Birdman, aka Biggest Pile of Crap of the Year Award

Birdman has been universally acclaimed as the best movie of 2014. It was lauded for its plot, theme, cinematography, score, and direction, of course. Unfortunately this is yet another turn for me in Going Against the Crowd. Reminds me very much of the year American Beauty was released. That film, like this one, was artsy in a way that gives really good art films a bad name. It comes across as so pretentious, so abstract, and so theme-riddled that you feel the need to vomit up its theme like a bad breakfast. That film, like this one, was overwrought to the point where its message became utterly hollow when it should have been provocative and sad. That film, like this one, made mistakes in just about every category, and to my mind was most notable for being hard to sit through.

This film was worse, however. Despite having talented acting (Michael Keaton and Edward Norton were outstanding, as they usually are, and none of this can be counted against them), which ought to have helped, Birdman failed on every level. The viewing experience was nearly unbearable. ...Why? For several reasons. First, the score, which was basically a cacophonous mess, has been called "audacious" because it is almost entirely "...percussion – a careening, ramshackle-sounding drum score that underpins most of the scenes and gives the film the feeling that the whole glorious mess may come crashing down at any second." Yes, and along with it, your sanity. Many of the jazz drum solos have no notes and likewise no meaning, no soul. They just ramble on towards insanity, like the main character Riggan Thomson. I suppose it would be fitting; it could be helpful, if it were actually necessary to show us the problems the main character is having. But we don't need that erratic nerve-shattering so-called "music" because we already have this: the booming voice of Birdman that Thomson is hearing in his mind.

Yes, he is hearing voices, throughout the movie, or rather -- one voice. The booming, inevitable, inescapable, thunderous, hideous, scratchy, domineering voice of Birdman. "You know I'm right. Listen to me, man. You are the original! Let's make a comeback! You're Birdman! You are a god!"

The voice, along with the other hallucinations (Thomson believes he can fly, and can move objects with his mind) proves to us the level of mental decline. We don't need the score, on top of it all. Because of several humorous interludes, and the powerful talent of Edward Norton (portraying another large ego character, an archetype of a dedicated theater actor, for whom staged reality is the only reality), there are moments of relief in this movie (just barely enough to keep us sane). Nevertheless the hammer keeps pounding us on the head. It says in scene after scene: "Actors have big egos!" Pound, pound, pound. "The search for recognition will drive your ego into the ground!" Pound, pound, pound. "Hollywood is the only place an actor can achieve recognition!" Pound, pound, pound. "But the art world and the world of theater has no respect for Hollywood!" And on it goes.

I'd like to know why so many people found this movie "new" or "refreshing" or some such. If you'd like to see a man flying through the air, if that would be an exciting new experience for you, can I recommend Man of Steel? Wouldn't that be ironic? To find what you really want by leaving your art theater behind and going to see a mainstream superhero movie? But wait -- wasn't that the whole point? To remind us of the superhero movies? Yes, sure, yes. But that isn't what we're watching here. So the effect is, Birdman is telling us those films are too lowbrow while still tricking us with the exact same gimmick? Something smells wrong.

The conversation happens about 11 or 12 times -- the conversation about art v. Hollywood. It is truly old; there is no new idea there. Some critics have said the movie is really about Thomson's ego and search for recognition, his lost identity as an artist, his integrity as an actor being equal to his integrity as a human being. However, the movie itself seems to imply that his identification with the superhero is what saves him... The theater is only a place of torture and bloodshed. I figured the main idea was that if he had any sense of himself, in the first place, any true sense of identity, that he would be equally content to work in Hollywood as the theater, and he would have nothing to prove. He would know he was an actor, an artist, regardless of the medium. I figured the Birdman persona was redemptive, given the ending.

So. yes. Then there's the ending of the movie, which I can't say much about except it was 100% predictable. Not only are we sitting, stuck, watching a movie that hits us over the head (psychologically and sonically) and feels pointless and unbearable, but we also can see the end coming from a long, long distance.

All I can really take away from it is, once again, the old saying that "what's old is new again" to the audience. And/or, people really love cacophonous music and people are very much more masochistic than you would have thought just by looking at them.

"Shame" vs. "A Dangerous Method"

I recently watched Michael Fassbender twice in a row; in one film, he portrayed Carl Jung, and in the other, a random man walking aimlessly through the world who has been accused (by the critics) of "sex addiction."

Do I need to tell you he was more fun as Carl Jung?

One thinks, when drawn to watch a movie like "Shame," that one is going to see something lusty. The title implies that Random Man (the audience has only one or two chances to notice that the character is named "Brandon") will do something shameful! A sex addict? What does it mean? Don't you think it means someone who has a lot of sex?

First of all, the term "sex addict" has been used by the critics, film reviewers, the official movie pundits... But... I saw no evidence for this in the film. Does owning pornography make you a "sex addict"? If it does, we live in a world full of sex addicts. Does sleeping with a stranger make you a "sex addict"? If it does... You get the idea. Really what the random man does is walk around, silently, or stare at people on trains, argue with his sister (who showed up unexpectedly), and then, occasionally, look at porn.

Second, what is this movie about? Is it about sex at all? Or is it about depression? Why don't we just call it "Depression." I don't think the guy has shame. What does he have to be ashamed about? There's an implication that he doesn't connect with women (one very awkward dinner date, nothing to do with sex) and that he doesn't enjoy his work (whatever his work is, it's only depicted as a nameless, purposeless, dull office), and that he has nothing to do but ride around on trains and stare morosely at pretty girls.

Third, when his sister shows up, we know absolutely nothing about her, other than the fact that she is depressed, too. Her close-up of singing "New York, New York" (in slow-motion, and off-key) in a bar does nothing to make us like her. She's got pouty lips, ugly hair in need of a good stylist, and she, even more than her brother, has something to be ashamed of: She has attempted suicide.

Nothing happens in "Shame" except watching two depressed people move aimlessly from one place to another. Oh, there is one sex scene.

(Worst movie ever? I would say so except Michael Fassbender is so good-looking.)

The one about Carl Jung, and his breaking away from his mentor Sigmund Freud, is actually quite thought-provoking, and Fassbender is endearing as a psycho-analyst who falls in love with one of his patients. Keira Knightely is extremely annoying, as always, so you will have to do your best to ignore her. But Carl Jung really came to life in Fassbender, not only because he makes the process of psycho-analysis seem like a worthy endeavour, but because the line between intellect and emotion is so blurry in his portrayal. His patient, evidently skilled and intellectual herself -- enough so to later become a rival analyst -- challenges his mind and his willpower. Jung seems human; he seems MALE -- just as much as he seems like a hero of academics everywhere.

We get the chance, in other words, to probe some of the ideas of psycho-analysis, such as dream analysis, and early attachment theory, alongside someone who is finding his own way in the world.... alongside a man, who dares to challenge his master, THE master. Jung has faults, and this endears us to him and demonstrates the embodiment of imperfect intelligence.

(P.S. It's also an excellent performance by Viggo Mortensen in the role of Freud.)

Elegy

What a sad, sad movie. I love Ben Kingsley, I love his seriousness and his composure and his changeability and his intensity and his depth of feeling. I love his eyes and in this case, they were sad eyes. He can do anything with them; he can make them mean or cold or angry or hostile or threatening or intimidating or loving or gentle or sweet or intelligent or calculating or pensive or... I love Sir Ben Kingsley. What a fine, fine British actor he is. I loved him in "House of Sand and Fog" and "Schindler's List" and here again. What a treat.

I didn't love the movie, "Elegy," however; as much as I love a great romantic story, this one was just too damn sad. You've got to be prepared for some sadness with a title as obvious as "Elegy," but you don't need a somber piano score and a lot of extra tear-jerker dialogue when you've already got your heart out there on the line for doomed romance. Yeah.