From Caped Crusader to Crazy Birdman: A Hilarious Disaster That Bombs Movie History with One Epic Acting Fail!
If you’ve ever dreamed of becoming a “serious” actor, congratulations—because Birdman (2014) will teach you that the path to artistic legitimacy involves less talent and more accidentally shitting on your career, family, and dignity. Directed by Alejandro González Iñárritu and starring Michael Keaton as the disgraced superhero actor Riggan Thomson, this film is a masterclass in how not to make a movie about making a movie.
Introduction: Why Birdman Should Be Your New BFF
Imagine waking up one morning, realizing your entire life is a dumpster fire, and deciding to climb into that dumpster while wearing a cape and reciting Shakespeare. That’s Riggan Thomson. Once a star of the Birdman superhero franchise (so forgettable that even its feathered co-stars gave up on humanity), Riggan now lives in a New York City dump disguised as a swanky Upper East Side apartment. His only goal? To prove he’s not just a “has-been” by directing and starring in a “real” indie film. But let’s be honest—his plan is about as solid as a chocolate teapot glued together with spit.
The movie itself is a gleeful parody of overrated “art-house” pretensions, skewering everything from method acting to directors who scream “more authenticity!” while scarfing down artisanal toast. It’s also a love letter to screw-ups, because if there’s one thing Riggan and his chaotic crew prove, it’s that even the worst movies can unintentionally become unintentional comedies.
Time-Traveling Plot Fragments: Because Logic Took a Day Off
Let’s dissect the plot like a toddler dismantling a snow globe—violently, but with glee.
Scene 1: The Opening Shot—Or, How Not to Start a Film
The movie begins with a single continuous shot that follows Riggan through a chaotic day. He stumbles out of bed, argues with his ex-wife/agent (because relationships are as functional here as a one-legged duck), and accidentally knocks over a priceless vase. The camera work is virtuoso-level trolling, loudly announcing: This is going to be a disaster.
Scene 2: Method Acting Gone Wild
Riggan decides to “immerse himself in the role” of a suicidal playwright named Mike Shawn. So he locks himself in a hotel room, stops eating, and starts talking to imaginary pigeons. His method acting is less “method” and more “mentally unhinged,” leading to a cringe-fest where he tries to convince a pigeon to off itself by offering it Prozac. The bird, displaying peak survival instinct, pecks his hand and flies the coop.
Scene 3: Family Drama with a Side of Amateur Psychotherapy
His son, Jake (played by Edward Norton), is a jazz drummer who moonlights as a passive-aggressive douchebag. Their conversation feels like two people trying to solve a Rubik’s cube blindfolded while arguing over whose turn it is to hate their dad. Riggan attempts bonding by bonding… over weed? Or maybe over how much they both despise each other. Either way, the jazz band in the background plays “Flightless Bird, American Mouth” like it’s accompanying a eulogy for canceled plans.
Scene 4: The Epic Fail of Filming a Single Take
In a misguided quest for “cinematic realism,” Riggan’s director (Lindsay Duncan) insists on filming a crucial scene in one uninterrupted shot. The result? A chaotic mess where Jake’s drum solo drifts into oblivion, extras mug for the camera instead of acting, and Riggan accidentally fires a prop gun loaded with blanks into an unsuspecting crowd. The absurdity is so gloriously raw that you’ll cheer for the director’s decision to never cut.
Scene 5: The Subway Stunt—Or, How to Ruin Everything in Slow Motion
In a bid for “artistic sacrifice,” Riggan plans to jump in front of a subway train to end his film. He marches onto the tracks, takes a deep breath…and gets interrupted by a selfie-taking tourist obliviously blocking his path. The tourist’s blissful unawareness of impending doom is so cringe-worthy that you’ll laugh until you cry, then cry because you’re laughing at a man about to become a cautionary subway decal.
Review: Birdman—A Film About Failing So Spectacularly It Wins Anyway
Birdman is like a drunk person who tried to build a sandcastle but accidentally invented a new genre: “abstract expressionist slacker porn.” It’s messy, offensive, and occasionally profound, but you can’t look away.
Why It’s Great:
- Michael Keaton’s Tour de Force: He’s schlumpy, sweaty, and tragically funny, carrying the film with the charisma of a washed-up lounge lizard wearing a superhero cape.
- The Long Take Masterpiece: The opening shot is a technical marvel that makes you feel like you’re strapped to a rollercoaster operated by a caffeine-addled monkey.
- Satire That Lands Like a Spitball in a Fancy Gallery: It skewers Hollywood’s obsession with “prestige” and “originality,” reminding us that sometimes the best art is the kind you accidentally pee on.
Why It’s Terrible:
- Some Scenes Drag Like a Dead Pigeon on a Subway Track.
- The Ending Is Ambiguous AF. Did Riggan die? Become a superhero? Suffer a psychotic breakdown? The movie shrugs and says, “Who cares? We’re out of cocaine.”
Final Thoughts: A Cautionary Tale for Aspiring Douchebags
Birdman teaches us that even if you’re a washed-up actor with a terrible haircut, you can still accidentally create a cult classic. More importantly, it reminds us to embrace our flaws—because what’s life without accidentally shitting on your dreams, your family, and your dignity?
So go watch Birdman—but not before googling “how to survive a subway accident.” You’ll need it.
P.S. If you ever meet Riggan Thomson, tell him to stop talking to pigeons. They’re clearly not his spirit animal.