On Birdman: SPOILER ALERT: do NOT read if you plan to see this film Several hours later, i find myself still thinking about this finely crafted film, which seamlessly weaves magic and realism to balance both fable and social commentary, on society, the artistic process and family. From the very opening scene, as a flash (which we find out later what it was) to the opening shot of our star/hero, Riggan )aka Birdman), we are clued in that is no ordinary story, and the supernatural is at play. And aside from what is defined as metaphysical, if we are honest and inclusive, isnt ALL of life pretty supernatural and metaphysical? The behind the scenes of the theater, this labyrinth of emotion and experiences, the machinations of grandeur, the facade and the artifice makes fro this grand drama that we call LIFE. And let us sing praises of the seamless, unending , masterful cinematography, that weaves backstage like a snake in a maze- hovering close by like a friend, a confident, a spirit or ghost of what was.Everything is coming and going and coming and going until it stops: moments of repose, reflection, confession and confrontation. The drama behind the scenes is as compelling as what is on stage. And most certainly, starts to overlap, with one daring to ask which came first: the chicken, or the egg? Perhaps there are no endings. Perhaps . The whole sub-story and commentary on art today (likes, sharing, social networking) is meaningful for those who we indoctrinated into the hierarchical pecking order of the arts. Theater didnt do Film, film didnt do TV- and if you did, you were up and coming or, washed out. Would Sir Lawrence Olivier post selfies? Would John Steinbeck tweet? Would Frieda Kahlo rap? The film shares this gem of (cynical) wisdom “popularity is the slutty little cousin of prestige”. Our hero totes around a napkin from his literary hero- whos work he wants to animate and breath life into. But he wants respect fro who, and from whom? This signed napkin, giving him credit for a honest performance. This is presented as the proverbial carrot, the motivation that keeps Riggan motivated as an artist: the approval of another, in a tangible form: the note. How many of us use yardsticks of approval, to assess the value and worth of what we do? What will we risk to get more of it, like an addict? Riggan is completely gutted by the NYTimes theater critic, and they have an exchange before the opening of his play. Its revealed that her grudge is the entitlement of hollywood types, whom she feels couldnt possibly understand the discipline, nuances and depth that the THEATER requires and involved. How many times does this power play STILL play out today? Street art vs. Gallery works? Pop music vs. Classical? Cultural dances vs. ballet? Couture vs. Ready to wear? Theater vs. Film? Freddie Mercury vs. Wagner (ok, ok...you get the point) What is surprising is what follows: A Confession- coming clean about mistakes and hopes and failed aspiration- the taking of responsibility of Riggans emotional shortcomings (fueled by the need to feed the EGO, instead of connection with family). The truth, they say, will set you free. Then, Riggan crosses the wires of art and life, fiction and non-fiction. By leaving the note from Carver at the bar, his crutch, he appoints the role of who he has to prove to someone new, and it has seemingly intense results. (I wont say what, as I DO want people to experience (not see)), the film. But it reminded me of an old Looney Tunes cartoon, with a talent contest, where the contest boasts theyll see something they never will again. The irony is this: like the proverbial phoenix from the flames or the ideas that fuel the Shiva cycle of life and death and rebirth, our hero is indeed, reborn. The emotional evolution of neediness, disappointment, doubt, addiction, blaming, searching, clinging, being responsible, accepting and releasing reminds me of another exceptional story and musicial, which started off as an off Broadway play, and became a film: Hedwig and the Angry Inch. Both reveal amazing truths within these modern day myths. So we ask ourselves: what would we do for love? Approval? Would do you cut our nose, to spite our face? When is enough, enough? Do we (ever) feel satisfied? I would say its perhaps too easy to say, and harder to do, but in this tweeting/hashtag # world, it boils down to this: Kill your Ego, Do it for LOVE of the art.
Posted on: Thu, 13 Nov 2014 19:08:50 +0000
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