“People, they love blood. They love action. Not this talky, depressing, philosophical bullshit” sneers Birdman, mocking his pathetic actor alias Riggan Thomson. This taunt, along with the dual title, delivers the integral tension of the movie; the age old battle of popularity vs. prestige, high culture vs. low culture, celebrity vs. artist. In the era of reality television and the Transformers franchise, Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) is the perfect meta-critical response, and, after all, Oxford students love ‘meta’. It poses behind its trailer as a popular action movie of the people, but in reality it is much more akin to the ‘talky philosophical bullshit’ that the subtitle suggests – offering its audience a taster of both movies, but surrendering its integrity to neither.
Riggan Thomson is a washed up actor, famed for his role as ‘Birdman’, trying to kick-start the twilight years of his career with a shot of artistic integrity, and so turns to Broadway. He attempts to adapt, star in, and direct Raymond Carver’s “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love”. Whether this is brave or merely self-indulgent is something each character questions. The casting of the movie offers another layer of wry self-awareness. Riggan is played by 90’s Batman star Michael Keaton, a former superhero actor in his twilight years. His difficult but highly praised co-star Mike Shiner is played by difficult and highly praised Edward Norton, coincidentally (or not) also former superhero The Hulk. Riggan’s daughter, Sam, is portrayed by Emma Stone, of The Amazing Spiderman franchise– famed for coming out almost immediately after the Spiderman trilogy. Its miraculous success was due to capitalising on social media, updating its image and generally becoming more relevant. These are the very same qualities that Stone’s character attacks her father for lacking in her biting monologue, which criticises his egotistical attempt to shed Birdman and regain the respect of the people.
Even the aesthetics of the film encapsulate the superhero-cum-super-arty vibe. There are no cuts between shots, and the film is made to look like one continuous take (done by Gravity’s Oscar-winning cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki), a trajectory mirroring the vertigo-inspiring flight sequence of Birdman himself. There is a vibrant percussion score throughout, with occasional appearances from the drummer (Antonio Sanchez), who crops up often and just out of focus, slipping from extra-diagetic to diagetic (a la Mel Brooks’ Western parody Blazing Saddles). Whenever Birdman is reintroduced, it is marked with a dramatic, swooping Hollywood blockbuster number, interrupting the subtle drumming with, of course, an unsubtle superhero theme tune. Birdman is to the theatre what Charlie Kaufman’s Adaptation is to writing: so self-conscious of its own self-consciousness, both on and off stage, and both in front of and behind the camera. But this is also its charm.
The supporting cast are amazing. Ed Norton is a real scene-stealer despite his character being, at times, so blinded by his own arrogance and misogyny that it makes for uncomfortable viewing. Andrea Riseborough’s original and refreshing turn as Riggan’s younger girlfriend and co-star doesn’t get nearly enough screen time, nor does Amy Ryan playing the deeply poignant supportive ex-wife, or Lindsay Duncan’s dragon-like critic, who is seldom seen, but a resonant force. Russell Crowe’s recent comments show the damage done by failing to recognise and support parts for older women, whose careers struggle for longevity as it is, so it bothers me that Emma Stone has been receiving the most praise and nominations, even though I think her performance was the most lacking in nuance. She plays the troubled and stubborn teenager, which a stereotype both written and performed many times before, and often done better. A couple of scenes in the film sit uneasily as well – such as Laura (Riseborough) and Lesley’s (Watts) moment of vulnerable solidarity in the dressing room, which leads into an arbitrary lesbian kiss. It is never explained or explored, which is a shame, as it becomes reduced to mere voyeurism, rather than an honest interaction.
The titan of the film is naturally Keaton. He stated in an interview, “I probably relate less to this character than anyone I’ve ever done… that’s the irony”, but one cannot help feel deeply invested in his comeback, as well as Riggan’s. The line between Keaton and Riggan, as well as Riggan’s imagination and his reality, becomes increasingly blurred. Riggan smashes up his dressing room with superhuman rage, but when his lawyer Jake (Zach Galifanikis) walks in, and intrudes on his fantasy, we are shown a pathetic, aging man throwing a tantrum. He oscillates between headstrong and passionate, to crumbling and fragile. When he walks down a street in New York, with Macbeth’s soliloquy being shouted in the background by a gravelly-voiced homeless man, one wonders whether his stunt will pay off, or if he too is on a tragic downward spiral of ego and ambition. But the film never answers this. On every matter – Riggan’s sanity, the morality of each character, the ideals of fame – the film is ambiguous, and offers us no answers. Having been made painstakingly aware of our role as the critic, we are forced to conceive our own.
