Be warned. There are spoilers in this. But only if you are seriously later than I am to watching this movie.
Usually, when there’s a movie playing on my computer screen, I have a lot of thoughts. Things like gender, sexuality, class, race, and sometimes, whether or not I should make popcorn.Birdman left me too dazed to consider these things. I was distracted by the dizzying madness of the cinematography, which leaves the whole movie looking like a long take and me feeling like I was perched inside the camera scooting around looking for some action. The lighting, the costumes, the set design, it’s all wonderfully grimy. The acting and the dialogue are exquisite. I’m not surprised by this. The movie met critical acclaim, what? A year ago now? I’m mainly surprised that I have nothing else to say about the movies’ themes, about the father-daughter relationship, the disturbing lack of meditation on deviant sexual acts, or the collision course of youth and old age, celebrity and art.
In fairness, the first full half of the movie I missed out on one of the movie’s greatest ironies.
Husband: Mentions something about Michael Keaton being in Birdman
Me: Wait….like….Batman? That’s him?
It could be because I watched it in two sittings, too far apart to take in the full effect.
Or it could be just what is intended. I don’t know because I haven’t yet spent hours perusing things written by people more qualified than me to critique film. I do know that the ending left me wonderfully shocked and bewildered.
Me: Sits up straight in bed. WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT
Me: Wait so either he can fly or she’s crazy too?
Husband: Yup I think she’s crazy too.