, with his attuned senses and knowledge, he manages to find and record one.

Throughout the film, when a specific species is referred to, its conservation status is displayed on screen. The corncrake is, sadly, red-listed.

In the film, we also learn about Seán’s endearing obsession with birds and nature, particular traits of his personality, and the ways in which they interact. In an informal sit-down-interview, between laughter and maybe a little shyness, he bluntly says that he doesn’t “like to hang out with people as much as [he likes] hanging out with nature”. He also defines most mundane things as “stressful” or “boring” – and whenever he finds himself stressed out, he seeks nature, which “calms” him.

For many years, I have been hearing data about species loss, including causes of full or partial extinction of some forms of life that are directly caused by harmful human action. However, data alone doesn’t seem to effectively trigger people to change their behaviour or organize to demand change from local representatives, for example.

But the way that people like Seán lead their lives can motivate these changes. Others may be touched both by the way he expresses his love for nature and by his genuine charm, through which he brilliantly delivers a very necessary and urgent message: the factual reasons why Ireland, in particular, is suffering such devastating losses, and the need to act now. 

In Ireland, 63% of birds are currently at risk of extinction.

The sonic loss is a representation of physical loss.

There is a very important point in all of this, which pertains to Ireland while being far from exclusive to it, Our visual sense and cultural tropes can trick us into thinking all is well because all is… green. When I first started to chat with Seán, just a few years back, he told me how the greenness of Ireland is a fallacy. I was shocked. 

Indeed, as he explains for an audience in a talk included in Birdsong, an overview of the map of Ireland is “a jigsaw of intensive cow fields”. Ireland has “less than 2% of native woodland cover”, with conifer plantation covering over 9% of the total land – an industrial crop which is detrimental for biodiversity. And a massive 60-70% of land is so-called improved agricultural grassland.

In these talks, Seán is clearly able to actively engage the audience by splitting his efforts between sharing the wonders and abilities of the birds he has encountered – such as their truly impressive mimicry – and calling attention to the aggravated crises that these beings are facing or have fallen prey to. Despite admitting to some shyness, it is obvious that he has a natural ability to engage his audience via humor.

Sound is another way of caring for the things we are potentially losing.

Seán’s constant attentiveness to bird conversations, demonstrated every time he’s out with the film crew, contrasts with most people’s lack of awareness of the residents of the woods or parks that they are passing through.

He explains that he “can tune in and out of different species, like a focus on a pair of binoculars, or I can sit back and listen to everything”, before describing the function of some calls, which are like saying hello or how are you (in human terms). As he says, it’s “like another language [with] dialects. The dawn chorus serves as a message of ‘I survived the night, I am here, This is my area.’” And at night time the same ‘I am here’. Males’ songs usually function to attract females or establish and defend territory. 

Soon enough, we meet Alba, Seán’s partner, who shares his love for the outdoors, birds, and other animals. She provides some insights from their initial meeting, from which she understood Seán to be a little out of the ordinary: “He only talked about birds and wildlife, never about himself.”

Having specialized in autism for her master’s dissertation, Alba raised the possibility of Seán being on the spectrum, due to very specific and distinct characteristics, which led to him being formally diagnosed.

Those traits include his focus and energy, going “120%” into a current topic he’s obsessing about (at the time of the film, Seán had made 6,673 recordings in Ireland, 90% of which were of birds); the socialising that he has always struggled with; and a strong sensitivity to noise. “There is a constant storm in my brain, but I feel it’s a superpower.” The film does a great job of portraying this, showing moments where Seán suddenly stops what he’s saying to pay his full attention to a bird song or call.

Seán also guides us briefly through his process of analysing an incredible amount of data (audio recordings collected over a month from a remote device, in this case): by familiarizing himself with the visual representation of a given call he’s looking for, he skims through the spectrogram to find it.

We also meet Seán’s parents. His mother explains how, as a child, he spent a lot of time in the garden, with an insatiable curiosity, gathering feathers, and that this would “rejuvenate him”. At 16 he was already able to identify a great number of birds by their sound, his father recalls. At home, they kept a list of all the bird species seen in the garden – an endearing demonstration of the way that his parents fostered and encouraged Seán’s abiding interest in birdsong, a fundamental part of who he became. 

It is very common to educate our youngest children about animals, showing them pictures and infantilized drawings, or identifying the sounds of a few species. But, at a certain point, at home and/or at school”, that is curtailed – as if any other content is infinitely more important. In turn, that ripples out into a scary disconnection and lack of familiarity with the other animals and the plants we share our home with, each of which we need for our own sake (on a purely egotistical level). 

Having travelled around the whole country, Seán has come across a few spots that remain somewhat healthy and are good indicators of what Ireland could be, “if the attitude changes and people realise how bad and how degraded the general landscape is”. That would make it possible to “work out[ward] from these little pockets”: places he calls “little fragments of hope”. I couldn’t help but think of our outdoor places as a home: surely we would want to keep our homes healthy and lively? 

One of those little fragments is the Burren, County Clare, one of the very few places with native hazel woodland which road noise doesn’t penetrate. And indeed, in the recording by Seán presented in the film, the birdsong is particularly rich.

By comparison, in Glenveagh, County Donegal, Seán needed to request a permit and be accompanied by a National Parks and Wildlife Service Park Ranger, while a bird surveyor also joins them. The species they are trying to find, the ring ouzel, is rare in Ireland, requiring additional planning and detective work. Seán explains that these members of the thrush family should be present in all upland areas, but that, mostly due to overgrazing, numbers have plummeted. And they have plummeted gravely. 

I’d like this information to sit with the reader: according to Rob Vaughan, the bird surveyor on site, in the previous year, only one pair was confirmed in the whole country. Imagine only one pair of cats, or dogs, or pandas remaining – or whatever animal you are madly in love with (if not birds!). Imagine only one pair of humans. Is it even possible to grasp this kind of bizarre loneliness and precarity? 

Despite the title of Birdsong, the film also briefly takes us underwater, with its cinematography inviting us to be mesmerized by an almost pink full moon over the ocean in the Skellig Islands, County Kerry, almost as if keeping Alba and Seán company as they set up their recording rig, listen, and take in the soundscape and the vistas, speaking softly in reverence. 

And, lastly, a larger-than-life event captured in a magnificent work of cinematography, sound recording, and music and audio editing: a gigantic starling murmuration in Lough Ennell, County Westmeath, that is guaranteed to raise the hairs on the back of anyone’s neck. We can interpret it merely as a survival technique (it is said that this grand performance confuses predators like raptors), but thankfully our senses and our meaning-making tools translate it into an almost indescribably majestic event of overwhelming beauty. Let the lack of vocabulary for describing such a dance make space for an emotional response and a deep appreciation of life. 

The more I live and relate to the world around me, the more I think that curiosity is undoubtedly the doorway to fostering love and empathy, or at least the doorway to awareness of the valuable diversity of life that many of us have the privilege to listen to, to see, and to feel – sometimes even right outside our windows. 

Seán perfectly demonstrates this curiosity, which is what makes him such a singular person – and it is contagious. It resonates with care for and intimacy for the more-than-human world. For many nature field recordists, this is what we try to bring out and share with the rest of the world – to help foster a connection, to show the many complex, deeply interesting forms of life we share our planet with. Birdsong is therefore a gift inviting you to open your ears with curiosity and kindness. 

📍 Find out more about birds of conservation concern in Ireland 2020-2026

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All photos courtesy of Kathleen Harris

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🎥 Film credits

Director: Kathleen Harris
Producers: Ross Whitaker & Aideen O’Sullivan
Executive Producer for RTÉ: Grainne McAleer
Production Company: True Films
Editor: Iseult Howlett
Director of Photography: Ross Bartley
Sound Design & Mix: Paul Finan
Poster: Steve O Connell (Design) & Chris Maddaloni (Photography)
Funded by RTÉ and Coimisiún na Meán with the Television Licence Fee