“Foxcatcher” and “Birdman,” both of which I saw in the final stretch of the New York Film Festival, which ended on October 12, could not be more different from one another. Aside from both being products of Hollywood and representing distinct strains of late-in-the-year awards-contending releases — the “we’re very serious” film and the “we can laugh at ourselves” film — both diverge in ways that are not immediately clear, notably that one is thought-provoking underneath a quiet surface while the other is a hollow and banal redemption story hidden behind a scrim of complication.
Let’s start with “Birdman,” because it represents a type of film that gets on my nerves more than most. Michael Keaton stars as Riggan Thomson, a washed-up actor most famous for playing the title superhero, and who walked away after the second sequel. Now, Thomson’s on Broadway, writing and directing and starring in the self-financed production of “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love,” based on the short story by Raymond Carver, and it’s not going well. The actors are not getting along (some are veering on the edge of craziness), Thomson’s fresh-out-of-rehab daughter won’t stop causing trouble, and the line between fact-and-fiction is beginning to blur.
Directed and co-written by Alejandro González Iñárritu, “Birdman” seems to have mistaken technical wizardry for substance. Most of the movie gives off the appearance of being filmed in one long, winding take, with the camera moving through backstage hallways, in and out of dressing rooms, and roaming around the stage with the actors as they rehearse and perform the play. It’s not much different from how many of Iñárritu’s previous films — “Babel” or “21 Grams,” for instance — confused the tri-or-quadfurcation of the narrative, with the various strands held together by flimsy links, as a marker for profoundness. It works like a magic trick — it seems amazing until you recognize the mechanics and realize the rest is just smoke and mirrors.
“Birdman” is a Hollywood film made for people in Hollywood, filled with jokes about how crazy and narcissistic actors can be, and how much critics stink. It has things it wants to say about identity and the impossibility of capturing truth, but these things get lost in the tangled mess of characters and camera work and lame jokes. “Foxcatcher,” on the other hand, is mannered in comparison. Directed by Bennett Miller (“Capote”), the film details the true story of John du Pont (Steve Carell), heir to his family’s fortune, and his tragic relationship with sibling wrestlers Mark and Dave Schultz (Channing Tatum and Mark Ruffalo, respectively). Miller, through an economy of camera movement and narrative details, has crafted a quiet, physical, and almost subdued portrait that embraces ambiguity.
It comes down to a simple idea: one film tries to cram everything into a short timeframe, while the other realizes the futileness of that approach. “Foxcatcher” is as much about silence as “Birdman” is about noise. Both deal with emotionally unstable figures, but one is trying to mirror that turmoil through clutter while the other conveys it through an almost minimalist presentation.
Ultimately, the differences in the ways “Birdman” and “Foxcatcher” operate are most clearly visible in their settings. One is located in Manhattan, smack in the middle of Times Square, while the other is located in the drab country hills of Pennsylvania — both backgrounds inform the films’ visual and narrative style. “Foxcatcher” is constructed around the stillness of the du Pont estate, a world of porcelain dolls closed off from the rest of society, and its power comes from what is not said. “Birdman” runs on the buzz of Broadway — it’s as trivial as the Great White Way’s worst shows, all bright lights and showbiz allure.
