A love letter to thespian farce

Rating: 8/10 (5 January 2016)

I cheated a little bit here: I'd actually seen the first 10 minutes or so of Birdman before, but switched off for one reason or another. It certainly wasn't alienation that turned me to tune off: I had been itching to watch it properly for a long time.
Revisiting was a very, very good idea. If you haven't seen this Alejandro G Iñárritu (Babel and the upcoming The Revenant) beauty, stop reading this garbage and get cracking.
If for whatever reason you're still here, I'll continue. The plot is simple to grasp: Riggan Thomson, played by Michael Keaton (who of course played Batman) is a washed up action star who used to play the titular Birdman in a series of superhero movies. There's more to him than it seems though: he displays ambiguous signs that his superhero role may not have been an act.
In a bid to reclaim his stardom and financial security, he is running a play on Broadway in unison with Jakes, his lawyer and chum played by Zach Galifianakis of the Hangover fame. Galifianakis is on form, playing a more intellectual role than that he is typecast in, akin to his role in the excellent but short-lived TV series Bored To Death.
Throw in an array of extra talent, most notably Emma Stone as Thomson's troubled daughter and Ed Norton as an acclaimed Broadway actor drafted in at short notice to star opposite his girlfriend, played by Naomi Watts.
Each share screen time relatively evenly behind Keaton, stealing scenes in their own right. As the show's opening night approaches, with preview after preview performance, the pace of the movie continuing to increase accordingly. Characters and their story lines intertwine into a complex but very coherent mess.
There are constant shouts to theatre throughout, almost as though this is a play recorded for the silver screen. Researching online, it seems rehearsals were rigorous to get the flow of the film down to an art. The hard work pays off. The start is jarring: you're thrown in at the deep end, but you're soon up-to-speed and glad of your front row seat.
The cinematography is subtle yet stunning (it did win an Academy Award for cinematography as a nod). It's appropriately dark and moody backstage, and bright when the cast take to the stage.
Each shot is stitched together seamlessly. Every transition is sleeker than the last, often following a character out of one room and into another down the winding corridors of the theatre. It's deliberately fast-paced, claustrophobic, and a thing of beauty.
Solo jazz drumming is the only real music here, interspersed between each 'scene', the term used loosely. It's noticeable louder and panicked in times of stress, and soothing in rare moments of clarity. When the movie approaches its conclusion, the music reaches a peak.
The conclusion, whilst perhaps erring towards anti-climactic, is still a triumph. For a film that builds up to opening night, it doesn't disappoint. You aren't left wanting more. Every loose end is tied up nicely.
It's more than satisfying end to a treat of a film. But this is more of a film. This is a love letter to thespian farce, a worthy Oscar winner and a time investment I'd gladly make again. The only tragedy here is that I won't get to enjoy this for the first time once again.