The Tale of Silyan review farmer adopts stork in delightfully cockle-warming mud-caked folk tale

"Like director Tamara Kotevska's previous feature Honeyland (which she co-directed with Ljubomir Stefanov), this sly, delightful film is neither a pure documentary nor a work of fiction. Instead, working with non-professional actors and a story clearly premeditated enough to earn a credit for its authors (Kotevska and Suz Curtis), this blends folk tale, improvisation and mud-caked verite to tell the story of a contemporary farming family, the Conevs, in economically depressed North Macedonia."

"Sixtysomething paterfamilias Nikola and his wife, Jana, have been growing watermelons, tomatoes and tobacco on the family land for years. However, the wholesale prices have recently dropped through the soil, prompting a mini riot by irate agricultural workers who take out their frustrations by destroying their own crops. Nikola and Jana's daughter Ana decides to emigrate to Germany with her husband, taking their preschool-aged daughter with them, only to discover that most of their wages will be eaten up by childcare fees."

"A voiceover tells the titular tale of Silyan, a farmer's son who tried to abandon his family and was turned into a stork by his father's curse, and then returned to his family in stork form. And of course, that's re-enacted with Nikola himself, who alludes to a son (never met onscreen) who moved away years ago. When Nikola and Ilija find a stork with a broken wing at the dump, Nikola takes it in under his more symbolic wing,"

Tamara Kotevska blends folk tale, improvisation and verité, using non-professional actors to portray the Conev family in economically depressed North Macedonia. Sixtysomething Nikola and his wife Jana farm watermelons, tomatoes and tobacco as wholesale prices collapse and agricultural unrest destroys crops. Their daughter Ana emigrates to Germany, finding childcare costs consume wages and persuades Jana to return as a childminder. Nikola attempts to sell the land and takes a job at a landfill, relying on friend Ilija and video calls to bridge loneliness. Recurring macro shots of elegant white storks and a voiceover about Silyan weave folkloric symbolism into Nikola's personal losses.

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