Having directed ensemble-cast dramas like 21 Grams, Babel, and Biutiful, Alejandro González Iñárritu is a master at crafting complex storylines that show the intimate lives of a large set of characters. His fifth and latest project, Birdman or (The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance), serves as both a love letter to the entertainment industry and a deconstruction of a human life’s deferred dream. Michael Keaton plays Riggan Thomson, a washed-up blockbuster actor famous for his roles as a superhero in the 90s, as he tries to rise from mediocrity by writing, directing, and starring in a Broadway play. Crises, both emotional and theatrical, ensue.

From the first scene, Iñárritu’s technical skill is impossible to overlook. The majority of the film is edited to appear like one long, continuous take, effectively blending together the purest elements of film and theater. The camera is rarely static and floats around the St. James Theater like a phantom, showing off the massive set pieces and allowing the actors to delve into long stretches of uninterrupted dialogue, much like the players they portray on stage.

Some movies deliver a short-lived cinematic sugar high, where the magic fades away after the credits roll. Birdman is not one of those movies. It will not escape you because you will witness parts of yourself in the film. The diamond-sharp cast all bring an identifiable verisimilitude to their roles, whether it’s Keaton’s self-destructive sense of worthlessness, Zach Galifianakis’s undying devotion to his allies around him, or Edward Norton’s frustrating inability to get it up. Birdman is a breath of fresh air—it showcases the wry humor and echoing tragedy of life. With an expert’s grace, Iñárritu takes the weight of living off of our shoulders and lets us become members of our own audience.