Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)

Life imitates art and vice versa in writer/director Alejandro Gonzalez Innaritu’s (Babel, Biutiful) film about a washed up Hollywood actor, played by Michael Keaton (Batman, Beetlejuice, Jack Frost) attempting to make his comeback in the theater world in a show he has adapted, directed and is starring in called What We Talk About When We Talk About Love. Keaton played Batman in 1989 and reprised his role in Batman Returns in 1992, both films making him a bona fide movie star. Since these films, little has been seen of Keaton on the big screen, or anywhere for that matter. He has been working in film, and small roles in television, but nothing has hit quite as big as his success in the 80’s and 90’s. Keaton’s Birdman character, Riggan Thompson, has a similar history. He starred in a trilogy of Birdman superhero films, turning down the fourth and essentially becoming a has-been after that. 

Twenty years after the success of Birdman, Riggan Thompson is back and his sole intent is to be relevant and recognized again not only as an actor, but as an artist. The only issue is that he now lives in a world where everyone is trying to be relevant in the quickest and easiest ways possible, thanks to social media. Riggan can’t keep up. His assistant and drug-addicted daughter, played by Emma Stone, in her most multi-dimensional performance to date, reminds him of his irrelevance every chance she gets. He has put his entire life savings into this play, and it has to be brilliant. The stakes are high. He has put so much importance on making this comeback that you are forced to ponder that if it doesn’t work, will he survive?

As play rehearsals and previews grow worse and worse leading up to opening night, Riggan fights with his subconscious every time he is alone in his dressing room.  His subconscious comes in the form of his Birdman character and as Riggan grows more conflicted, his subconscious becomes darker and more visual. We go from not only hearing his voice, to actually seeing him physically taunt Riggan.  Riggan’s battle in large part is with the actor he recently cast to star opposite of him in the play. Mike, played by Edward Norton is young and gritty, and unlike Riggan, he is relevant. The theater world knows him and they love him. Mike is brilliant on stage. He is honest and true in everything he does, almost to the point of absurdity. But in real life, he struggles with intimacy. He does not know himself and neither do those closest to him. 

Aside from the fantasy and the comedy, the film has a deep grounding in reality. It is about the importance of being present in the world we live in. There are many references to social media throughout the film to emphasize how tuned out an entire generation has become to what is happening around them. We miss the real moments in life because we are too busy tweeting them or trying to catch them on video. As uninterested as Riggan might be in becoming "the next viral sensation,”  the movie focuses on how much he has missed out on in his life, because he has been caught up in being significant, in being a movie star, and if not in being a star, then trying to become one again. He made his entire life about his career and he missed his daughter’s childhood. He took his wife for granted. The stage play he has adapted and directed is about a woman that he was once involved with, that used to love him. The play is a metaphor for Riggan and the rest of the world and how they once loved him, and how without that love, he feels he is nothing. In one of the most magnetic lines in the film, Sylvia, Riggan’s ex-wife, played by Amy Ryan says, “It’s what you always do. You confuse love with admiration.” This line is symbolic for Riggan and for the entire generation that came after him.  

With Zach Galifianakis, and Naomi Watts rounding out this stellar cast, it is apparent that casting is one of Birdman’s greatest achievements. Birdman’s most impressive feat however, is what it achieves cinematically. Innaritu shoots extended scenes without cutting, that track one into the other, into the other. This triumph is thanks to cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki who also filmed the 12 minute opening shot in Gravity and several long takes in Children of Men. The beauty of shooting this way is that for two hours, the audience feels as though they are watching someone’s life in real time unfold before them. The majority of the film takes place in the Broadway theater house that Riggan’s play will debut. We see rehearsals, we see behind-the-scenes moments, and intimate conversations, and we see previews and opening night, all happen in this theater. Through the use of mirrors and lighting, the film is made to look seamless. It appears as if there are no cuts at all. Naturally, this makes us feel closer to what is happening on screen. It is for this reason that people go see theater. There is no editing. There is no pause, play or rewind. What happens before you is live and it is raw, and what happens one night, cannot happen any other night. This is where some of the brilliance lies in Innaritu’s screenplay. He is honoring theater as an art form  on two levels: One, by making a film about a washed up actor that wants to make his return to notoriety in the most respected performance outlet as an actor; Two, by making a film about a theater production, in the form and spirit of theater. The amount of precision this took not only on behalf on Lubezki as cinematographer, and Innaritu as writer and director, but for all parties involved, is astounding. For the actors, being able to move and have conversations through confined spaces, with moving cameras, and lighting and extras, is astonishing. I can only imagine the kind of choreography and rehearsal that went into this, and the stress of making sure you get it right. And for the film to turn our masterfully? Incredible. For editors, lighting techs, costume designers, set designers, etc….all involved here achieved a seemingly impossible feat. Hats off to all.

Innaritu moves fluidly from reality to fantasy, making one hard to decipher from the other as Riggan’s psyche grows more distressed. He makes use of grand, orchestral music, often found in old Hollywood films to separate what is happening on stage, from what is happening in Riggan’s real life. The film has a great message in regard to the notion that how well we do is ultimately determined by how well we feel about ourselves. In that sense, we are in control of our own destiny. As soon as Riggan lets go of all of the pressure and begins to believe that he is truly great regardless of  what the media, blogs or anyone else is saying, not only does his Birdman alter ego fly, but his opening night performance soars as well.

Birdman is a work of art. Aside from what it achieves technically, it is doused with life lessons and great moments of comedy and irony. It is not quite like anything else I have seen before. It’s funny; it’s heartfelt; it’s provocative. It's modern, yet classic. Birdman is everything. It’s a must-see. 

Fury

Writer and director David Ayer (Training Day, End Of Watch) brings a solid story of war and brotherhood to life in this World War II drama starring Brad Pitt (Benjamin Button, Fight Club) as “Wardaddy,” Shia Labeouf  (Lawless, Nymphomaniac) as “Bible,” Michael Pena (Crash, End of Watch) as “Gordy,” Jon Bernthal (The Wolf of Wall Street) as “Coon-Ass, and Logan Lerman (The Perks Of Being A Wallflower) as "Norman." The story takes a perspective that we have never seen in any other World War II film in the past. It focuses on the end of the war and the group of American soldiers fighting the final battles from within the confines of a tank.

In the first few minutes of the film, we are introduced to how harrowing life inside such a small space, inhabited by five men can be. Before we know much else about the picture, we see these men eat, drink, sleep, defecate and die, all in this tank, giving new life to the term “shit where you eat.”

Brad Pitt as “Wardaddy,” also serving as executive producer on the project, leads this crew of hard knocks through the final perils of Nazi Germany as the war comes to a close. This group of men has been together for years, fighting this war on various continents and countries, all under the paternal leadership of Wardaddy. Their tank is called “Fury,” and they believe the reason for their unprecedented survival as a crew to be because of Wardaddy himself. They owe everything to him, and throughout the film you see them fight for his love and affection, especially after Logan Lerman’s character, Norman, joins their squad. Norman has never fought before. He has spent his time in the war doing clerical, office duties. He has never operated a gun, or even been inside a tank. A large part of the film is based around Wardaddy teaching Norman about war, killing and patriotism. We see Norman make a drastic transformation from being a young, naïve, weak and feeble boy to becoming a man that is strong and hardened by the savagery and ruthlessness of war. Lerman plays this part with true merit. As he witnesses one atrocity after another, his eyes glaze over, the light in them dissipating as the story progresses. This may be Brad Pitt’s movie, but Lerman is the one to watch here. He solidifies his place in Hollywood as a rising star, and as a formidable young actor. Shia LaBeouf, despite the troubles of his own personal life in the last year, proves himself again to be an actor of note, one of the best of his generation.  He plays the pious, scripture pedaling, “Bible” with earnestness and subtlety. He is a joy to watch.

The visuals in the film are striking and raw. We see the cruelty and the brutality of Nazi Germany, often in ways that have not been depicted in films of the same genre prior.  Aside from a scene in the middle that goes on too long before ever reaching a climax or purpose, the script is solid. The cast is solid. Very little else can be said for Fury. It is a good film, not a great one. The biggest problem lies in the development of each character. We know very little about them as human beings. We do not know where they come from.  Small character clues are made here and there – There is a wedding band on Bible’s hand; Pena’s character, Gordy, speaks a bit of Spanish early on, giving the intonation that he is from a Spanish-American family. But that is really it.  Bits and pieces of their stories are told here and there, but not enough for the script to be emotionally striking or resonating. Not much is even said about the original crew’s past stories with Wardaddy. We know they love him and respect him, but we do not know much else. I think this is especially problematic with Wardaddy himself. Outside of his respect within the Army, we know absolutely nothing about him or where he comes from.  Ultimately, there is not enough meat in terms of character development for a real investment to be made as an audience member.

 Fury is a commendable film and one worthy of respect during this great fall 2014 film lineup. See the film, certainly. But, no rush. 

Whiplash

We all have at least one teacher, no matter how questionable their method, that forced us to be better, that pushed us harder, sometimes beyond our limits. We all have one teacher that we will never forget, someone that changed us, that had an impact. Whiplash, a new film written and directed by Damien Chazelle forces us to ponder and question these relationships and the types of lasting affects they can have on our lives.

Andrew Neyman, played brilliantly by Miles Teller (The Spectacular Now, Divergent) is a first year student at the renowned Schaefer Music School. Andrew is driven by a blazing desire to be the best, to be “one of the greats” as he articulates incessantly throughout the film. Fletcher, played villainously by J.K. Simmons (Spider-Man, Juno) is the conductor of the the most established and competitive band in the school. Once he recruits him as an alternate, the pace of Andrew’s life takes a drastic change. From the moment Andrew enters the new class, it is clear that he is now in the big leagues. The students are older. They are more sophisticated. They have unrelenting style and swagger. That is until Fletcher arrives. Fletcher’s very presence is intimidating and that is exactly how he wants it.  He enters the classroom and the students that seconds prior seemed so sharp and full of life, fall dead silent. They can’t even look him in the eye.

Fletcher is a bully. His way of getting what he wants out of his students is by beating them down mentally and emotionally, and on occasion, physically. Andrew wants to be great more than anything else. We see him end budding and promising relationships because he is so obsessed with the idea of being the best. Regardless of whatever cruel tactic Fletcher uses to bring about what he wants from Andrew, Andrew lives for Fletcher’s moments of satisfaction. He lives for his acceptance. As Andrew’s obsession grows and as Fletcher’s tests become more and more demanding, Andrew begins taking greater risks, to at one point risking his own life in attempt to prove how worthy he really is.

Andrew’s dreams of grandeur are so huge he bleeds for it…literally. Watching these drummers practice and perform is like watching Division 1 athletes train. You see their blood, sweat and tears. I do not mean that figuratively. It is practically thematic throughout this film. Teller’s expression of both passion and pain through Andrew is palpable.  He is without a doubt one of the brightest, most promising actors today.

It is mainly in sports and in the arts where tales of teachers like Fletcher exist. I have certainly had my share of past teachers and professors that have left me feeling less than worthy throughout my time studying acting. No one as low as Fletcher most likely, but most of us have certainly experienced instructors that have made us feel like we were not good enough, that attempted to break us down, taking jabs at us personally and professionally. These moments are made to feel like a test by the teacher. But are they saying or doing certain things to see if you will persevere? Or does the phrase, “those that can’t do, teach” ring true most of the time in these situations? Perhaps they see something in you that they never had. Perhaps they are just tortured with their own demons and their way to sleep at night is by attempting to break, or play mind games with seemingly defenseless students.  It is my opinion that students are not barbaric terrorists and it is not a teacher’s job to “degrade and to destroy” someone’s character and spirit, no matter what their argument  for such tactics might be. Perhaps this line of thought is completely off base and said teachers are just weeding out the strong from the weak. This is the argument that Fletcher claims in the film. To paraphrase, “If you were meant to be the next big thing, you would never quit, you would never break, no matter how hard I might push you, or how cruel I might be." These are questions of motive most of us will never know the answer to. But if I were to guess, at the very least, I would say it is always a bit of both with such instructors – a bit of fear propaganda to test the limits of great students, and always a bit of loathing for what could or should have been in their own careers. But, I digress…

Fletcher’s unorthodox methods do catch up with him and a competition between he and Andrew ensues at the end.  This scene is a must see! It is like the big game at the end of an epic sports film. It never ends. As soon as you think the music stops, Andrew begins another riff…and another, and another, and another. It is a true heart-thumping marathon of jazz reverberation and Teller leaves it all on the drums. The last 15 minutes of the film play like a boxing match – teacher vs. student. It is a fight to the death and you will leave the theater questioning who really got the final to K.O.

Gone Girl

Gone Girl is a page turning thriller turned screenplay, both penned by author, Gillian Flynn about a young married couple, Nick and Amy Dunne, the ups and downs of their relationship and what happens in the aftermath of Amy’s disappearance on their fifth wedding anniversary.

David Fincher (The Social Network, Girl With The Dragon Tattoo, Fight Club) directed the film and it has his imprint all over it.  Amy tells the story of her relationship through a series of flashbacks, illustrated with dim lighting and yellow undertones giving each scene an aged, sepia-like filter. This specific use of lighting gives scenes a sense rot and decay, as if he is cluing you in that the story before you is more austere than it appears. Fincher is known for telling dark, thought-provoking tales. This use of light is also demonstrated in The Social Network. These flashbacks in Gone Girl are told with quick dialogue and wit, acted brilliantly by each character in the film. They feel like an eerie bedtime story, narrated by a chilling character whose sanity is completely unclear.

From the use of lighting, to the pacing of each scene, to the specificity in the way that he denotes time, down to the font type, it is clear that this is a Fincher film. This is his baby, his work of art. My favorite aspect of the film happens to be the soundtrack, masterfully done by Trent Reznor, who also created the soundtracks to The Social Network and Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. The music is brilliant. I found certain scenes to be so perfectly paced with what was unfolding on screen that I found myself wondering if the music was created first; if Fincher new the tempo of the music before he directed each scene. That is how perfectly nuanced the screenplay and the soundtracks are. Reznor has this way of creating beats that do not sound like anything else you have ever heard. He creates very modern, almost techno-like rhythms that are subtle and soft enough to be a whisper - an additional heart-thumping, narrating layer atop Amy’s ghostly murmurs. 

Casting in this film is damn near perfect. Cold, unfeeling, seemingly calculated Nick Dunne is played by Ben Affleck. Affleck is indeed the movie star in this film and he takes up the better part of two hours of screen time in a two and a half hour movie. This is Rosamund Pike’s breakout film however. She owns the screen. Whether it is through her bone-chilling voiceover to her various chameleon-like physical and mental transformations - like Rooney Mary in Dragon Tattoo,  in Pike, a star is born in Gone Girl. Affleck is good, but he is ultimately a passive character next to Pike’s sociopathic murderess. The question of whether or not Nick is in fact a murderer does not carry much weight in the film. Not as much as it does in the book. What happened to Amy is unknown, but the audience is clued in early that Amy is the one to be watched, even feared here.  We see a lot of Nick, but it is Amy that we are listening to. Desi Collings, Amy’s high school sweetheart that never got over her is perfectly played by Neil Patrick Harris. You dislike him and feel sorry for him all at the same time. To see Tyler Perry play Tanner Bolt, Nick’s hotshot TV lawyer is a delight. For an actor who usually plays a 70 year old African-American ornery grandmother, Perry is very good. With Fincher behind the camera and Affleck as a scene partner, Perry is finally playing in the big leagues. Good for him.

Like with all book-to-film adaptations, changes were made and segments were skipped for the purposes of time and film continuity. It is tough to see as a reader, but it must be done, even though it often leaves readers feeling something to be desired after watching the movie for the first time. After reading Gone Girl, and seeing the film just days later, for maybe the first time, I think that the adjustments and omissions made were better for the story. There are scenes in the film that are more raw, more gruesome and visual than I even imagined. That is a rarity in any book adaptation, and one I hope other readers agree with after seeing the film.

Like in the book, there are real moments of humor throughout. Between the ludicrous nature of both the circumstances unfolding and the absurdity of the characters these events are unfolding around, Fincher and Flynn successfully relay great pings of hilarity.

Flynn is saying a lot of dark, sick things about marriage, what it means to be married, and what happens when someone knows you literally better than you know yourself. What kind of power struggles does that type of relationship elicit? How far can the vows “for better or for worse” really go? At one point, Tanner Bolt says to Nick, “You two are the most fucked up people I have ever met.”  Gone Girl is a story about two people that have lost themselves so deeply in their marriage, that the only person they can ever be with is each other, no matter how toxic, and erosive the relationship may be. They have actually ruined each other for all other people.  The characters Flynn has created are so absurd, that as a reader or an audience member, you cannot imagine that people like this really exist. But then, you have to think about how many missing person situations there are, and how many men overtime have been accused of killing their wives. What if some of them didn’t? What if there is someone as ruthless and as narcissistic as Amy Dunne, capable of framing their husband in their own disappearance. Unlikely? Sure. Impossible? Based on the alarmingly detailed writing of Gillian Flynn…No…certainly not impossible.