Remember Michael Keaton? Henry Winkler’s manic morgue mate in Night Shift? Mr. Mom? The zany zebra-suited guide to the after life for Alec Baldwin and Geena Davis in Beetlejuice (who helped Catherine O’Hara channel Harry Belafonte in a rousing rendition of Banana Boat?) Tim Burton’s Batman?
Twenty five years later, Mexican director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu (Biutiful, Amores Perros, 21 Grams, Babel) has resurrected that 80’s Keaton for the 21st century, similar to what Quentin Tarrentino did with John Travolta in Pulp Fiction.
Keaton plays Riggin Thomson, floundering and nearly broke (house-rich, cash poor) 20 years after his super-hero turn in several “Birdman” movies. He’s after one last chance for fame and glory, scrounging enough money to mount a stage adaptation of Raymond Carver’s short story, What We talk About When We Talk About Love. Writer, director, lead actor, producer – Riggin has gone all-in in an attempt to be taken as a serious artist. Inarritu fills the script with lines like, “Riggin, you need to learn that popularity is not prestige”, and (NY Times drama critic to Riggin), “You must remember, you’re a celebrity, not an actor. There’s a big difference.”
Nearly the entire film takes place over 4 days in and around Broadway’s venerable (but cramped) St. James Theatre. Inarritu immediately announces his story will be in the Latin American tradition of Magic Realism; the film opens with Keaton (wearing only his tigthy-whities, foreshadowing a later romp along 44th St.) seating lotus position, levitating four feet off the floor. He’s called to the stage for rehearsals, and starts to move a few things around via telekinesis. Stuck to the side of his dressing mirror is a little sign, “A thing is a thing, not what is said of that thing” (possibly a quote from Susan Sontag). Then Inarritu reveals his next trick – the camera follows Riggin out of his dressing room, jerkily down a few halls and stairways, and onto the stage, all in one sweeping shot. This is continued throughout the entire film, which is seemingly one long 2 hour shot. Cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki (Gravity, Children of Men), masterfully stitches together all the scenes so we flow with the action, and rarely have a chance to catch our breath.
Riggin’s 3 co-stars in the play-within-a-play are Edward Norton (perfectly cast as a method actor who’s quite difficult to work with), Andrea Riseborough (Tom Cruise’s effective team-mate in Oblivion), and Naomi Watts. Filling out the main roles are Emma Stone as Riggin’s daughter, enlisted as his personal assistant (and lifeline to social media); Zach Galifianakis, in a very un-comedic role as Riggin’s harassed best friend and Man Friday, and Amy Ryan (Gone Baby Gone) as Riggin’s ex-wife, tender, distant and hurt, all at the same time.
The movie really is a tour de force, serious in intent, content and commitment of all involved. It’s filled with supporting motifs (look for the significance and conflation of masks and wound dressings, among many others), commentary on the relative value of criticism, disdain for Hollywoods obsession with cartoon super-heroes, musings on love and the value of life, and enough background action to make a second viewing almost mandatory (despite seeing this in a theatre, I’m not taking it off my Netflix queue).
Look for at least 3-4 Oscar nominations: Director, actor and/or supporting actor, cinematography, maybe even musical score (which is mostly drum-based, with the drummer appearing within the film at some of the oddest times; more magic realism.) It is the best movie I’ve seen so far this year.