Keaton and his doppelganger Birdman |
Birdman (or The Unexpected Virtue of
Ignorance) (U.S., 2014) by Alejandro González Iñárritu, 119 minutes
Nine Oscars Nominations
Actor in a Leading Role (Michael Keaton)
Actor in a Supporting Role (Edward Norton)
Actress in a Supporting Role (Emma Stone)
Best Picture
Cinematography
Directing
Sound Editing
Sound Mixing
Writing (Original Screenplay)
Nine Oscars Nominations
Actor in a Supporting Role (Edward Norton)
Actress in a Supporting Role (Emma Stone)
Best Picture
Cinematography
Directing
Sound Editing
Sound Mixing
Writing (Original Screenplay)
The film stars Michael Keaton (Riggan) as a somewhat washed up film star who once played
a spectacularly commercially popular superhero called Birdman some twenty years ago (obviously
echoing Keaton’s own role as the first incarnation of Batman in 1989) - an iconic role that both catapulted him
into fame but also appeared to hinder his respectability as a serious actor.
Now he is trying to redeem himself as an artist by staging a Broadway adaptation of Raymond
Carver's short story What We Talk About When We Talk About Love.
Riggan
is tortured by the voice and image of Birdman who criticizes his
efforts. It acts as a sort of belittling inner voice. In moments of agitation, Riggan levitates, literally flies, and performs acts of telekinesis (or does he imagine
this – this will confound the viewer). He is apt to destroy a room with his powers if incensed.
The
play is being produced by Riggan's lawyer and friend Jake (the appropriately neurotic Zach Galifianakis). Riggan is plagued with insecurities - not the least of which are
being dramatically overshadowed by a respected, if volatile, method actor named Mike (Edward
Norton) whom he has lured into the production through Lesley, his co-star (Naomi Watts); dealing
with his girlfriend Laura (the British actress Andrea Riseborough) who stars in the same production; and his
daughter Sam (Emma Stone), an acerbic, recovering teenage addict, who serves as his
assistant. This fleshes out this formidable ensemble.
Keaton
here is devoid of the nervous manic energy that accompanies most of his roles –
he is deadly serious and eminently worthy of compassion whether he is dealing
with the actorly rivalry with Mike, learning of a relationship between Mike and his
daughter, combating a particularly vicious theatre critic who has sworn to
shut down the production, or, accidentally locking himself out of the theatre and being forced to walk through Times Square in his underwear to get back into
the theatre's front door.
The
destructiveness of Riggin’s telekinetic powers serves as an apt metaphor for
the rage that simmers beneath the surface of a creative, sometimes thwarted, personality. Wouldn't we all like to smash up a room or two when we feel we are not
being understood or appreciated as creative people?
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