Laura and I went to see Birdman today, squeezing a 1 PM matinee into a Tuesday afternoon. As we embarked for the theater I had Barbara Lipperts encomium echoing in my brain. As we exited, I found myself agreeing with virtually everything Barbara suggested about the film. Its a tour de force along multiple vectors. Writing, direction, and acting are superb. Just one small problem or two: I left muttering so what?: to myself, not to mention not having a clue what Alejandro González Iñárritu (the director) was trying to say other than hes a spectacular technical director, exhibitng more craft in a pico second that many directors will demonstrate over a lifetime. Perthaps this should have been a silent film. Iñárritu seems way happier with visual and technical ideas than he does about words and meaning. Thats too bad, because an exemplary cast (Naomi Watts, Emmma Stone, Edward Norton, Michael Keaton, and Zach Galifianakis among others) are a treat to watch, and I didnt detect a false step among them. Heres how irritating I found this film: I could write reams about the applied metaphors, about the sense of a moving camera so controlled and exploited, there seem to be not even one jump cut throughout the first half of the movie. The actors and the camera move as one seamlessly through space, through time. Its a wonderful thing. I could write another ream about Michael Keaton, who is a splendid actor and at the top of his game, but it would be in service to a lost cause. The movie might be about Keatons character Riggin Thomson, but I never cared whether he lived or died. I had a mild anxiety attack wondering if hed manage to connect with his daughter (Emma Stone), but after that.....meh. On the other hand, I loved every female character, including Lindsay Duncan as Tabitha, the acerbic drama critic whose malice makes the soul sing a song of chattering hallelujahs. I wish every female character well, even Andrea Riseborough in a thankless and short-shrifted role as Riggins possibly pregnant mistress Laura. Edward Norton is a stitch as Mike Shiner, an empty suit until onstage when his otherwise-absent phallus suddenly gives way to a suitably priapic presence. Only alive when on stage, eh? My, my. How original. Norton makes it worth watching, but not giving it one extra thought afterwards. This is movie-making made to match 1950s stereoptypes about Chinese Cuisine. 10 minutes later youre wondering if you actually ate a meal. On the other hand, they apparently made this film in 30 days. God bless the investors. Every dollar went up on the screen. Unfortunately, they forgot the movie had to make sense, too. Oh, well. I can always watch reruns of Last year In Marienbad.
Posted on: Tue, 21 Oct 2014 21:47:43 +0000
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