(dir. Alejandro G. Inarritu)
 |
| Fox Searchlight |
“People, they love blood. They love action. Not this talky, depressing, philosophical bullshit.”
It’s tough
out there for an actor. Surrounded by the pressures of public image and desire to
craft something meaningful, it’s enough to drive even the most confident of
artists a little mad. In Birdman,
Inarritu spins these pressures in wonderfully surreal, depressing, and comedic
ways, crafting a film that provides commentary on the Hollywood and Broadway
machines through a refreshing and sometimes opaque lens. Birdman follows Riggan Thomson (Michael Keaton), an actor
attempting to direct and star in an adaptation of Raymond Carver’s “What We Talk
About When We Talk About Love,” in the hopes to shake off the role of Birdman
that defined his career. Beset with issues from an egotistical, high-profile
Broadway actor (Edward Norton), a girlfriend who wants more than he can give
(Andrea Riseborough), a loyal enabler of a best friend (Zach Galifinakas), and
drug-addicted daughter (Emma Stone), Riggan struggles to hold onto his sanity
and idea of himself.
Michael Keaton gives a career-best performance as
Riggan, creating a complex character driven by naïve-pride, insecurity,
self-loathing, and a love of the craft. He’s a product of the bad luck life has
dealt him, and the bad luck he’s created for himself. While there are clearly
some similarities between Riggan’s career after Birdman, and Keaton’s after Batman,
this isn’t an instance of Keaton playing a fictionalized version of himself.
Riggan is a man who is unable to let go of anything, which makes him frightening
and unlikable at times, and comedic and sympathetic in others. Riseborough,
Galifinakas, and Naomi Watts all deliver solid performances that further
explore the pitfalls of show business. But Edward Norton and Emma Stone are
truly phenomenal in their supporting roles, each facing a different kind of
psychosis that make them wonderfully unlikable. Where Birdman really succeeds in its performances is not in creating characters
who are endearing, but in creating characters whose desire to be loved (in the
variety of forms this word means) makes them accessible.
Inarritu has consistently proven to be one of the most
original working directors, and Birdman
is wonderful to look at. Using only a few cuts, Birdman is constructed as a seemingly single long take. It’s tracking
shots get right up in the character’s faces, allowing them to fill the screen
so that every emotion and external shift is given power. Tree of Life cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki’s use of lighting and
color (particularly an argument between Keaton and Stone that’s painted a
sickly yellow) may be his best work yet. Birdman
is a reminder that the spectacle we so commonly associate with effects work,
massive budgets, and plot twists can also be the result of sheer directorial
confidence and skill.
The story is expectedly Carver-esque and many of the
themes in his short story come into play in the film. Similar to Darren
Aronoksky’s Black Swan, the narrative
being produced within the film’s story transcends the stage and plays out
through every facet of the characters’ lives. Carver’s story is an exploration
into the meaning of love, of whether it’s something that be quantified or
agreed upon and Birdman tackles this
issue as well, marrying it with the struggles of public adoration or lack
thereof. Carver’s story and Inarritu’s film offer few answers, but the film
complicates the themes by distorting what can be taken literally or figuratively.
Throughout the narrative, we see Riggan display a host of powers from
levitation, telekinesis, and flight. These often happen at his lowest points (or
perhaps highest if we believe Birdman is who he is meant to be) and occasionally
we’re shown that these are in Riggan’s head but other times not. While I still
remain unsure of what to make of these moments or the film’s ending, I suspect
that like Carver’s stories it is the emotions that we’re witnessing that outweigh
plot minutia. So my answer in terms of Birdman’s story is not so much what Riggan
is doing or how, but why. Is Riggan’s Birdman persona the absence of love or
the realization and acceptance of it? Perhaps us not knowing in the end, in
being able to decipher for ourselves what love means or doesn’t mean in this story is
the unexpected virtue of ignorance.
The film does offer criticism of the blockbuster and
superhero film genre (one I do not fully agree with, but find interesting
nonetheless) and the pretension that can exist on the stage. It looks at the
extremes of two art forms, showcasing the beauty and depravity of both. But the
character moments and humanity of the film is far more important that its meta
look at acting industries. While it’s at times too heavy, depressing (despite it being genuinely funny at times), and vague to be fully
enjoyable from a story standpoint (I can’t picture kicking back with this for
too many repeat viewings), Birdman is
driven by the power of its breathtaking, hard-hitting performances and phenomenal
directorial craft. It’s truly an actor’s film in every sense of the phrase.
Grade: A-
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