Brilliant Performances and Cinematography; terrible movie.

Rating: 4/10 (13 January 2015)

This doesn't try to be humorous, but has a happy ending. Exactly like a Greek comedy. I was impressed by the underscored over-the-top presence of Jeremy Shamos; Edward Norton was so subdued that I almost forgot it was just Edward Norton reciting lines; Michael Keaton always shines so bright, but never gets to be part of a particularly shiny jewel; Naomi Watts reexplores the hopeful and grateful actress on the verge of making it, which she does so well; and Zach Galifianakis plays a pushy Jewish guy with a beard. All are so wonderful. It hurts me to see them in this Hollywood crapfest; the lowest art disguised as high art, challenging critics to rise above standard generalizations and actually say why something is bad. The standard critics won't: to do so would be accepting the insult the movie throws out.
Popeye: A foreigner comes to a land of phonies and is hated for his strangeness and honesty.
A Prairie Home Companion: A group of performers get ready to give their all for the final make-or-break show of their careers as a controller plans to shut them down for good.
Unbreakable: A fairly unimpressive man discovers he's a superhero and that a man he respects is actually a supervillain.
The Boy Who Could Fly: A developmentally disabled boy convinces a girl that he can fly. She has hallucinations (fantasies); and is looked down on by most of her peers except the one friend her mother would rather she not have. In the end it turns out that the boy really could fly; he and the girl take a suicide leap from the roof of the school.
Raging Bull: A man is unable to handle the psychological stress of being a celebrity among his peers and it tears his family and his life apart until he learns to laugh at himself.
Fritz The Cat: A catman throws away what his life has been, and explores the world and himself; in the end he grabs a stick of dynamite and ends up in hospital having an orgy.
Put the above in a blender called "The Hollywood Poop Machine", give it stellar actors and brilliant visuals, shoot it with gyroscopically stabilized directionally controlled steadicam with seamless transitions onto motion control dolly (a la, Robert Altman), give it a mindblowing percussion score by Antonio Sanchez, and insult critics that if they don't like it it's because they're just failed artists, so there won't be bad reviews, put it out through Fox Searchlight so stupid people think it's independent cinema, and you have "Birdman".
I happen to make movies. I haven't had the opportunity to succeed and so I am not yet a real failure at it. Therefore the threat to real critics who may actually have failed does not apply to me.
This movie fails.
There are little fails: In one of my own short movies people can be seen in the background who shouldn't be there and I wish I'd had the money to do a second take, or to have done the first take right.
In "Birdman" there's a "shot" where the camera follows a character into a stairwell; in the background, blurred, two naked figures run by. They shouldn't have been there. These people had the money to do a second take, or to've done the first take right, but we get presentation as good as mine. That's not good.
The filmmakers digitally removed the camera operator from mirror shots but couldn't remove two men streaking on the set. Utter carelessness.
There's a chase "scene": an unpaid taxi driver chases Michael Keaton, demanding remuneration.
There are middling fails: A video of Keaton walking on Broadway in his underwear goes viral. But the specific video that went viral on the first day is a compilation of all the videos of the event happening.
No.
Unless Keaton's lawyer, Galifianakis, compiled them and posted them as a single video, knowing there's no bad publicity, it'd be at least a day before the inside access spin machine gathered all the clips and snapped them together. It would've contained tags and captions all through it. VERISIMILITUDE is a real word!!! And then there's the huge fail: The necessary suspense in this movie is blasé. Hitchcock is spinning in his grave, vomiting. First Ed Norton tells Michael Keaton that the gun he has is not realistic. Then we find out that Keaton is suicidal. Then we see a new, very realistic looking gun. Then see it's a real gun, loaded. Then we see Michael Keaton's not wearing a blood squib under his wig. By the time he shoots himself in the head the audience is begging him to blow his brains out and get the thing finished with, already.
But no; in order to maintain a low-art-standard juxtaposition, wherein every scene must mirror its counterpoint, Keaton next winds up a in a hospital room talking to his friends and family, having only shot off his nose. Then he jumps out a window.
His daughter comes and looks for him. She sees the open window and runs to it. Her dad is flying in the sky, alive.
He should have committed suicide onstage, living and dying for his art; the Birdman voice entity should have transitioned to his daughter who would have killed Ed Norton and then, thinking she could fly, would leap out the window, cutting to black before we can find out if she flies or not.
Chekov's Gun Ignored, case-in-point.
The entire third act is exactly what Hollywood wants people to think art is: Hollywood endings.
Being nonstandard doesn't make high art.
Reminding of David Lynch doesn't make a "masterpiece".
Enjoy "Birdman". Don't put it on a pedestal, it doesn't belong there. Compare it against "Donnie Darko" to see how good it is; you'll also see how good it isn't.