Uh Oh, Critic Says Birdman Isn't Perfect

Rating: 8/10 (6 November 2014)

Long gone are the days of Michael Keaton's Batman stardom. Hollywood has dramatically changed since then, and Keaton has found himself in a totally different position, replaced by new superstars to take up the superhero and blockbuster roles. Those days of fame and flowing paychecks have waned for not only the actor but the man who he intimately portrays in this black comedy, Riggan Thomson. Twenty years since starring in the Birdman franchise (ha, get it?), he has diminished into obscurity—hardly drawing in crowds for barely- constructed Broadway productions. That inherent feeling of self- importance is killing Riggan, the artist, inside with how far he has faded from the public eye.
If there's one thing Birdman's narrative is particularly exceptional at, it's the honest and cynical look at the sheer egoism and narcissism that make up artists/actors. You always need to feel like you're the highlight of the show—the one that gets the headlines and fan girls. But when the startling truth of your irrelevance becomes realized, an ego hurt is like a soul penetrated with a keen knife. Riggan is struggling to finally make that comeback and eventually leave the world with a true legacy. He desperately wants people to admire him and to remember him as the legend his alter ego—the deep-voiced, snarky Birdman himself—and he think he is. There's no question that this is one of those films that rely more on its performances than its plot/narrative.
Consequently, this is where mixed feelings materialize, but Alejandro Iñárritu's latest ambitious picture still boasts an incredible ensemble nonetheless that ranges from the greats like Naomi Watts and Edward Norton to newcomers who're still on the path to prove themselves like Zach Galifianakis and Emma Stone. Norton seemingly plays a role that also mocks his career and well-known personality. Whereas Keaton is yearning for admiration and respect here, Norton doesn't give two hoots about audience reception as he focuses more on his utter artistry and method acting ability, despite letting his bossiness and arrogance dominate the backstage production. Stone plays Riggin's daughter, Sam, who's a recovering drug addict but also frankly exasperated by her father's self-centered tendencies, constantly hanging around the theater with snide remarks.
The one-take, franticly intrusive cinematography—seamlessly continuous at least in appearance—plays another essential character that complements and strengthens the already-excellent performances with a fair share of close-ups and orbital shots, traversing through majestically foggy corridors and the tragically theatrical stage to the perpetual sound of pounding drums. Thankfully, cinematographer Emmanuele Lubezski (also wildly impressing us last year with Gravity's arrant technical prowess) refrains from distracting the audience with blatant visual showiness since the fast-paced drama of stress on-screen would immediately take me back into the story whenever I'd momentarily heed the actual maneuvering of the camera.
With that being said, Birdman is not perfect even though I hear the majority enthusiastically praising its genius and applauding it much like the easily-charmed audience that show up to see Riggan. A particular memorable scene in the film features a showdown between the artist (Riggan or Norton's Mike) and a New York Times critic (played effectively by Lindsay Duncan) as the two entertainingly bash each other with non-stop hurtful comments. It's clear that Birdman doesn't overtly respect the movie/theatre critic (it's unsurprising since many critics have had issues with Iñárritu's style over the years—Babel and Biutiful, for instance) as it rants with a fire about how especially entitled and unappreciative the critics are. Regardless of the wild generalizations and exaggerations made here, it keeps going and going with so much anger that the effect might either be that of irksome offense to the average critic or that of guilt.
Sadly and perhaps guiltily, to vast irony, this is the point where I have to criticize this work of art (oh no!) because Birdman does indeed suffer from issues I simply couldn't ignore—problems that left me with considerable dissatisfaction, angry at the film for not allowing me to leave with the same pleasure like everyone else. First of all—as with most of Iñárritu's work—the film is so self-indulgent that I practically could see it incessantly grinning at just how clever it thinks its dialogue/screenplay is, even though everything executed and delivered quite heavy-handedly. There's no sense of subtlety and calmness to be found since the story is essentially an epic boisterous tirade. Surprisingly for such a prestigious picture, it also carries with plentiful of immature, shallow humor ("this place smells like balls"), and personally, most of the dark comedy intended didn't exactly deliver—occasionally a half-suppressed laugh to be had. The humor overall either felt underwhelming in its simplicity at times or like it was trying really hard to be witty in other moments.
The ending was easily the most frustrating segment of this parade, being that it extended far beyond adequacy even though neither the narrative nor the thematic material was any more strengthened by the protracted length. Not to delve into spoilers, but the whole ordeal seemed like it was more so attempting to end on a positive/hopeful note rather than on a poignant, satirically startling shot that literally left my jaw open.
Overall, when a film exists more for its themes rather than a compelling narrative, that's when I usually identify a hint of pretension within. Even despite its magnificent performances, phenomenal cinematography, and catchy score, Birdman can understandably be deemed slightly pretentious and schizophrenic (with the way it tries to shove more and more ideas and messages into its already-bloated satire while bouncing back and further between them with mumbling enunciation).