Often, celebrity-focused films—especially satires— fail for one specific reason: they fail to make their comedy accessible to a wide audience. The woes and tribulations of a celebrity can’t be understood by anyone other than a small demographic, and sympathizing with someone with tons of fame and money is hard to make approachable. Even when it occasionally works, like Funny People, so many others fail, like Sofia Coppola’s Somewhere.
This is partly the reason why Alejandro González Iñárritu’s latest, Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance), is a revelation. Despite digging into the concept of retaining celebrity credit, this dark dramedy engages a universal translation of one’s own worth, family, and making the most of one’s life, to name a couple, in a manner which feels fresh and invigorating. As technically ambitious as it is narratively, Birdman is a rare film earning its hype and up to its potential.
As something of an American Dream-saga focused on someone’s third quarter revival, the film studies Riggan Thomson (Michael Keaton), a washed-up actor constantly living in the shadow of his career-defining role: the iconic superhero Birdman. After ending negotiations to star in Birdman 4 decades ago, Thomson is haunted by his actions, both in his career and personal life.
As a final hail Mary pass to regain creditability, Thomson throws his final savings into writing, directing and staring in a Broadway adaptation of Raymond short story, “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love” to prove to the public at large he’s truly an actor, not just a has-been celebrity wearing a cape and cowl. With his play constantly sprawling into a wormhole, his troubled daughter Sam (Emma Stone) always belittling him, and the continued discernment of the public, Thomson’s life is a wreck. Not making things much better in his life is the presence of Mike Shiner (Edward Norton), a temperamental Broadway star replacing a supporting actor at the last minute but continuously walking the line between making or breaking Thomson’s show.
Much like Shiner, Birdman is a loud movie walking a fine line between being astute and pretentious. Characters continuously are shouting long monologues to each other about heavy intellectual topics like one’s social value and self-worth in long, extended monologues. But even with these trappings of being merely a self-congratulatory life study, this movie resonates with intensity and honesty. Thanks to some incredible cinematography from Emmanuel Lubezki and editing from Douglas Crise and Stephen Mirrione, the majority of Birdman is made to look like one continuous shot. It follows the characters around in their sporadic journeys, but not contrasting itself to real time, thus giving a level of energy within every moment of the film that everything in on the balance, much like a live play. Even though, of course, everything has been laid out perspicuously.
It not only feeds well into the larger-than-life performances of the cast, but also gives a sense of spunk unseen in most films. This camera trickery is not showy – more so it plays into the movie’s advantage of being so free flowing and off-the-cuff. Birdman feels like an engaging experience, something of an unnerving odyssey of behind-the-curtains drama most never get to witness.
At the heart of the film, of course, are the performances.Much like Mickey’s Rourke performance in The Wrestler, or even Louis C.K.’s persona on Louie, it’s hard to tell how much of Riggan is autobiographical for Keaton or if it is purely fiction. The similarities Keaton and his character share—at least as far as their careers go—are undeniable, as are the parallels between what Keaton is trying to do with this film and what Riggan is trying to do on stage. Still, whether autobiographical or not, Keaton kills it as Thomson. Given more screen time than he has had in years, the actor makes the most of every second he’s on-screen, bursting on the scene like a bat outta hell, and one twice as angry and ready to pounce.
On that same token is Stone, balancing her character’s ferocity and vulnerability with nuanced grace. Also channeling this tightrope of frustration and insecurity are Naomi Watts as fellow actor Lesley and Lindsay Duncan as theater critic Tabitha. On the lighter side, however, is Zach Galifiankis, playing well into the movie’s balance of comedy and drama as Jake, Thomson’s friend and attorney who has as much on the line as Riggins does. As a toppling examination of inner struggles and personal worth in both dark and lighthearted fashion, everyone in the cast excels at this nearly uneven discretion of woe and laughter.
Even with four screenwriters, including Iñárritu, Nicolas Giacobone, Alexander Dinelaris and Armando Bo, Birdman does an impeccable job of retraining a rigorous sense of one’s pulsating voice. Even when subplots become dropped or hanging after the film focuses squarely on Thomson, the script gives every prime performer their chance to shine, which they all do in fine fashion. Much like a play, this is all about the actors on display. They all get to shout and cry and throw their hands around in good fashion.
Much like the characters, Birdman is flawed, but at the same time is rich in complexity and explosive in displaying its talent. In removing himself from his typical dour, gritty dramas, this pulsating film is the director’s best work since 21 Grams, and perhaps his most reflective film to date. It’s not only one of 2014’s most energized, impassioned and honest films, it’s also one of the year’s best.
Rating: 4/5 stars
