Birdman and the Trouble with Recommending Movies

So there’s this thing that happens where critics absolutely love a movie. And then us normal people go see it, because the critics love it. And a portion of the people who go see it love it. A few of that portion love it because they were told they were going to love it. And the rest of the people who go see it come out saying “that was one weird movie.”

I figure I’m somewhere on the spectrum between critic and normal person. I often think critically-acclaimed movies are weird. I also get why critics look at movies differently, because if you see a ton of movies you start to see a lot of the same things over and over, so something unusual really stands out. I think that’s why lots of people read critics like the GR Press’s John Serba and wonder why his opinions seldom mesh with their own.

This is all a very long way of explaining my mixed reactions to movies. A few weeks ago I saw St. Vincent, which had Bill Murray behaving very badly while the neighbor boy saw more in him than anyone else. I enjoyed it very much. As a film, it had some faults—there are some flaws in its sequencing, it is predictable, and it is sentimental. But I laughed a lot, had some surprises along the way, and left with a warm feeling for my fellow human beings. It’s a movie I would recommend to a number of people, in spite of the flaws.

Last week I saw Birdman, which is also about people behaving very badly, and which gives us Michael Keaton in the best performance of his life. He plays an aging actor, Riggan Thomson, who is best known for a superhero role he had in the 90s, Birdman. Sort of like Batman, who Keaton himself played in the 90s.

The movie opens on Riggan, meditating while wearing only his tighty-whities. He is trying to make a name for himself again by writing, directing, and starring in a Broadway play. He is haunted by a voice that constantly tells him either what a loser he is or that he is way too good for everyone and everything around him.

Emma Stone plays Riggan’s daughter, Sam. She is fresh out of rehab, and he has hired her to be his assistant. Riggan’s been a poor father, and he is trying, pretty unsuccessfully, to make it up to her.

As opening night draws closer, it becomes obvious that the younger actor in the play is not right for the part, and at the last minute Riggan brings in Mike (the also amazing Edward Norton), a big-name actor who will draw a crowd. Mike is very good, at least while he’s in character. As himself, he is on a constant power trip, and he treats the people around him terribly.

The egos and the insecurities are enormous and they make for an incestuous crew as the actors look to each other for validation and support in different, mostly destructive, ways. All of these actors demonstrate that they are, in reality, “a gaping black hole of need” as a writer friend describes her dog. They hurt themselves and those around them in their search for importance and acceptance. At one point, Sam turns to father and tells him "you're scared to death, like the rest of us, that you don't matter!" 

And then there is the theater critic, waiting in the wings to swoop in and either make or break the production. Riggan tells her that while actors and directors pour their lifeblood and energy into a play, all she does is sit back and criticize, risking nothing. Hey, wait a minute, how did I end up paying to have someone attack my little hobby??? There is truth in what he says.

Birdman is a technically brilliant movie. The acting is incredible. The director used a small number of “sets” to give the feeling of watching a stage play, and at the same time the use of tight spaces gives viewers the same claustrophobic feeling that the actors must experience in their tightly circumscribed roles and expectations.

The film is also probably a very sharp skewering of theater life, but I have very little knowledge of theater life. My teens are on the sets and props crew for this fall’s high school version of Oliver! but I don’t think that qualifies me to speak knowledgably on the subject!

The characters are mostly coarse, self-absorbed, and/or mean-spirited people. Sam is the most sympathetic character, and she still seems pretty lost.

So while St. Vincent entertained and left me loving people a little more, Birdman gives me a stark, at times funny, look at the naked need and ambition of less lovable characters. At the same time, St. Vincent is guilty of some sloppy filmmaking, but Birdman is razor sharp. Whether or not you should see either of them all depends on what you are looking for when you go to the movies.