Has Alejandro Gonzalez Iñárritu reinvented himself through Michael Keaton? The director of films known more for their universally- connected narratives, ensemble casts and flashy but suffocating visual styles has kept only the flash and instead gone small-scale and intimate. Yet, even in reinventing his narrative methods, he has still maintained certain personal elements that keep one from being able to pin down exactly what type of movie Birdman is. At times, you may feel as if you have the rest of the film figured out, only for Iñárritu to do a near-180 spin that leaves you thinking about why and whether or not it works. Then again, whether it works or not may be a moot point when it comes to this director.
Every once in awhile, fate or some other external force graces film- goers with a pleasant experience by permitting circumstances to wed a particular actor with a particular role. Whether poetic justice comes into play is still to be determined, but few would be able to see the casting of Michael Keaton as a former blockbuster star attempting to reinvent his career on Broadway as anything but a marvelously innovative notion. Aside from noting the obvious imitations of art into life with Keaton's history as Batman, it is interesting to study how Keaton is able to unravel himself as an actor with more capabilities and dimensions than any of his previous roles have allowed him. He embraces age, the thinning hair exposing his round forehead, the facial hair sporadically spread over his face like vegetation in the desert. Aside from his brief tenure as the Dark Knight, Keaton has always seemed a marginalized actor; a familiar face but not noteworthy as a bona-fide star. This judgment no longer holds true.
As much of a revelation as Keaton is, he may have the dubious misfortune to be in the same movie as Edward Norton, whose interpretation of a method actor incapable of leading any semblance of a real life without resorting to thespian techniques is an astonishing triumph. Norton has always been understood to be a massively talented actor who for whatever reason has kept his talent to a smaller pool of roles which, nevertheless, have become indelible for many since he burst onto the screen 18 years ago. In some ways, this role mirrors his own career in much the same way as Keaton's does. Still, nothing has prepared us for this kind of Norton intensity. He is at once vain, empathetic, sweet and cruel. Such a memorable performance can be undone, however, if the film's focus becomes distracted and we lose sight of a great supporting role, which seems to be the case here. The last 20 minutes become completely about Keaton, yet our interest in Mike Shiner has only increased, leading us to be incredulous as to the conclusion of his importance. What exactly was it supposed to be? And are we supposed to ignore these feelings while following Riggan Thomson down his path of enlightenment?
If this sounds like criticism of the director's capabilities, it is more a questioning of his intentions. There can be little doubt regarding Iñárritu's talent as a director. Indeed, his ability to utilize the illusion of one continuous take throughout the whole film seems like a cheap gimmick at first, though eventually we become used to its effect, which is never overtly flashy or self- conscious. In many ways, you cannot help but be amazed at how much Iñárritu is able to fit into each frame, considering how often it fluctuates. Still, its actual effect will puzzle some viewers. What is its intended purpose other than to show off Iñárritu's ability as well as the intimate setting, in front and behind the curtain, of a Broadway play? Some have claimed it breaks down filmic barriers in order to bring the audience closer to the actors as they relate to their surroundings but the effect has little to do with its practicality.
For all its technical prowess and intense acting, Birdman at its most bleakly poignant remains a well-tread tale of a man who put his career before family and relationships. Such themes add nothing new to the experience of watching the story of a man attempting to redeem himself but Iñárritu's methods are convincingly overwhelming. One critic described the film as "vacuous virtuosity." If ever there was a label for mixed feelings this would be it, and Birdman would be that movie.
Every once in awhile, fate or some other external force graces film- goers with a pleasant experience by permitting circumstances to wed a particular actor with a particular role. Whether poetic justice comes into play is still to be determined, but few would be able to see the casting of Michael Keaton as a former blockbuster star attempting to reinvent his career on Broadway as anything but a marvelously innovative notion. Aside from noting the obvious imitations of art into life with Keaton's history as Batman, it is interesting to study how Keaton is able to unravel himself as an actor with more capabilities and dimensions than any of his previous roles have allowed him. He embraces age, the thinning hair exposing his round forehead, the facial hair sporadically spread over his face like vegetation in the desert. Aside from his brief tenure as the Dark Knight, Keaton has always seemed a marginalized actor; a familiar face but not noteworthy as a bona-fide star. This judgment no longer holds true.
As much of a revelation as Keaton is, he may have the dubious misfortune to be in the same movie as Edward Norton, whose interpretation of a method actor incapable of leading any semblance of a real life without resorting to thespian techniques is an astonishing triumph. Norton has always been understood to be a massively talented actor who for whatever reason has kept his talent to a smaller pool of roles which, nevertheless, have become indelible for many since he burst onto the screen 18 years ago. In some ways, this role mirrors his own career in much the same way as Keaton's does. Still, nothing has prepared us for this kind of Norton intensity. He is at once vain, empathetic, sweet and cruel. Such a memorable performance can be undone, however, if the film's focus becomes distracted and we lose sight of a great supporting role, which seems to be the case here. The last 20 minutes become completely about Keaton, yet our interest in Mike Shiner has only increased, leading us to be incredulous as to the conclusion of his importance. What exactly was it supposed to be? And are we supposed to ignore these feelings while following Riggan Thomson down his path of enlightenment?
If this sounds like criticism of the director's capabilities, it is more a questioning of his intentions. There can be little doubt regarding Iñárritu's talent as a director. Indeed, his ability to utilize the illusion of one continuous take throughout the whole film seems like a cheap gimmick at first, though eventually we become used to its effect, which is never overtly flashy or self- conscious. In many ways, you cannot help but be amazed at how much Iñárritu is able to fit into each frame, considering how often it fluctuates. Still, its actual effect will puzzle some viewers. What is its intended purpose other than to show off Iñárritu's ability as well as the intimate setting, in front and behind the curtain, of a Broadway play? Some have claimed it breaks down filmic barriers in order to bring the audience closer to the actors as they relate to their surroundings but the effect has little to do with its practicality.
For all its technical prowess and intense acting, Birdman at its most bleakly poignant remains a well-tread tale of a man who put his career before family and relationships. Such themes add nothing new to the experience of watching the story of a man attempting to redeem himself but Iñárritu's methods are convincingly overwhelming. One critic described the film as "vacuous virtuosity." If ever there was a label for mixed feelings this would be it, and Birdman would be that movie.