November 16, 2023
YouTube screenshot/Little Echo Productions
'Firebird: Built to Burn' documents the Firebird Festival in Phoenixville, where a giant wooden phoenix is burned. The framework of the 2021 bird is pictured above.
Every year, a group of Phoenixville artists and volunteers spend months building a larger-than-life bird in the middle of Veterans Memorial Park. Then, they burn it all down.
These dual acts of creation and destruction form the foundation of the Firebird Festival, an arts fest held in December in the Chester County town. In the lead-up to the blaze, thousands of residents join a procession through the streets, shop a pop-up craft market and watch drummers and fire-eaters herald the coming show. When the 20-foot phoenix, the namesake symbol of the town, finally catches fire and crumbles to dust, all that's left is a collection of clay pigeons cooking in the ashes.
As the locally beloved festival prepares for its 20th anniversary on Dec. 9, a pair of filmmakers is debuting a documentary on the pyric party. "Firebird: Built to Burn" will premiere Nov. 29 at the Colonial Theatre and will continue to play there through Dec. 14. The film has been in the works since 2019, when producer Charlie Hudson, a Phoenixville native, took director Colleen Brady, who grew up in Bucks County, to her first Firebird Festival.
"Charlie was purposely very vague about the experience 'cause he wanted it to be a surprise," she recalled. "So we didn't know what we were walking into. But then when we entered the field...it was just such a fun experience because it was this bitterly wintery cold night and all these people were laughing and bringing their friends and family and crowding around. There were dancers and music, and it was just so lively. And then the bird went up into flames and it was incredible. I've never seen a fire that large."
The pair originally planned to capture the 2020 fest, but COVID-19 rearranged production. In the face of climbing cases and ongoing restrictions, the festival moved to a digital event, where participants were encouraged to share short videos inspired by the phoenix — organizers' suggestions included "make a bird shaped cake, flambé it and eat some of it." The filmmakers did as much prep work as possible over Zoom, so when the festival returned to an in-person event in 2021, they were extremely prepared.
Though many people attend the festival, its core team has always been small. The event was born in 2004 when a group of six residents decided to mount a festival to "support the art and cultural life of Phoenixville." The mythical phoenix, an immortal bird that is constantly reborn, quickly became the main attraction, but the festival also was designed as a showcase for local craft vendors and performing artists. Its organizers are extremely passionate about the mission, Brady and Hudson say, and welcome everyone with warmth and bohemian flair.
"They're incredibly interesting and wise people," Hudson said. "Henrik (Stubbe Teglbjaerg), who has now retired from the Firebird Festival but was, like, the main guy, his outlook on life was just so profound. And then meeting Derek (Wieneke), who was the architect and kind of like a younger version of Henrik, the first time... I went to a Firebird committee meeting and they both showed up, long hair and barefoot. I was like, these guys are perfect documentary subjects. They're so, I don't know, of the earth."
Construction of the phoenix begins in September in Veterans Memorial Park, where organizers and other volunteers gather with scrap and donated materials. The builds begin at 10 a.m. every Saturday and Sunday, running each weekend until the work is done. The bird is a bit different each year, but the outcome is always the same: It's gone about 40 minutes after the flames ignite.
This prospect might send some creatives into a panic, but not the Firebird Festival builders. The quick destruction of their labor has always been part of the bargain, and it offers a lesson about loving the process, according to Hudson. For Brady, the blaze is oddly hopeful as a reminder of self-acceptance.
"Because I first experienced it on this bitterly cold, dark night, seeing those embers in the sky, for me it was this beacon of hope and light in the dark," she explained. "The embers pierce this blue-black constant, and there's hope and renewal on the other side. For me, it had been a tough couple of years and seeing that really moved me, and even when we filmed in 2021 and when we visited in 2022, I still felt that feeling of things are good. Some things are different, and some things are changing. Sometimes I lose, sometimes I gain, but it's good. There's always going to be light."
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