Birdman: The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance, was the strangest film I’ve ever seen, and I’ve seen strange.
I’m not counting bizarro sci-fi flicks, like Mesa of Lost Women, about a mad scientist who injects spiders with human growth hormone to create a race of beautiful women, or David Croneberg’s Videodrome (David Cronenberg, ’nuff said). Those films are in a strange category all their own.
Birdman falls in line with more mainstream films such as Ed Wood’s Glen or Glenda, Barton Fink, Mulholland Drive, and Donnie Darko. Strange films geared toward a general audience. That’s where Birdman feathers its nest as the strangest of them all.
Whiplash is the most captivating film I’ve seen in a long time.
Sure, it has holes in the plot the size of the ones in the Dead Sea, but the movie is so intense, that a climactic concert scene elicited loud audible gasps from the audience.
Throw in some bodacious acting, bodacious jazz, and the bodacious ability to be parodied, and you’ve got yourself one bodacious hit.
I have to admit it, it wasn’t love at first sight. When AMC announced a Better Call Saul sequel to Breaking Bad, I thought it was a bad idea.
But, I was wise to tread lightly and hold off on a premature judgment. After the premiere episode, I have a great appreciation for the one who knocks over trash cans, and IS the hapless danger — Jimmy, before he was called Saul (hilarious, yet endearing Bob Odenkirk).
Thank you Vince Gilligan! Better Call Saul is a wonderful Valentine Day’s present for us diehard Breaking Bad fans who still choke up when we hear the strains of Baby Blue on the radio.
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