Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) (2014)
Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) plays on the screen like a Fellini movie shot in English. With its bungled punctuation, the provocative title even seems translated, or perhaps it harkens back to melodramas from the 1890s. Mild spoiler: the misplaced parenthetical subheading is a quoted theatrical review written by one of the characters late in the plot. Birdman is pretty jarring at first, and it takes several scenes to get into its surreal style. I imagine this extended period of adjustment would put off as many as it impresses. Anyone who has seen Federico Fellini’s 8½ from 1963 a half-century ago should recognize parallels in storytelling, concept, protagonist, tone, and subject matter. That’s a whole lot of parallels. Both Birdman and 8½ are centered around an exalted artist in the throes of midlife crisis. Both men are trying to stay relevant and live up to the expectations of past successes, and both are struggling with their latest creative project. But 8½ gets more right than Birdman, particularly in maintaining its tone. I can’t come down too hard on Birdman for evoking an Italian masterpiece, but it stumbles en route, and that’s a shame.
While Fellini was working on his film, he taped a note on the camera so he could see it at all times. It said—in Italian, one might assume—”Remember, this is a comedy,” and therein lies the secret ingredient and the fundamental difference between these two films. Birdman has plenty of laughs but ultimately takes itself too seriously. With the story of a narcissistic artist nearing the final desperate phase of midlife crisis, a precarious tightrope is walked, requiring a good dose of self-deprecation for audiences to stay with it. If the principal character is drowning in his own pity for the duration and not all that likable to begin with, laughter is the gateway to keep us engaged. Everyone, on and off screen, needs to be in on the “joke,” or indifference will set in—and possibly repulsion. I find myself invested in Birdman for the most part, perhaps due to my love of theatre and backstage stories, not to mention Fellini. I’m rooting for the protagonist, but I’m also turned off by much of his behavior. The setup and surrounding characters are humorous to a point but also pathetic, grating, and mean-spirited when all is said and done.
The story takes place in and around a Broadway theatre (the St. James, to be specific). Riggan Thomson (Oscar-nominee Michael Keaton) is a movie star and household name, revered for playing a superhero known as Birdman in a hit trilogy from the early 1990s. Keaton’s own prior experience as Batman is the obvious art-imitating-life connection. It’s been over 20 years since Riggan last donned his “bird suit,” but he is perpetually tormented by his own raspy voice in the role, mocking and criticizing his every move. He also fancies himself with the ability to levitate while he meditates, possessing telekinetic powers whenever he’s alone. With his film career on the skids, Riggan has decided to write, direct, and star in a stage adaptation of Raymond Carver’s short story What We Talk About When We Talk About Love. What’s missing in general is a sense of folly. When Guido Contini has panic attacks in 8½, they’re often funny, farcical, or poignant, but when Riggan Thomson panics, he is angry, selfish, and vindictive, making me wonder why I should care about him or his situation.
The supporting characters supply comedic moments as well but are equally repugnant and self-centered. They take themselves as seriously as Riggan does, which is unfortunate. Emma Stone and Edward Norton both received Oscar nominations and deliver fine work. I’m not sure how much I should be amused by an attempted rape on stage in front of a live audience, or replacing a fake gun with a real loaded one, or Tweeting a photo of a parent’s disfigured face, hoping it’ll go viral. It’s ugly humor, and if it’s meant to be satire, the tone is off and a point isn’t made.
Director Alejandro G. Iñárritu presents Birdman in extended, (seemingly) uncut takes. While it gives immediacy to any film attempting this approach, it’s also botched here. These sustained sequences don’t unfold in real-time as with Hitchcock’s Rope or Mendes’s 1917. They often skip ahead quite abruptly. A long, involved tracking shot that follows a character down a backstage corridor and out onto a busy street suddenly jumps from day to night, or a lengthy scene during rehearsals shifts in an instant to a preview performance in front of a live audience. I’m not sure what the director is attempting to do here, other than experiment with various cinematic devices. Seamless shots in movies can be used quite effectively to alter the passage of time (see the iconic, slow pan around the sunken vessel in Titanic that ends with a fully restored ship), but combining this idea with a real-time scene is confusing. It becomes a derailed, stream-of-conscious narrative that doesn’t convey much, other than visual prowess. These leaps of logic aren’t limited to time; plenty can be found in the plot and character motivations as well. Iñárritu also utilizes a solo jazz drummer for a majority of the score, which is effective but agitating and annoying when it’s overused. I guess it suits the characters.
There’s one scene in a nearby bar that packs a resonating wallop, and it’s the best in the movie. Riggan encounters a major theatre critic named Tabitha Dickinson (Lindsay Duncan), who informs him that she intends to bury him and his play in a scathing review before she’s even seen it. Tabitha hates everything about him and everything he represents as a schlocky movie star. She despises him for trespassing on her hallowed ground—the world of the theatre. These two characters lock horns, deconstruct, and decimate each other, and the tone grows decidedly dark. Their heated exchange is more in line with the psychological sparring found in Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?, and it works quite well. Perhaps it would resonate even more if nearly every other scene didn’t also end in a narcissistic spiral. As it stands, the impact is diminished.
Overall, I enjoy Birdman. I admire the ambitious effort and the talent involved, but it stumbles so often with what it wants to be or say that I can’t consider it “best” in any respect.
Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)
Director | Alejandro G. Iñárritu |
Primary Cast | Michael Keaton, Zach Galifianakis, Edward Norton, Andrea Riseborough, Amy Ryan, Emma Stone, Naomi Watts, Lindsay Duncan |
Familiar Faces | none (no repeat performers from the previous winning films) |
Firsts | First Best Picture–winner with parentheses in its title |
Total Wins | 4 (Picture, Director, Screenplay: Original, Cinematography) |
Total Nominations | 9 (Picture, Director, Actor: Michael Keaton, Supporting Actor: Edward Norton, Supporting Actress: Emma Stone, Screenplay: Original, Cinematography, Sound: Editing, Sound: Mixing) |
Viewing Format | Blu-ray Disc |
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