Birdman review
Alejandro González Iňárritu has never been one for sticking to convention. His inclination for ingenuity knows no bounds, and his latest offering Birdman is arguably his most creative yet. However that is not necessarily a reflection or guarantee of the viewer’s enjoyment of the picture, as it one that that falls into several bouts of tedium amidst the innovation.
Michael Keaton plays Riggan Thomas, in one his bravest, most daring and distinctively meta roles: an actor who has struggled to overcome a suffocating loss of identity, as people know him only for his role as Birdman, the titular character of a former superhero franchise. However in a desperate bid to resurrect his career, he decides to launch a Broadway production – though that itself doesn’t come without controversy when he hires the revered, and yet immensely temperamental actor Mike Shiner (Edward Norton), as his co-lead alongside actress Leslie, played by a resurgent Naomi Watts.
Not only is this extremely meta film bold from a narrative perspective but the manner of the storytelling is courageous and distinctly uncustomary. But at the same time such an approach can be destructive too, because, for example, the decision to present this tale as one long continuous take (despite being set across a couple of weeks) can be overwhelming at times: hypnotic and mesmerising it perhaps is, but by the end of proceedings you feel disorientated – like you have jet lag. The surrealism is also as detrimental as it can be vital. The ethereal sense is part of the film’s appeal and the fantastical elements are essential given the offbeat, unorthodox means of storytelling, but they too can serve a negative purpose, taking you out of the story at times, and making for a piece that on the whole is emotionally disengaging. Meanwhile, the performances are nothing short of sensational, particularly by Keaton. Emma Stone also impresses as the protagonist’s daughter, and while Norton is the true star, shouldering the vast majority of the comedic aspects, the character is criminally underused, with a lack of any palpable closure.
However where Iňárritu suffers most, is how he struggles to differentiate between satire and arrogance. When actors play actors and films depict the industry in such a barbed way, it’s very delicate territory and in this instance the line between self-deprecation and self-indulgence is frustratingly blurred. If feels like an in-joke, and one that sadly we’re not a part of.
3.0/5