DIRECTOR: Tamara Kotevska
STARRING: Documentary
RUNNING TIME: 1 hr 21 minutes
LANGUAGE: Macedonian
PLOT: Inspired by the folk tale of Silyan, a boy who transforms into a stork after quarreling with his father and leaves home. The film tells the story of a farmer’s bond with a white stork.
GENRE: Drama
FILMING LOCATION: Cesinovo, North Macedonia
To check out all previous submissions for North Macedonia, click HERE.
STARRING: Documentary
RUNNING TIME: 1 hr 21 minutes
LANGUAGE: Macedonian
PLOT: Inspired by the folk tale of Silyan, a boy who transforms into a stork after quarreling with his father and leaves home. The film tells the story of a farmer’s bond with a white stork.
GENRE: Drama
FILMING LOCATION: Cesinovo, North Macedonia
To check out all previous submissions for North Macedonia, click HERE.
FILM REVIEW:
(This review contains spoilers.)
“My heart aches, because I cursed my own son, and I lost him."
Folk tales often carry within them the quiet weight of generations, and The Tale of Silyan reimagines one such legend with striking intimacy. The story of the boy who becomes a stork after clashing with his father is not simply retold, but refracted through the life of a present-day farmer whose world collides with the arrival of a lone white stork. Rather than treating myth as distant, the film brings it down into the soil, barns, and silences of rural life, blurring the line between folklore and lived reality.
The film resists spectacle, choosing instead a rhythm that mirrors the cycles of nature itself, slow mornings, restless skies, and long stretches where human and bird watch one another with equal curiosity. The farmer is not drawn as a symbol, but as a man grappling with loneliness and the memory of words once spoken in anger. His relationship with the stork, fragile at first, becomes layered with tenderness and unease, as if he is seeing a reflection of something lost long ago. This subtlety is where the film finds its power.
The film’s allure lies in the way it invites the audience to decide for themselves what the stork truly represents. At times it feels like a literal bird, an uninvited guest testing the farmer’s patience. At other times, it carries the aura of Silyan himself, a reminder of the wounds we carry when pride overtakes love. The director never forces an answer, instead weaving ambiguity into every encounter. This openness allows the film to be both a personal story and a meditation on how myths continue to live in us, whether we name them or not.
The film is not only about a farmer and a bird, but about reconciliation with the past and the possibility of grace after rupture. By evoking the tale of Silyan while keeping the story grounded in human struggle, it asks what happens when anger gives way to estrangement and whether love can return in unexpected forms. In the quiet presence of the stork, the farmer finds what many of us long for: a chance to say the unspoken, to forgive, and to be forgiven.
(This review contains spoilers.)
“My heart aches, because I cursed my own son, and I lost him."
Folk tales often carry within them the quiet weight of generations, and The Tale of Silyan reimagines one such legend with striking intimacy. The story of the boy who becomes a stork after clashing with his father is not simply retold, but refracted through the life of a present-day farmer whose world collides with the arrival of a lone white stork. Rather than treating myth as distant, the film brings it down into the soil, barns, and silences of rural life, blurring the line between folklore and lived reality.
The film resists spectacle, choosing instead a rhythm that mirrors the cycles of nature itself, slow mornings, restless skies, and long stretches where human and bird watch one another with equal curiosity. The farmer is not drawn as a symbol, but as a man grappling with loneliness and the memory of words once spoken in anger. His relationship with the stork, fragile at first, becomes layered with tenderness and unease, as if he is seeing a reflection of something lost long ago. This subtlety is where the film finds its power.
The film’s allure lies in the way it invites the audience to decide for themselves what the stork truly represents. At times it feels like a literal bird, an uninvited guest testing the farmer’s patience. At other times, it carries the aura of Silyan himself, a reminder of the wounds we carry when pride overtakes love. The director never forces an answer, instead weaving ambiguity into every encounter. This openness allows the film to be both a personal story and a meditation on how myths continue to live in us, whether we name them or not.
The film is not only about a farmer and a bird, but about reconciliation with the past and the possibility of grace after rupture. By evoking the tale of Silyan while keeping the story grounded in human struggle, it asks what happens when anger gives way to estrangement and whether love can return in unexpected forms. In the quiet presence of the stork, the farmer finds what many of us long for: a chance to say the unspoken, to forgive, and to be forgiven.
