& Mike: This is the theater, sweetheart. Don’t be so self-conscious.
& Riggan: Did you know Farrah Fawcett died the exact same day as Michael Jackson?
& Riggan: Well, I’m sorry if I’m popular, Mike.
Mike: Popular? I don’t give a shit. Popular?! Popularity is the slutty little cousin of prestige, my friend.
Riggan: Okay, I don’t even know what the fuck that means, so...
& Riggan: They were laughing in our fucking faces.
Mike: Tonight they were laughing; tomorrow they’ll be tweeting. Fuck ’em. Who cares? These are the people who pay half price to watch us rehearse. Stop fucking caring.
& Mike: «A man becomes a critic when he cannot be an artist, the same way that a man becomes an informer when he cannot be a soldier.» That’s Flaubert, right?
& Sam: You’re doing a play based on a book that was written 60 years ago, for a thousand rich old white people whose only real concern is gonna be where they go to have their cake and coffee when it’s over. And let’s face it, Dad, it’s not for the sake of art. It’s because you want to feel relevant again. Well, there’s a whole world out there where people fight to be relevant every day. And you act like it doesn’t even exist! Things are happening in a place that you willfully ignore, a place that has already forgotten you. I mean, who are you? You hate bloggers. You make fun of Twitter. You don’t even have a Facebook page. You’re the one who doesn’t exist. You’re doing this because you’re scared to death, like the rest of us, that you don’t matter. And you know what? You’re right. You don’t. It’s not important. You’re not important. Get used to it.
& Lesley: Why don’t I have any self-respect?!
Laura: Oh, you’re an actress, honey.
& Mike: Tell me something, what is... what is the worst thing that he did to you? Seriously.
& Riggan: I guess the question we should ask ourselves is: What do we talk about when we talk about love?
& Sam: When I was in rehab, they made us do this.
Riggan: Really? What is it?
Sam: It’s, um... these dashes represent the six billion years that the Earth has been around... And so each dash represents a thousand years.And, um, this is... how long humans have been here. 150,000 years. I think they’re trying to remind us that that’s all our ego and self-obsession are worth.
& Lady on Balcony: Hey, is this for real, or are you shooting a film?
Riggan: A film!
Lady on Balcony: You people are full of shit!
& Riggan: I really wish I wouldn’t have videotaped her birth, though.
Sylvia: Why?
Riggan: ’Cause it... I just missed the moment, really. Don’t have it. I... I should’ve just been there with the two of you. You know? Just... the three of us. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t even present in my own life, and now I don’t have it, and I’m never gonna have it.
--
+ quotes on the IMDb
+ Drum Score.
Σ nostradamvs: «Это великолепный фильм. Неимоверный. Прекрасный. Это, блин, лучший фильм за несколько последних лет во всём мировом кинематографе («Отель «Гранд Будапешт», – мутный отстой, кстати). Майкл Китон играет сам себя – и играет невероятно; Нортон тоже на какой-то недосягаемой актёрской высоте, особенно когда он исполняет настоящего себя на сцене и картонного персонажа вне её. Безумная операторская работа (конечно, Любецки и в «Гравитации» сделал всё блестяще), шикарный дубль на целый фильм со спрятанными склейками, актёрская школа настолько сильная, что я такого не видел лет, наверное, десять. И я очень хочу посмотреть этот фильм на сцене театра, не могу объяснить, ведь я не люблю театр, но здесь есть Китон, который выходит на сцену и становится самим собой. Иньярриту, чёрт, как же так вышло-то. 10/10.»
& Riggan: Did you know Farrah Fawcett died the exact same day as Michael Jackson?
& Riggan: Well, I’m sorry if I’m popular, Mike.
Mike: Popular? I don’t give a shit. Popular?! Popularity is the slutty little cousin of prestige, my friend.
Riggan: Okay, I don’t even know what the fuck that means, so...
& Riggan: They were laughing in our fucking faces.
Mike: Tonight they were laughing; tomorrow they’ll be tweeting. Fuck ’em. Who cares? These are the people who pay half price to watch us rehearse. Stop fucking caring.
& Mike: «A man becomes a critic when he cannot be an artist, the same way that a man becomes an informer when he cannot be a soldier.» That’s Flaubert, right?
& Sam: You’re doing a play based on a book that was written 60 years ago, for a thousand rich old white people whose only real concern is gonna be where they go to have their cake and coffee when it’s over. And let’s face it, Dad, it’s not for the sake of art. It’s because you want to feel relevant again. Well, there’s a whole world out there where people fight to be relevant every day. And you act like it doesn’t even exist! Things are happening in a place that you willfully ignore, a place that has already forgotten you. I mean, who are you? You hate bloggers. You make fun of Twitter. You don’t even have a Facebook page. You’re the one who doesn’t exist. You’re doing this because you’re scared to death, like the rest of us, that you don’t matter. And you know what? You’re right. You don’t. It’s not important. You’re not important. Get used to it.
& Lesley: Why don’t I have any self-respect?!
Laura: Oh, you’re an actress, honey.
& Mike: Tell me something, what is... what is the worst thing that he did to you? Seriously.
& Riggan: I guess the question we should ask ourselves is: What do we talk about when we talk about love?
& Sam: When I was in rehab, they made us do this.
Riggan: Really? What is it?
Sam: It’s, um... these dashes represent the six billion years that the Earth has been around... And so each dash represents a thousand years.And, um, this is... how long humans have been here. 150,000 years. I think they’re trying to remind us that that’s all our ego and self-obsession are worth.
& Lady on Balcony: Hey, is this for real, or are you shooting a film?
Riggan: A film!
Lady on Balcony: You people are full of shit!
& Riggan: I really wish I wouldn’t have videotaped her birth, though.
Sylvia: Why?
Riggan: ’Cause it... I just missed the moment, really. Don’t have it. I... I should’ve just been there with the two of you. You know? Just... the three of us. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t even present in my own life, and now I don’t have it, and I’m never gonna have it.
--
+ quotes on the IMDb
+ Drum Score.
Σ nostradamvs: «Это великолепный фильм. Неимоверный. Прекрасный. Это, блин, лучший фильм за несколько последних лет во всём мировом кинематографе («Отель «Гранд Будапешт», – мутный отстой, кстати). Майкл Китон играет сам себя – и играет невероятно; Нортон тоже на какой-то недосягаемой актёрской высоте, особенно когда он исполняет настоящего себя на сцене и картонного персонажа вне её. Безумная операторская работа (конечно, Любецки и в «Гравитации» сделал всё блестяще), шикарный дубль на целый фильм со спрятанными склейками, актёрская школа настолько сильная, что я такого не видел лет, наверное, десять. И я очень хочу посмотреть этот фильм на сцене театра, не могу объяснить, ведь я не люблю театр, но здесь есть Китон, который выходит на сцену и становится самим собой. Иньярриту, чёрт, как же так вышло-то. 10/10.»
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