Thread by @MikeyPap

I have seen Michael Flatley's opus Blackbird. And it's glorious. It soars like a pigeon into a jet engine.

Half way through it had me wishing Covid had closed cinemas for good. It's an incredible, excruciating vanity project. Glorious stuff. 🧵:

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It must be stated firmly up front: Flatley's acting skills are as limited as a Tory Donor's PPE company.

He possesses all the screen presence of a screen. He tries to brood manfully, but instead resembles a drunk struggling with the map at a bus stop

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The plot involves a MacGuffin that could either save or doom humanity in the right / wrong hands. The exposition in this scene is so dense, passing black holes get sucked into it

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Retired secret super agent Flatley has to get involved as "No one can do what he does". What that might be is never actually stated or shown. Unless it's wearing a hat. Flatley's character wears a lot of hats.

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In one amazing scene, Flatley strides down a corridor, takes off one hat, hands it to a lackey, who immediately proffers another hat, which the retired agent then dons. There's a lot of hat acting in the movie. Flatley has invented 'Hacting'.

Joyful.

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Eric Roberts' villain is trying to sell the MacGuffin to a secret cabal of supervillains. Eric Roberts had 18 credits in 2018 (when Blackbird was filmed) so he's hardly Daniel Day-Lewis when it comes to carefully selecting his roles.

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Eric Roberts' performance is...relaxed. He looks like he's reading his lines off a cue card for the first time.

He isn't phoning it in, more that he's had his assistant text them a few bullet points.

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But this film isn't about Eric Roberts. This is a movie filmed in glorious FlatleyVision.

You simply have to salute an ego that watched Daniel Craig in Casino Royale and thought, 'yeah I could easily do that. But probably a bit better'

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Flatley flaunts a white dinner jacket, thinking he's a cross between Connery and Bogart.

Aiming for a look that blends louche and sophisticated, he ends up resembling a handsy uncle at an ill-lit wedding.

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The thin plot soon descends like an anvil down a lift shaft.

And it matters not at all. The dialogue assaults the ears, the logic assaults the brain, and the pace accelerates to glacial.

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Flatley insists on innumerable, lingering close ups of his own face, as if he's Rudolph Valentino. And to be polite...he's, um, not. He has the face of a rich 60 year old. Which isn't a problem in itself. Until...

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The hotel's sexy jazz singer strips off in front of Flatley, in his suite.

It has all the sexual tension of a tax return. Because she's in her mid 20s and he's very much a 60 year old man.

He turns her down. Thank Christ.

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There's a John Le Carry on Spying joke to be made somewhere, but definitely not here

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And throughout, the pacing is baffling. Is this an action film? If so, the action has been replaced with self regard.

For a director skilled in the art of dance, the movie has all the rhythm of a box of spanners dropped down a metal staircase.

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I won't ruin the ending because Flatley has done it for us.

It takes excitement, narrative and logic into a back alley, and gives it a good kicking.

But what a journey to get there. I loved every mental moment of it.

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Thanks for all the lovely comments.

Tip of the hats to all of you.