Birdman

All the world's a stage, and all upon it merely players.  We proceed telescopically from our past, our perceptions, and our interactions.  We wander the maze of back stage warrens until we emerge.

Birdman is billed as a comedy.  Certainly, there are wry moments of irony, visual and verbal humorous juxtapositions, references that tickle. But a comedy? Nah. More like a teetering ride on a vertiginous edge.

This film percolates for days.  Director Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu redefines "costume drama" to include Speedos in a (rented) sun bed, layers of wigs and toupees, and superheroes in Times Square.

The sound editing is incredibly deft, with the sure beat of drummer Brian Blades for the pulse of life on the edge.  The cast is splendid.  Michael Keaton and Edward Norton inhabit roles worth their skills, due to an intelligent and layered script.  Cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki seamlessly conveys the maze of back stage warrens as we leap into our roles.

Boyhood

Ah, the swift arrow of time, and the fleeting connections we make on that flight! This is the poignant and essential subject of Boyhood.  Richard Linklater wrote and directed this exquisitely quiet film experience in the time flow of 12 years.  The river of time, the persistence of change, the utter impossibility of resistance to the waves of life, are depicted with the grace and credibility of actual time passing for the actors and the characters depicted.

Some other more Hollywood directors would have applied formulaic structure.  Linklater had the courage and confidence to allow life to supersede drama.

All performances in Boyhood are nuanced and true.  Life happens, moments pass, we change just by living.

It's always now.

The Only Lovers Left Alive

Jim Jarmusch films typically weave skeins of dark and quiet with musical threads in the weft.  He allows time. The Only Lovers Left Alive redefines dark, quiet, time (and potentially music) by depicting a very long term conversation, an undying love.

Tilda Swinton and Tom Hiddleston are two stylish, sophisticated vampires, married to one another and deeply conversational for centuries.  They don't always reside in the same location.  After all, they have had, and will have (with care), millennia to explore being together and apart.  Their longevity is much due to passionate interests in literature, music and one another.  They are inspired to continue because life is worth living.

I could not take my eyes from this film for a second.  The exquisitely low lighting, rich fabrics, visual texture, shiny eyes, and elastic slow moments are enchanting.  The dance of time and love as extended over long experience is languorously and intelligently observed. There is wry insight and sharp humor.

The original soundtrack, plus Detroit classics, paces the film perfectly. Literary and musical references amuse and abound.  Tilda dancing in her moth eaten robes to "Trapped by a Thing Called Love" has an immortality all its own.

The beautiful script (by Jarmusch, of course), the cast, vision and sound make this a delicious neo-Gothic swoon. How can I join this rather exclusive vampire club?  Like the stylish vampires depicted, I have had it with the zombies.

American Hustle

There is a joyous thrilling complexity to American Hustle that is nearly unknown in current cinema.  David O. Russell directs.  He co-wrote the smart and sure script with Eric Singer.  During the entire compelling, tight wire dance, character credibility remains consistent, albeit marvelously layered.  The ensemble cast carries this off with astonishing skill.

Christian Bale engages and endears even through tinted aviators and a randomly elaborate comb over.  And now, I must digress into the hair.  There is said comb over, with glued hair piece; a pompadour; the coke-head's obsessive tiny rollers; hair piled and streaked;  tresses curled and crimped.  Hair deserves a credit in this film, as it is practically a character.

Amy Adams plays a sharp bright beam of coppery intention.  Bradley Cooper gets to go bright eyed as the intensely manic wild card.   Jennifer Lawrence plays the wily shimmering goddess of chaos to perfection.  You may never hear "Live and Let Die" the same way again, or be able to dust the house without it.

The use of music is both flawless and memorable, a rare combination.  Camera work manages to be intimate without being intrusive. There is humor, but not at anyone's expense.  There is tenderness, but suggested not indulged.  There is a confidence in connections between humans and all the complexity that connection involves and reveals.

See it for the hair, the humor, the hustle.  Just see it.