Birdman

Or The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance. 

What's unexpected is that Henry and I got to go to a movie.
In the theater.
On a Saturday. 

Birdman is delightfully weird and totally unexpected. I couldn't describe it if I wanted to, but I do want to mention that the depiction of the world of the theater is dead on. Believe me, my B.F.A. may be nearly 15 years old, but you go NOT forget just how dirty and real the theater is. This movie has an ultra-realism that had me squirming in my seat, and it totally worked. The intimacy of the stage was captured perfectly in super close-ups, lingering and excruciating. Everyone is solid and praiseworthy, but Michael Keaton was a powerhouse; heartbreaking and heart-swelling all at once. The Oscar buzz is very very deserved. The parallels to his own career are not: Michael Keaton is no celebrity trying to stay relevant. He is, and always has been, an actor of the finest stuff.

Great, really good-weird, movie.

P.S. The early appearance of an unflappable costume designer, who takes one look at Edward Norton's total nudity and declares that he "needs to go shopping for bigger pants" made me giggle and remember those long ago theater days of just rolling with whatever. Henry whispered "Are actors really like that?" And I said "Oh yes. They are very much like that."

P.P.S. The fact that we viewed this movie at the rather gritty, kinda uncomfortable, I-think-they-might-have-showed-porn-here-in-the-70s State Theater only added to the ultra-realism.