Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance), the new film by director Alejandro Gonázlez Iñárritu,
crackles with
unhinged energy, with manic performances and witty dialogue to spare. The film
is edited into a single continuous shot, like a play, veering through backstage
rooms and rooftop of St. James Theater and the streets of Times Square like a
surreal dream, from one absurd situation to another. We feel like we are in
conversation with people on the edge of their sanity, and in the case of Riggan
Thomson (Michael Keaton), past that edge. A washed-up up Hollywood blockbuster
actor who believes he has super powers, Riggan seeks artistic validation by
writing, directing, and starring in an adaptation of Raymond Carver’s “What We
Talk About When We Talk About Love” on Broadway.
The comic-book superhero avatar
of Riggan’s past success, “Birdman,” talks to Riggan as a voice in his head, a
manifestation of his past success and ego that is both sinister and comical at
the same time. Other side effects of Riggan’s unhinged nature include Riggan believing he
is throwing around his dressing room furniture with his mind to relieve his
copious stress. But Riggan’s insanity is relative compared to those around him,
and Birdman is truly an ensemble
film, with a stellar lineup that includes Emma Stone, Edward Norton, Naomi
Watts, and Zack Galifianakis. The entire cast brings performances that convey a
similar sense of desperation and mania.
Birdman is a cyclical meditation on art vs. commerce, Broadway vs.
Hollywood, and the ultimately arbitrary and subjective nature of opinion, no
matter how seemingly weighty. Riggan’s “Birdman” persona is what he clings to
because it’s how he defines and protects himself; it’s his most powerful
representation of his ego. Norton’s Broadway bad boy Mike Shiner is Riggan’s New
York foil caught in the same dilemma; A man so embroiled in the expression of
“truth” in his art that his everyday self is an artifice. It’s this symmetrical
expression of opposing sides that lends Birdman
such a satisfying sense of completion as a statement regarding “Showbiz.” Sam
Thomson (Emma Stone), Riggan’s post-rehab daughter extols the virtues of
celebrity at the expense of dignity, and how it can hold a power when one
remains egoless. This is contrast to the dead-eyed New York Times theater critic
Tabitha (Lindsey Duncan), who chides Riggan for being a mere celebrity trying
in vain to be a true artist.
If ignorance is bliss, then Birdman is about a group of confused
people trying to find that bliss, to give up the burden of thinking they know
the truth about themselves, or anything else for that matter. Riggan’s ex-wife Sylvia
(Amy Ryan) says he’s mistaken love for admiration. Riggan seeks to gain back
that admiration, thinking he’s finally finding love that he actually never really lost, revealing
something absolute in the face of fickle fame and fortune.
It’s the energy of the
performances that guides us through the characters’ darkness, especially
from Keaton, Norton and Stone, as tortured souls who smirk at their own pain. Theirs are
some of the most powerful of year, driving a film that infuses comedy into a
story about a desperately neurotic industry. Soul searching doesn’t get more
entertaining than this.
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