NOTE: The below Blu-ray captures were taken directly from the Blu-ray disc.

ADDITION: Eureka Blu-ray (November 2020): Eureka's Blu-ray release of Václav Marhoul’s "The Painted Bird" is something to behold. Shot in beautiful 35mm black and white, this dual-layered Blu-ray maintains a high bitrate throughout the almost 3-hour film. The film takes up an impressive 43.5 GB of the 50GB Blu-ray. Shot in 2.39:1, every frame is rich with minute detail, even when in motion. Shadows show a massive amount of depth, thanks to the rich and varied black levels. Vladimír Smutný's cinematography is consistently jaw-dropping. Nighttime shots are even layered with nuance. The film is certainly going to be too much for some (it really is unrelenting in its misery) but this is a reference quality disc. Fair warning, if you put on this Blu-ray to impress your friends, be prepared for some of them to walk out in disgust (not unlike some of the festival goers apparently. Either way, bravo to Eureka for giving the film the bulk of the disc's 50GB.

NOTE: We have added 48 more large resolution Blu-ray captures (in lossless PNG format) for DVDBeaver Patrons HERE

The film is presented in DTS-HD Master 5.1 surround in original Czech dialects (with some German, Russian and Latin) languages. The track is very impressive and theatrically had a 12-Track digital sound. The film uses a mixture of languages, which the director describes as Slavic Esperanto, thus avoiding depicting a particular group of people. While there isn't much if any music throughout the picture, the atmospheric sounds abound, whether its a babbling brook, birds in flight, rainstorms, or the cacophony of hellish brutal wartime sounds. There are optional English subtitles on this Region 'B' Blu-ray from Eureka.

Aside from a stills gallery, the only extra on the Blu-ray is a real doozy. "11 Colours: The Making of ‘The Painted Bird’" is a feature-length (over 2-hour) documentary on the Herculean task of getting Jerzy Kosinski's possibly (probably not) autobiographical novel to the screen. The film spent years in various forms of production, went through multiple rights issues, and has had so many hurdles that it is a wonder it's not a Terry Gilliam joint. This documentary bares it all, and I can't recommend it enough. A collector’s booklet is included, featuring an essay on the film by Jason Wood.

"The Painted Bird" is a paradox of a film, shot with such utter brilliance (each frame is more or less a painting) and yet the story wallows in such misery that it is hard to watch in one sitting. The picaresque of the grotesque will not be for some, but if you can stomach the film, it is worth watching for the gorgeous imagery alone.

Colin Zavitz