I can't imagine cinema without Birdman now.

Rating: 10/10 (3 January 2015)

There's too much context to go into for Birdman. There's the state of cinema today, the state of contemporary film criticism, the transformation of Alejandro Gonzalez Inarittu, the reliably spectacular photography of Emmanuel Lubezki, the relationship between film and theater, art and commerce, and Michael Keaton's blockbuster past. Birdman offers a lot of developments and comments on cinema and operates on so many levels. I'll admit, I love meta films like this. I'm not even invested in Keaton's career of his Batman of 25 years ago, but it's difficult to ignore the over-saturation of comic book films these days and how bringing him back can speak volumes. The film even makes a sly comment on the epidemic as they list of actors who've succumbed to the cape. While there's wry grit in its commentary, this isn't a bleak and mean- spirited venture, it's overtly satirical, and that's what makes it such an endearing experience.
Of everything that Birdman is about, there's two factors that resonate with me the most. One, a factor explored by Edward Norton's brilliant but out of control actor Mike Shiner and a more nuanced symbolic approach by Lubezki's gliding eye, concerning the truth in fiction. And another, one which propels the narrative and protagonist, artistic legacy. The complete subtitle - The Unexpected Virtue Of Ignorance - smirks at this idea, hinting that it's better to be unaware at your own importance in culture. Keaton's Riggan Thompson is in hot pursuit of redeeming his legacy, smirched by his portrayal of a blockbuster hero in a past life. In risking everything, the film presents a fascinating argument on the importance of cultural impact by an individual and how they're earned. It's funny, the power of these ideas makes the universal theme of love in the Raymond Carver play the principle characters are performing feel trivial. Birdman wants love on a grand scale, as per its opening quote.
It's no easy journey, jostling from bumps and bruises of his ego and motivation by disastrous preview nights, offstage actor drama and lashings from his vulnerable daughter. Keaton is subdued in this first hour, merely soaking everything in, yet slowly deteriorating. He's outshined by the whirlwind overzealousness of Norton's Mike, who's never been better or more welcome to chew the scenery and question everything. He's funny, abrasive and thoroughly profound. However, in the second half Keaton steals back the show, starting from a rant against the labeling nature of criticism. He bites hard. It's extraordinary and utterly disarming in a refreshing way. It's made sweeter by how much he's been knocked off his pedestal previously in the film. Every time he's stripped of his pride, the film compensates with giving him empowering feats of telekinesis in ambiguous fantasy sequences. In breaking the bounds of reality, it's utterly liberating and a stroke of expressionistic genius.
While Keaton and Norton lead the herd, they're supported by a fantastic ensemble, as expected for an Inarritu film. Naomi Watts gives a tender performance as an actress eager to please in her Broadway debut. She may overplay it, but it's utterly appropriate and all the more engrossing, especially when placed beside Norton. Emma Stone, who's going to get the bulk of the supporting actress accolades, is terrific as Riggan's daughter, toeing an emotional high wire with the boldness to tumble off it. Andrea Risebourgh, Lindsay Duncan and Amy Ryan give ample support but Zach Galifianakis gives the most surprising performance of the second tier, anchoring the film in his sincerity and deep investment in the other character's lives and careers. If there are any flaws in the film, perhaps it would be that it's almost too precise. Is this an essay or a story? Offering laughs instead of tears, it's a fair critique, but one deflected by how incisive it can be at its most relevant. Doesn't stop the film from being satisfyingly overwhelming.
Of course, the main aspect that sticks out is that one shot. Evidently still salivating from Gravity's ambition, Emmanuel Lubezki ups the ante. Yeah, he's the star of Birdman. It's fitting, this is about theater and there's no cuts. While it may feel self-aware, the film is self-aware itself so it's very fitting. It captures this chaotic and buoyant tone of the madness of the characters and the project, but without feeling outlandish. Antonio Sanchez' innovative drum score aptly does the same, often having the ability to snap us back into gear after a short serious interlude. It's all the ingredients for a delectable recipe. If any film can duel with Whiplash for my favourite of the year, it's Birdman. It's also my new favourite of Inarritu, a director I've loved since Babel which at the time was a film that really opened my eyes to what mature cinema can be. I can't say this touched me quite as off guard but it certainly articulates everything a lot better than anyone else can.
9/10