Birdman: Or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance) | 2015
First movie in and I've already found a problem with this project; there is no point in writing a review. These are already supposedly the best movies of that year so, what will my opinion add onto that? I could very well write a review for Birdman that read;
What can I say that hasn't been said? This movie is great. ★★★★★
However, what good would that accomplish? I could copy and paste that into all these movies. So, instead of my opinion on the movies, I'll try to write more about my personal reflections towards the movie. With that said…
The Actor Myth
The premise of a movie, or any other art form, exploring the pain of creating said artform is not a new one. (My favourite online movie show dissected David Lynch’s The Lost Highway (1997) can be seen under this light.) Actors trying to escape their past roles. Painters painting the struggles of their mind as it can't focus long enough on a finished project to even begin it. This isn't new, but it's the execution of this premise that sets this movie apart. This is must be credited to director Alejandro G. Iñárritu whose vision is fully formed and can be seen throughout the movie.
Birdman introduces the audience to Riggan, played by Michael Keaton, a former hollywood superstar struggling with the slow realisation that he is just not that important anymore. This realisation takes many different forms; Riggan’s increasing drinking, condition’s of Riggan’s dressing room, delivery of lines when Riggan is on-stage, attitude towards those around him…
Ok, but enough of that, like I said, this isn't one of those “reviews”… Instead, I find myself asking; why are audiences, including myself, so drawn to this film? It doesn't exactly have a very accessible premise. Not everyone is an actor struggling with a personal psychological dichotomy. Not everyone sitting in the cinema has a on-stage broadway experience. Yet, I really enjoyed this movie and would recommend it forward. Why?
Perhaps this movie subconsciously lifts our own morals by eroding the super-human aurora given to celebrities by the masses and the media. As if we could retrieve from it some sort of sadistic pleasure in knowing that these people that we have allowed to become larger-than-life, that we have granted celebrity status to, ultimately pay for our generosity, as they cannot handle the pressures surrounding the media-centric society they live in. I mean, we as a people allow them to be as big as they are. We indirectly pay all their salaries. We’re the ones that watch they’re movies or shows or TV specials (are those still a thing?). If it weren't for us, they wouldn't exist, they’d be as meaningless as the people that raised them up. So, yeah, perhaps we draw pleasure from knowing that the life they lead is cursed. That it causes them to think they can levitate, or spit on bald people, or not be able to handle their liquor.
Call it egalitarianism or narcissism or reciprocity, either way knowing that the people that are raised to be standards of perfection are not only not perfect but perhaps even more flawed than the rest of us, releases the pressures of living up to these standards. Its a similar situation to when one day in school your teacher casually says they are disorganized when it comes to deadlines, never again will you take any of their deadlines seriously, they will forever labeled the flexible-date-teacher. Perfection doesn't seem so imposing when those who supposedly wield it don’t really wield it after all.
On the other hand, it may be a case of lifting the audience instead of diminishing the star. Seeing someone you idolise say they went through or overcame a situation similar to yours, even marginally so, makes you feel infinitely closer to said person. They also had a pug named Chewy?! They also learned to drive in a pick-up at their uncle’s farm?! They also had a hard-time fitting in in high school?! A connection written in the stars!!
(Case and point: I just tabbed out of writing this and scrolled through twitter for a total of 2 seconds before I came across the following headline; “You can't have a drug problem for 30 years and expect to solve it in 28 days — Matthew Perry”. I immediately clicked on the link. Watch, if you want to of course, the first minute… Or if you're in a rush, 0:43–1:00.)
Now in no way am I criticising these feelings; if life were a Law and Order episode, and this claim was being fought in court, I’d be the piece of evidence revealed at the 39-minute mark that instantly sways the jury and judge alike into siding with our heroes.
These seemingly personal connections with these seemingly perfect people in turn tricks us into feeling better about ourselves. “Look at that, they also have bad days, I guess that means I'm allowed to have one too.” It supports the never fading dream of someday being of them. It removes to impact that our defects and mistakes have upon these dreams. It gives us some hope that maybe, just maybe, if we were simply born in a different place or in a different time, we could have been one of them. A star!
With all that being said, it's probably both and neither. This movie isn't black and white and nor are people. There are layers of meaning to be dissected and loose threads to be interpreted. (That ending?!) As someone whose lingering dream has always been acting, maybe these sentiments ring truer to me than someone else. That when watching this movie, I can’t help but wish this cursed life upon myself. Wishing I knew what it was like to have to struggle in knowing where the character ends and the person begins. To be recognized. To confuse admiration with love.
In the end, Birdman is a movie about an actor, but more so its about how people are broken and how there is no miracle pill for fixing that. (Yet.) It’s about someone struggling to be content with the love he receives, to be accept his ending time in the limelight, to try to find reconciliation for past mistakes. Feelings that are universal. Feelings that are human.
