Birdman (2015): Theatre of the abs-bird*



*I’m sorry

The blurb says: A washed up actor, who once played an iconic superhero, battles his ego and attempts to recover his family, his career and himself in the days leading up to the opening of a Broadway play.

My verdict: The first twitchy, look-at-me-aren’t-I-clever-with-my-long-takes, 20 self-conscious minutes of Birdman led me to believe I’d hate it. With a soundtrack that sounds like someone falling down the stairs carrying pans and pretentiously staged dialogue, Innaritu seems to be present looking smug in every early camera movement. Luckily the over- stylised direction calms down and allows the stream of consciousness black comedy to unfold. I am by no means a big fan of the film, but Norton, Keaton and Stone all put in excellent performances, which emerged as an enjoyable, but slim, farce. I strongly suspect Birdman will become another American Hustle, where in a year’s time we’ll all be wondering what all the fuss was about.
Of course, with it’s unabashed slamming of the role of critics (or was there?) me criticising it seems redundant.

6 out of 10


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