By: Dan Cohen, our Santa Monica Reporter
Two energetic and entertaining films that take on the struggle of artists to transcend their quotidian lives top the list of “must see” releases for early winter. Right now I’ll focus on “Birdman,” because it’s playing on a local screen. The second movie, “Whiplash,” a winner of two awards at this year’s Sundance festival, won’t be arriving for several days, so I’ll talk about that in the next column.
“Birdman,” is the latest from noted Mexican writer/director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu, who came to world-wide attention in 2000, with “Amores Perros,” a startling drama about life in Mexico City. Inarritu’s debut movie assayed several levels of his country’s social fabric through three sets of characters who are connected by a devastating car accident. In addition to making a name for the director and his writer, Guillermo Arriaga, “Perros” raised the profile of actor Gael Garcia Bernal, who has since become an international star.
Inarritu and Arriaga collaborated on two more ambitious projects, “21 Grams,” and “Babel,” both stylish narratives with the same kind of multi character storylines. But neither reached the heights of “Perros,”and were lauded more for their texture and accomplished filmmaking than emotional impact. That they lacked humor didn’t help.
But you can forget everything you knew (or didn’t know) about Inarritu, because his new film, an audacious comic drama about a former movie star trying to make his mark in the theater, is surprising in ways we could never have anticipated.
Among its many remarkable aspects is its knowing posture toward a certain subset of New York theater actors. At the same time it boasts a keen understanding of the attitude that sets Gotham apart from every other city in this country. The banter among the actors, which flies from their mouths like a gusher from a freshly struck oil well, makes us feel like we’re watching real life from the rafters.
The movie begins like two simultaneous, free form jazz riffs. One beats out the gritty moment to moment struggle to keep a play from going off the rails before opening night, while the other describes the battle of its leading man–also the writer and director of the play– to keep his sanity as chaos looms.
The opening shot, of Riggan Thomas, (Michael Keaton,) floating on air as he meditates in his dressing room, informs us that at least one thread of the movie resides in fantasy. Soon we realize that the actor, who became famous for playing a super hero named “Birdman,” (read “Batman,”) has never totally let go of his former screen identity. That interior voice and a few residual super-powers both comfort and aggravate Riggan as he attempts to bring a short story by Raymond Carver to the Broadway stage.
You don’t need to know anything about Carver to relate to the movie, but familiarity with the celebrated writer’s spare, post-modern style puts you closer to appreciating the herculean nature of Riggan’s task. Then there are other worries; the contempt of an arts community that regards Riggan more as a celebrity than a legitimate actor, money problems, a daughter who’s just exited rehab, (an effervescent Emma Stone,) a lousy actor who appears clueless about his part, and a rambunctious star who replaces the bad actor and challenges Riggan at every turn, (the inimitable Edward Norton,) and you can see why he’s tempted to embrace his former alter ego and just fly away.
A lot of this might seem predictable, but it’s not. While most of the action takes place backstage a ramshackle theater, director of photography Emmanuel Lubzeki, who has left a distinctive visual stamp on a wide swath of director driven movies, from Tim Burton’s “Sleepy Hollow,” to Terrence Malik’s “Tree of Life,” to Alfonse Cuaron’s “Gravity,” moves the camera like it’s racing to keep ahead of a tsunami. After looking over his resume you have to ask, is there anything this guy can’t shoot?
Composed in several, very long takes that are cleverly stitched together to make them appear to flow as a single shot, Luzeki’s fluid camerawork and Inarritu’s direction create strict parameters for the actors, but the entire cast, headlined by Michael Keaton, Edward Norton and Emma Stone, is more than up to them. I can’t recall an ensemble with better rapport for one another.
“Birdman” juggles so many elements, that it’s impossible to second guess it. Part of the reason for that is because the script freely incorporates fantasy, but it’s very different from the kind of overblown fantasy used in adaptations of comic books.
Here it serves to heighten the tension. Several imaginative set pieces and a knockout, effects-driven finale maintain the sense of disorientation that characterizes dilemma at the story’s core. Moments of high comedy, reminiscent of Terry Gilliam at his best, seem to spring from nowhere. But for the most part they’re organic. And yet, the script is most generous in giving so much room to breathe to its stellar cast which, in addition to the already mentioned leads, includes Naomi Watts, Zach Galifianakis, Damian Young, and Andrea Riseborough, who you may remember from her skillful performance as Tom Cruise’s deceitful wife in “Oblivion.”
Too often actors of this caliber are yoked to perfunctory dialogue that’s married to by the books plot lines. That so many of today’s actors rise above banal material is a testament to extraordinary skill. But here the script’s first allegiance is to the truth of its characters, and the cast, right down to the smallest roles, interprets it with authority and inspiration.
The complex plot, devised by Inarritu and several co-writers, asks the audience to take several leaps of faith as it tightens the screws on Keaton’s desperate plight. In the end it leaves us a bit of room to speculate on a pointed but ambiguous conclusion. But even if you can’t make perfect sense of the telling smile on Emma Stone’s face before the final blackout, this mad and frantic grab bag will still leaves you breathless. “Birdman” is more than a good movie; it’s a thing of beauty.
Foxcatcher
Then there’s “Foxatcher,” in too many ways the polar opposite of “Birdman.”
Director Bennett Miller, who, with the inspired performance of Phillip Seymour Hoffman in the title role, brought humor and insight to “Capote,” has taken a very different approach in interpreting the true, sad devolution of billionaire John DuPont and the young wrestler he cultivated and preyed upon.
“Foxcatcher” is a grim affair, directed with a solemn hand and a plodding pace. The portrayal of DuPont, his overbearing mother, and their gilded prison-like estate may be accurate in every detail but the telling of their sordid tale is as dreary and cold as a morgue, from beginning to end. Some have admired the uniformly serious tone and discreet handling of both DuPont and the young Olympic hopeful, Mark Schultz, but the sexual tension at the heart of the billionaire’s obsession and the wrestler’s troubled identity is barely whispered. Finally, discretion and a handful of uncomfortable moments isn’t enough to carry a movie that runs well over two hours.
In the interest of full disclosure I came to this movie with mild disinterest: I’ve never been a fan of wrestling, and Bennett took a prize for his direction at Cannes. But while there’s no arguing the disciplined approach– he resists speculating on both character’s inner lives at every turn–the result is a kind of haze that frustrates any impulse an audience might have to grab hold of more than the gloomy facts of the matter.
This is not to take anything away from Channing Tatum, who simmers and sulks to perfection in a role that’s clinical and underwritten. Or to deny Steve Carrell credit for contorting his handsome features into a bruised mask of sublimated rage and then maintaining DuPont’s tortured tone of voice and awkward posture in every scene. But his labor amounts to little because the character remains vague right up to the end credits. “Foxcatcher” may be true to the facts but its heart at its core is as cold as the Pennsylvania winter.
