Birdman: Performance and Reality

When the actor who once played Batman joined forces with a cast associated with the Hulk, Spider-Man, and King Kong in a film called Birdman, the intentions of its director and screenwriters were already apparent. In the film, Riggan Thomson leaves Hollywood for Broadway, assembling a theatrical company to write, direct, and star in his own stage production. This narrative parallels director Alejandro González Iñárritu’s decision to bring together Michael Keaton, Edward Norton, Naomi Watts, Emma Stone, and others for Birdman. The film deliberately blurs the boundaries between reality and performance, creating a cinematic reflection of the real world in which its satirical intentions are unmistakable.

Riggan’s character seems almost tailor-made for Keaton. Birdman himself is a direct reflection of Keaton’s earlier portrayal of Batman, while Riggan’s diminished career and struggle for relevance mirror Keaton’s own relative absence from the Hollywood spotlight over the years.

Theatre, Cinema, and Performance

There is no shortage of cinematic classics that explore the dissolution of boundaries between performers and their roles. Familiar examples include Chen Kaige’s Farewell My Concubine, Satoshi Kon’s Millennium Actress, Roman Polanski’s Venus in Fur, and Olivier Assayas’s more recent Clouds of Sils Maria. All are outstanding examples of this approach to filmmaking. In fact, Ingmar Bergman’s After the Rehearsal (1984) is another masterpiece that explores the indistinguishability of theatrical performance and reality, although it remains relatively little-seen.

What makes After the Rehearsal particularly fascinating is that it permits two distinct interpretations, or rather, two different modes of spectatorship. In the first, we are watching characters in a film discussing a theatrical production. In the second, we are watching characters within a play, itself embedded in the film, discussing another theatrical production. This second impression emerges largely from the way Anna is held motionless following Rakel’s appearance. Through this particular cinematic technique, even scenes ostensibly situated in reality can appear theatrical, while scenes of performance seem permeated by emotions carried over from the characters’ lives outside the play.

A similar effect can be observed in Clouds of Sils Maria. When the actress and her assistant rehearse their lines, scripted dialogue frequently gives way to seemingly genuine conversation, with the transitions becoming so fluid that it is increasingly difficult to distinguish performance from reality. This ambiguity is precisely what makes such films so sophisticated. By continually destabilizing the distinction between lived experience and dramatic representation, they generate layers of irony and satire whose implications can be remarkably profound.

Birdman calls to mind Olivier Assayas’s recent film Clouds of Sils Maria. Beyond their shared use of the play-within-a-play structure, both films establish striking parallels between the actors’ real-life careers and the characters they portray. Theatre and cinema, reality and fiction, performance and everyday life form a complex system of three interrelated reflections. The ideas and emotional resonances generated by these overlapping layers extend far beyond the fictional narratives themselves. When Edward Norton, known for his performance in American History X, plays an intensely committed Method actor, or when Michael Keaton, once celebrated for portraying Batman, takes on the role of a fading superhero star in Birdman, it becomes almost impossible not to think of the actual workings of Hollywood. This interplay between cinematic fiction and the realities of the film industry lies at the heart of Birdman’s artistic ambition.

Riggan’s Fractured Identity

In Birdman, the superhero persona that constantly speaks into Riggan’s ear can be understood as a manifestation of his fractured psyche, a characterization deliberately constructed by the filmmakers. This device is remarkably effective, capturing with extraordinary precision the psychological impact that Hollywood blockbusters can have on the actors who star in them. A single blockbuster can transform a relatively unknown performer into an internationally recognized celebrity almost overnight, bringing immense fame, wealth, and an enthusiastic following. Yet once the franchise comes to an end, or the actor leaves the series, the surrounding world can suddenly become unsettlingly quiet. The psychological contrast between these extremes of public attention can have devastating consequences. In Riggan’s case, this crisis manifests itself through a profound fragmentation of his identity, accompanied by auditory and visual hallucinations.

Iñárritu, however, takes this psychological dimension a step further in the film’s final sequence. Throughout the narrative, Riggan’s extraordinary experiences have appeared exclusively when he is alone, encouraging the audience to interpret them as subjective manifestations of his disturbed mental state. In the final scene, however, his daughter appears to witness the same phenomenon and responds with a smile. This moment fundamentally unsettles the distinction between psychological hallucination and external reality, introducing an unmistakable element of magical realism into the film’s conclusion.

Three Shots on Stage

Another aspect of Birdman that particularly caught my attention is the way Riggan shoots himself in the head three times during the theatrical production. Each instance builds upon the previous one, creating a carefully structured progression. The screenplay advances its narrative with remarkable patience while maintaining a strong sense of dramatic rhythm.

The first instance occurs after an actor in Riggan’s company is injured. Following a sequence in which the film takes satirical jabs at several of Hollywood’s biggest A-list stars, Riggan is forced to recruit Mike Shiner as a replacement. Mike, however, proves to be an exceptionally difficult Broadway actor who behaves entirely according to his own impulses onstage. His unpredictable conduct drives Riggan to the point of exasperation. Confronted with Mike’s onstage erection, Riggan finds himself utterly at a loss. Eventually, he regains his composure and brings the performance to its scripted conclusion by shooting himself.

The second instance follows a painful conversation between Riggan and his daughter. Her words are harsh and cutting, yet they expose uncomfortable truths about his life and career. It is also one of the rare moments of genuine emotional connection between father and daughter. Already physically and emotionally exhausted, Riggan becomes even more distressed when he discovers Mike's involvement with his daughter. Overwhelmed, he steps outside for a cigarette, only to find that his robe has become trapped in the theatre door. With no alternative, he is forced to make his way through Times Square in his underwear and re-enter the theatre through the main entrance, attracting a crowd of astonished spectators. Thinking quickly, Riggan improvises his way back into the performance, entering through the auditorium and successfully completing the preview.

The third instance takes place on opening night. Following a confrontational encounter with the theatre critic Tabitha Dickinson, Riggan spends the night drinking heavily. The following day, he becomes increasingly immersed in his fantasies, imagining himself soaring above the streets of New York in an exhilarating moment of personal liberation. By the time he steps onto the stage, he has entered a state of complete absorption in his performance. This time, however, the prop gun has been replaced with a loaded firearm. Riggan pulls the trigger and shoots himself in the head, producing an unprecedented response from the audience.

The film’s illusion of a continuous long take, achieved through meticulously concealed edits, and its highly coordinated cinematography, which remains closely integrated with the actors’ performances, both depend upon an exceptionally well-constructed screenplay. This is precisely why I regard Birdman as one of the year's most outstanding achievements in screenwriting. I would strongly recommend reading the screenplay itself.

Magical Realism and Liberation

As mentioned earlier, Birdman also possesses a distinctive quality of magical realism. Its visual language, which seamlessly integrates reality with fantasy, is particularly unusual in live-action cinema. This becomes especially apparent in the film’s second half. After Riggan’s night of heavy drinking, we witness a spectacular sequence in which Birdman battles a giant monster, followed by Riggan's imagined flight above the streets of New York.

These scenes unexpectedly reminded me of Isao Takahata’s The Tale of the Princess Kaguya. Both films depict their protagonists' subjective visions, and both use these moments to express an overwhelming desire for liberation and the courage to embrace one's true self. Such sequences move me to tears every time I watch them. There is something profoundly inspiring about seeing these characters momentarily cast aside their constraints and experience life with complete freedom and abandon. Their willingness to live on their own terms becomes an expression of personal liberation that resonates deeply with me.

This kind of fluid interplay between reality and imagination is more commonly found in animated films, where visual expression is less constrained by the conventions of live-action storytelling. Two other animated features from the same year, The Boy and the World and The Art of Happiness, demonstrate equally remarkable imaginative ambition. Both are well worth watching.

I would particularly encourage viewers to pay close attention to three conversations in the film: the exchange between Riggan and his daughter, Riggan’s confrontation with the theatre critic Tabitha Dickinson, and the dialogue between Riggan and Birdman following his night of heavy drinking. The film’s central ideas are embedded in these three exchanges, each deserving careful examination and reflection. Once again, I cannot help but applaud the director and screenwriters for their remarkable achievement.

When Fiction Returns to Reality

Within the film, Riggan’s theatrical production receives critical acclaim, marking a dramatic reversal of his declining career. Even Tabitha Dickinson, the theatre critic who has always regarded Hollywood with contempt, finds herself compelled to praise his performance, albeit in carefully measured terms. Outside the film, meanwhile, reports have begun circulating that Michael Keaton is being approached for a variety of new projects, suggesting a remarkable revival of his own acting career. The film’s narrative seems to have extended into reality itself. Birdman has become something of a prophecy, evoking both an inescapable destiny and a trap into which one willingly struggles to enter.