Made on a shoestring budget and featuring a once-homeless man who talks to birds, Judy Irving's ever-surprising documentary "The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill" turns out to be that rarity: a movie that makes its audience happier for having seen it.

San Francisco filmmaker Irving had originally planned to make a short film about Mark Bittner, a sunny-faced, wispy-haired former street musician (and former Seattleite) whose sole purpose in life appeared to be feeding and nurturing the flock of wild parrots who inhabit his Telegraph Hill neighborhood. A drifter who'd been living rent-free for years, Bittner seemed to find peace among his feathered friends, giving them names and observing their personalities. No one is quite sure how these non-native birds converged here (Former pets whose owners couldn't keep them? Escapees from a pet store?). And so Bittner and his flock became minor celebrities in the City by the Bay, with small crowds gathering as he conducted daily feedings.

In the film's early scenes, you can see why Irving at first thought she didn't have enough of a story to support a full-length documentary. A nice man, some cute birds — well, OK, now what? But the tale of this Birdman of Alcatraz (as San Francisco newspapers inevitably call him) quickly turns out to be about something larger: how a loner searching for meaning in his life found it through a bond with animals, which in turn led him to a renewed acquaintance with the human world.

At the beginning of the film, Bittner seems likable but eccentric; he lives in a cottage so small that dishes are stacked on the back of the toilet, and his elaborate descriptions of the birds seem a little wistful. One, named Sophie, is characterized as "a little French bird." "You can see her little beret, can't you?" Bittner asks. (Well, no, not really.) We also meet Mingus, a split-personality bird who likes to live in the cottage with Bittner; Sophie's partner Picasso (the birds tend to form pairs and stick together); and Bittner's favorite bird, Connor, a regal but disgruntled creature who sits separately from the flock.

It doesn't take a psychology degree to figure out why Bittner feels so connected to Connor, a blue-crowned conure who stands out among the cherry-headed conures who make up the rest of the flock.

Connor, we're told, once had a partner named Catherine. Since she died, he's had "some brief relationships," but he's ultimately a lonely bird, neglecting his appearance and keeping a slight distance from the other birds. (Bittner matter-of-factly explains that his own long, straggly ponytail is the result of a decision not to cut his hair until he has a girlfriend.)

A little drama is stirred up when Bittner's understanding "landlords" finally tell him that they'll need him to vacate the cottage where he's been living rent-free. Quietly, he tells the camera that he isn't sure where he'll go.

But as he packs his few belongings (stacking neatly folded clothes in garbage bags) and makes arrangements for the birds, there's a sense that his life is beginning to take off, just as the flock swoops away when he goes to say goodbye. He's since written a well-received book about the parrots, and the film ends on a happy note that allows us to leave Bittner knowing that he's doing just fine.

While the film is one man's story, the bright-eyed supporting players — charmingly filmed by Irving herself — steal the show. One sways back and forth as if dancing, as Bittner plays the guitar; one swings on a branch like a stout trapeze artist; another pokes its head directly into the camera's lens and explodes into what could easily be described as laughter. Looking back on "The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill," it's impossible to do anything but smile.

Moira Macdonald: 206-464-2725 or mmacdonald@seattletimes.com