Alejandro González Iñárritu: Amores Perros, 21 Grams, Babel, Bitiful.
I’ve included them all above.
And now Birdman.
The guy is a fucking genuis. At least in the world of film.
And all of his films touch on the manner in which events far flung can be connected one way or another by six [or less] degrees of separation.
There are the parts that we see, of course. But they are barely the tip of the iceberg. Instead, it is the part beyond our understanding [or control] that often have the greater weight. And by far sometimes.
Only this one [actually] is a lot less like that. This one seems to focus more on one partiuclar stage…and all of the different ways we may or may not be acting on and off it.
As for “the unexpected virtue of ignorance”, it can be difficult at times to make the distinction between something you expect and something you do not. And forget the part about it being a virtue. There are simply too many renditions of that to count.
And then there is a distinction to be made between the existential angst of folks who were at least once “somebody” and the vast multitude that comprises the rest of us. At best we were/are legends only in our minds. So, does that make the angst more or less able to be tolerated? But then “in the end” what the hell does it really mean to be keeping score, anyway?
Look for that too. The nihilism in other words.
And then [of course] the part about the “superheroes”. The “superheros” that have virtually hijacked the film industry. The films that make a ka-zillion dollars everytime they open and, in appealing always to the lowest common denominator among us, have all but washed away what is left of serious cinema in America.
Or as Mike explains it to Riggan:
If this doesn’t work out for you, you fuck off back to your studio pals and dive back into that cultural genocide you guys are perpetrating. A douchebag’s born every minute! That was P.T. Barnum’s premise when he invented the circus…and nothing much has changed. You guys know if you crank out toxic crap people will line up and pay to see it!
But then the film also explores the way actors go about creating characters up on the screen or up on the stage. The way they are always probing the characters and going back and forth with other actors regarding what the character ought to be thinking and feeling and saying and doing – as opposed to, perhaps, what the script says. And the way in which they bring “real life” into them. At least when these characters are not comic book superheroes.
Look for the part about love. Both on and off the stage.
And what a difference a nose makes.
IMDb
[b]There are only sixteen visible cuts in the entire film.
According to Alejandro González Iñárritu, he had dinner with director Mike Nichols in New York two weeks before he began shooting the movie. Iñárritu told Nichols of his plan for how he was going to shoot the movie as one long take. Nichols predicted it would be a disaster because not having the ability to use cuts in editing would inhibit the opportunities for comedy. Iñárritu said the meeting didn’t deter him, but was instead helpful in raising his awareness level of the difficulty of what he was about to do.
Before shooting began, Alejandro González Iñárritu sent his cast a photo of Philippe Petit walking on the tightrope between the Twin Towers. He told them, “Guys, this is the movie we are doing. If we fall, we fail.”
The film plays with notion of Chekov’s gun: “If you say in the first chapter that there is a rifle hanging on the wall, in the second or third chapter it absolutely must go off.”
According to one view, the movie is a retelling of Shakespeare’s “Macbeth.” Michael Keaton is Macbeth and Birdman is Lady Macbeth, pushing him to do as he pleases (to be king, or in this case, to be popular and trending). Also, Macbeth famously pursues a course of action aimed at blocking a prophecy proclaimed by witches, while here Keaton uses all his money and time to stop his show from failing as predicted by a female critic. There is also a scene when Keaton’s character leaves a bar, and lines from “Macbeth” are being spoken by an actor on the street. Finally, at one point in the play within the movie, dancing trees are seen on stage, just as in Macbeth.
In the scene where Riggan buys a bottle of liquor, a man is heard (later seen) saying lines from Macbeth, “Poor… player… struts and frets his hour upon the stage… and then is heard no more!” This quote can be seen as talking about Riggan: he has a brief, fretful time on Broadway before he is “heard no more,” he kills himself.
Given the unusual style of filming long takes, Edward Norton and Michael Keaton kept a running tally of flubs made by the actors. Emma Stone made the most mistakes; Zach Galifianakis made the fewest. He actually did mess up a few lines during the filming, but played his mistakes off well enough that the shots were included in the film.
During the press conference in Riggan’s dressing room, he says that he hasn’t played Birdman since 1992. That’s the same year Batman Returns (1992), the last Batman movie starring Michael Keaton, was released.[/b]
at wiki: en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Birdman_(film
trailer: youtu.be/uJfLoE6hanc
BIRDMAN: OR [THE UNEXPECTED VIRTUE OF IGNIORANCE] [2014]
Written in part and directed by Alejandro González Iñárritu
[b]Title card: And did you get what you wanted from this life? I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself beloved on the earth
[Raymond Carver, Late Fragment]
…
Riggan [voiceover]: How did we end up here? This place is horrible. Smells like balls. We don’t belong in this shithole.
…
Riggan: Just find me an actor. A good actor. Give me Woody Harrelson.
Jake: He’s doing the next Hunger Games.
Riggan: Michael Fassbender?
Jake: He’s doing the prequel to the X-Men prequel.
Riggan: How about Jeremy Renner?
Jake: Who?
Riggan: Jeremy Renner. He was nominated. He was the Hurt Locker guy.
Jake: Oh, okay. He’s an Avenger.
Riggan: Fuck! They put him in a cape too?!
…
Note on Riggan’s dressing room mirror: “A thing is a thing, not what is said of that thing.”
…
Gabriel: Why would sombody go from playing the lead in a comic book franchise to adapting Raymond Carver for the stage? As you probably know Barthes said that the cultural work done in the past by gods and demigods…now it is done in the commercial
detergent and by comic strip characters.
…
Riggan: Like you said…Barthes said…you see Birdman is like Icarus…
Clara: Okay, hang on. Who is this Barthes guy? Which Birdman was he in?
…
Clara: Now, is it true that you’ve been injecting yourself with semen from baby pigs?
Riggan: I’m sorry, what?
Clara: As a method of facial rejuvenation.
Riggan: Where did you read that?
Clara: It was tweeted by @prostatewhispers.
Riggan: No, that’s not true.
Clara: I know, but did you do it?
Riggan: No, I didn’t do it.
Clara: Okay, then I’ll just write that you’re denying it.
Riggan: No, don’t write anything! Why would you write anything? I didn’t… don’t write what she said.
…
Gabriel: Are you at all afraid that people will say you’re doing this play to battle the impression that you’re a washed up superhero…?
Riggan: No, absolutely not. Absolutely not. That’s why 20 years ago I said no to Birdman 4.
…
Jake: Oh my god! How do you know Mike Shiner?!
Lesley: We share a vagina.
…
Mike [up on the stage at the preview “improvising”]: Is this water? Did you replace my gin with water, man?
Riggan: Mike. Come on.
Mike: No. Come on, what?
Riggan: Come on, you’re drunk.
Mike: I’m drunk? Yes, I’m drunk! I’m supposed to be drunk! Why aren’t you drunk? This is Carver. He left a piece of his liver on the table every time he wrote a fucking page. If I need to be drinking gin, who the fuck are you to touch my gin, man? Listen, you fucked with the period, you fucked with the plot so you could have the best lines, you leave me the fucking tools that I need! Oh, come on people, don’t be so pathetic. Stop looking at the world through your cellphone screens. Have a real experience! Does anybody give a shit about truth other than me? I mean the set is fake, the bananas are fake, there’s fucking nothing in this milk carton, your performance is fake. The only thing that is real on this stage is this chicken. So, I’m gonna work with the chicken.
…
Riggan [to Sylvia]: The last time I flew here from LA, George Clooney was sitting two seats in front of me. With those cuff links, and that…fucking chin. We ended up flying through this really bad storm. The plane started to rattle and shake, and everyone on board was crying, and praying. And I just sat there. Sat there thinking that when Sam opened that paper it was going to be Clooney’s face on the front page. Not mine…Did you know that Farrah Fawcett died on the same day as Michael Jackson?
…
Riggan: Why did we break up?
Sylvia: Because you threw a kitchen knife at me. And an hour later you were telling me how much you loved me. You know, just because I did not like that ridiculous comedy you did with Goldie Hawn did not mean I did not love you. That’s what you alweays do – you confuse love for admiration.
…
Riggan: I have a lot riding on this fucking play. People know who I am, and…
Mike: Bullshit. They don’t know you, your work. Tbey know the guy from the bird suit who tells coy, slightly vomitus stories on Letterman.
Riggan: Well I’m sorry if I’m popular.
Mike: Popular? I don’t give a shit. Popularity is the slutty little cousin of prestige.
Riggan: Okay, I don’t even know what the fuck that means.
Mike: It means, my reputation is riding on this, and that’s worth a, a…
Riggan: A lot.
Mike: A lot, exactly! Fuck you. Yes! If this doesn’t work out for you, you fuck off back to your studio pals and dive back into that cultural genocide you guys are perpetrating. A douchebag’s born every minute! That was P.T. Barnum’s premise when he invented the circus…and nothing much has changed. You guys know if you crank out toxic crap people will line up and pay to see it!
…
Tabitha [the New York Times theatre critic]: You headed for Hollywood, Mike?
Mike: No. Hollywood’s heading hear, Tabby.
Tabitha: Good luck with that.
Mike: “A man becomes a critic when he cannot be an artist the same way that a man becomes an informer when he cannot be a soldier”. Flaubert, right?
Tabitha: He’s a Hollywood clown in a Lycra bird suit.
Mike: Yes, he is. But tomorrow night at 8:00 he is going out on that stage and risking everything.What will you be doing?
…
Riggan: Listen to me. I’m trying to do something important.
Sam: This is not important.
Riggan: It’s important to me! Alright? Maybe not to you, or your cynical friends whose only ambition is to go viral. But to me…To me… this is - God. This is my career, this is my chance to do some work that actually means something.
Sam: Means something to who? You had a career before the third comic book movie, before people began to forget who was inside the bird costume. You’re doing a play based on a book that was written 60 years ago, for a thousand rich old white people whose only real concern is gonna be where they go to have their cake and coffee when it’s over. And let’s face it, Dad, it’s not for the sake of art. It’s because you want to feel relevant again. Well, guess what, there’s a whole world out there where people fight to be relevant every day. And you act like it doesn’t even exist! Things are happening in a place that you willfully ignore, a place that has already forgotten you. I mean, who the fuck are you? You hate bloggers. You mock Twitter. You don’t even have a Facebook page. You’re the one who doesn’t exist. You’re doing this because you’re scared to death, like the rest of us, that you don’t matter. And you know what? You’re right. You don’t. It’s not important. You’re not important. Get used to it. Dad…
…
Lesley: Why don’t I have any self-respect?!
Laura: You’re an actress, honey.
…
Sam is sitting on the parapet of the theatre roof.
Voice from the street: JUUUMP!
Sam: EAT ME!
Voice from the street: OKAY. JUMP ON MY FACE!
Sam: I love this city.
…
Sam: Truth or dare?
Mike: Truth.
Sam: You’re boring.
Mike: Truth is always more interesting.
…
Mike [to Riggan]: My massive hard-on got 50,000 views on youtube!
…
Riggan alter ego: You really fucked up this time. You destroy a genius book with an infantile adaptation. Now you’re about to destroy what’s left of your career. It’s pathetic…You were a movie star once, remember? Pretentious, but happy.
Riggan: I wasn’t happy.
Riggan alter ego: Ignorant, charming. Now you’re just a tiny, bitter cocksucker.
Riggan: I was fucking miserable.
Riggan alter ego: Yeah, but fake miserable. Hollywood miserable. What are you trying to prove? That you’re an artist? Well, you’re not.
Riggan: Fuck you!!
Riggan alter ego: No, fuck you, you coward. We grossed billions! You ashamed of that? Billions!!
Riggan: And billions of flies eat shit every day!![/b]
To jump or not to jump “right back into that Lycra suit”.
[b]Mike: You’ve been hanging around here trying to make yourself invisible behind this fragile little fuck-up routine but you can’t. You’re anything but invisible. You’re big. You’re kind of a great mess. It’s like a candle burning at both ends, but it’s beautiful. No amount of booze or weed or attitude is going to hide that.
Sam: I’m glad you’re an actor and not a writer, 'cause that was, like, Oprah, Hallmark, R. Kelly bad.
…
Sam: How do you do it?
Mike: Do what?
Sam: How do you go out there every single night and pretend to be someone else in front of all those people?
Mike: I don’t pretend out there. I told you. I pretend just about every place else, but not out there.
Sam: That’s a shame.
…
Sam: Do you really think you’ll be ready for opening tomorrow?
Riggan: Yeah, yeah. Yeah, well, I mean, previews were pretty much a train-wreck. We can’t seem to get through without a raging fire or a raging hard-on. I’m broke. I’m not sleeping like, you know, at all. And um, this play is kinda starting to feel like a major deformed version of myself that just keeps following me around, hitting me in the balls with a tiny little hammer. I’m sorry, what was the question?
Sam: Never mind.
…
Sam [showing Riggan the youtube video of him walking down Broadway in his underwear]: 350,000 views in less than an hour. Believe it or not, this is power.
…
Tabitha: It doesn’t matter, I’m gonna destroy your play.
Riggan: But you didn’t even see it… I mean, did I did something to offend you?
Tabitha: As a matter of fact, you did. You took up space in a theater which otherwise might have been used on something worthwile.
Riggan: Okay… well. I mean you don’t even know if it’s any good or not… I didn’t…
Tabitha: That’s true; I haven’t read a word of it or even seen the preview. But after the opening tomorrow I’m gonna turn in the worst review anyone has ever read and I’m gonna close your play. Would you like to know why? Because I hate you and everyone you represent. Entitled, selfish, spoiled children. Blissfully untrained, unversed and unprepared to even attempt real art. Handing each other awards for cartoons and pornography. Measuring your worth in weekends? Well this is the theater and you don’t get to come in here and pretend you can write, direct and act in your own propaganda piece without coming through me first. So break a leg.
Riggan: Well… You know… What has to happen in a person’s life to become a critic anyway? What are you writing? Another review? Is that any good? Is it? Did you even see it? Let me read it.
Tabitha: I will call the police!
Riggan: Call the police… let’s read. Lacklustre… That’s just labels. Marginality… You kidding me? Sounds like you need penicillin to clear that up. That’s a label. That’s all labels. You just label everything. That’s so fuckin’ lazy… You just… You’re a lazy fucker. You know what this is? You even know what that is? You don’t, You know why? Because you can’t see this thing if you don’t have to label it. You mistake all those little noises in your head for true knowledge.
Tabitha: Are you finished?
Riggan: No! I’m not finished! There’s nothing here about technique! There’s nothing in here about structure! There’s nothing in here about intentions! It’s just a bunch of crappy opinions, backed up by even crappier comparisons… You write a couple of paragraphs and you know what? None of this cost you fuckin’ anything! The Fuck! You risk nothing! Nothing! Nothing! Nothing! I’m a fucking actor! This play cost me everything… So I tell you what, you take this fucked malicious cowardly shitty written review and you shove that right the fuck up your wrinkly tight ass.
Tabitha: You’re no actor, you’re a celebrity. Let’s be clear on that. I’m gonna kill your play.
…
Riggan as the young Birdman to the bedraggled and defeated Riggan today: It’s a beautiful day. Forget about the Times… everyone else has. Come on. Stand up! So you’re not a great actor. Who cares? You’re much more than that. You tower over these other theater douchebags. You’re a movie star, man! You’re a global force! Don’t you get it? You spent your life building a bank account and a reputation… and you blew 'em both. Good for you. Fuck it. We’ll make a comeback. They’re waiting for something huge. Well, give it to them. Shave off that pathetic goatee. Get some surgery! Sixty’s the new thirty, motherfucker. You’re the original. You paved the way for these other clowns. Give the people what they want… old-fashioned apocalyptic porn. Birdman: The Phoenix Rises. Pimple-faced gamers creaming in their pants. A billion worldwide, guaranteed. You are larger than life, man. You save people from their boring, miserable lives. You make them jump, laugh, shit their pants. All you have to do is…
[Riggan snaps fingers, and explosions occur, shooting starts, soldiers get shot, choppers fly and shoot, one gets shot down]
Young Birdman: That’s what I’m talking about. Bones rattling! Big, loud, fast! Look at these people, at their eyes… they’re sparkling. They love this shit. They love blood. They love action. Not this talky, depressing, philosophical bullshit.
[Birdman shoots laser in giant mechanical bird above the building, it screeches]
Young Birdman: See? There you go, you motherfucker. Gravity doesn’t even apply to you. Wait till you see the faces of those who thought we were finished. Listen to me. Let’s go back one more time and show them what we’re capable of. We have to end it on our own terms… with a grand gesture. Flames. Sacrifice. Icarus. You can do it. You hear me? You are… Birdman!
…
Slvia [after reading a revew in the paper]: You’re happy about this?
Jake: Happy? I’m fucking euphoric! This is the kind of review that turns people into living legends!
Sylvia: He shot the nose off his face!
Jake: He’s got a new nose! And if he doesn’t like that one, we’ll get him a new one! We’ll use Meg Ryan’s guy. [/b]