Whilst everyone else has been falling over themselves
congratulating Iñárritu on the casting of ex-Batman Keaton in the lead role – a
rather unsubtle joke – I’d like to use this opportunity to praise almost
everybody else in the ensemble cast. True, Keaton is given more to do than he
has been in years, but he’s no revelation: that praise should be re-directed
towards Emma Stone as Riggan’s post-rehab daughter who oozes talent throughout,
as does Lindsay Duncan as a scathing arts critic determined to bring Thomson’s
world down. Zach Galifianakis is at long last given a serious role and Naomi
Watts is rescued from the recent shame of Diana
in a role more befitting of her unplumbed talent.
Cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki finally fulfils the fantasy
that Gravity could only dream of,
with almost the entire film bearing the appearance of one continuous shot that
flawlessly transitions from scene to scene. You can keep your eyes peeled for
the seams, but you won’t find them: you’ll be too busy jogging your knee up and
down to Antonio Sanchez’s jumbled drum score (a lyrical reflection of Riggan’s
own confused headspace) and transfixed by Keaton and his cohorts traversing the
neon-stained caverns of Broadway.
From the jibes taken at the current string of comic book
movies (Birdman most notably sporting a Christian Bale-esque gravelly voice) to
the battle between theatre and cinema, Birdman
is a film of mostly subtle comedy. True, some scenes of hysterical disagreement
between Keaton and Ed Norton as the crazed method actor are played for audible
laughs, but it’s the quieter hints at the superiority complex of theatre that
works the real magic. If anything it’s refreshing to see an American comedy
that isn’t populated with middle-aged men shouting very loudly at crude toilet
humour, but a carefully constructed and intelligent film that is actually about
something and accomplishes an entertaining climax… even if a clearly defined
ending is inexplicably followed by fifteen minutes that really don’t work.
★★★★☆
