Alejandro Gonzalo Inarritu's hotly anticipated "Birdman (Or The Unexpected Virtue of Ignorance)" is a massive contradiction.

In its structure, in its characters, in its identity, in its genre and even in its meaning, this film is layered with one contradiction on another. The film takes place in the world of theater, is shot in one continuous shot that brings attention to the theatrical elements of staging and continuity without the editing of film. And yet this lengthy take--which is really a number of long takes "edited" together--thrives on its need for technical perfection and the infusion of spontaneous life to work. It still needs to feel like real life, despite being anything but real life. And this is just one of the many densely packed layers in this masterful work of art.

Michael Keaton plays Riggan Thomson, a washed-up actor trying to regaining prestige and make people remember him for something not associated with Birdman, the superhero he once played to tremendous acclaim in Hollywood. He brings on a host of equally insecure actors played by such stars as Naomi Watts, Edward Norton and Amanda Riseborough and is constantly faced with the pressure cooker that is directing, writing and starring in a play. Meanwhile, he is also coping with the other major role in his life: that of a father to the emotionally unstable Sam (Emma Stone).

Riggan faces the existential crisis of becoming a label, a "trivia question," the man beneath the Birdman mask whose only function in the collective consciousness was to be Birdman. He wants to separate himself from this, despite the fact that he himself is completely dominated by it. And yet ,ironically, everyone remembers his face. He is a celebrity. And he is seemingly adored by all the fans. And more importantly, Birdman is him. Riggan constantly hears the voice of his superhero alter ego haunting him and attempting to persuade him that he is going down the wrong path, that Hollywood is where he was happiest and where he could succeed.

But Riggan is not the only character facing demons. Norton's Mike is a respected theater actor that loves to live under the pressure of theater and performing for major groups. It is his high, and any attempts to stop him from living truthfully in theater are almost as if he were being violated, thus hurling him into a state of volatility. He is the consummate method actor who must live the part at all times. However, when it comes to being his "true self," the real-world Mike, he is unable to perform. This is symbolized by his fear of impotency in his everyday life. He can only get sexually excited when on stage, and he fears failing in "normal" circumstances.

Watt's Leslye is an up-and-coming actress who fears that she may never make the breakthrough she has long waited for, and while Riseborough's Laura finds herself constantly lying to Riggan to see where she stands in his life.

It makes for some wondrous psychological plumbing by Innarritu and cast and stresses the challenges of being an artist and the pressures it has on everyday life.

These characters, like the film itself, blur the lines between the theatrical world and the "real" world, and Inarritu's choice to stage the majority of the film in a theater only emphasizes this unity between the two. And his blending stretches far beyond the characters and script to other phases of production. The cinematography, as noted previously, emphasizes the unity between live theater and cinematic artifice, but the casting also adds a tremendous dimension.

Keaton was once known for playing the role of Batman, when comic book movies were yet to be the sensation of Hollywood. But times have changed, and the genre has completely engulfed the industry. Keaton's Batman movies, which were once legendary, have been replaced in the hearts of many fans by those of Christopher Nolan. And Inarritu throws some interesting hints at this transition in Riggan's relationship to his alter-ego. Riggan hears the deep, groveling voice of Birdman throughout the film, and it becomes both his nightmare and major part of his identity. And yet, the character is beyond his grasp. Birdman looks like Batman in many ways, and Innarritu has also made the slick decision of making the voice a close imitation Christian Bale's voice for Batman in Christopher Nolan's series, making the character all the more self-reflexive for the viewer.

The film is far from a traditional Hollywood comic-book film, and yet it includes some moments of true fantasy. There is even one sequence that is filled with marvelous special effects that is emblematic of a film like "The Avengers" or "Transformers." More importantly, the film deals with truly mythic themes that are often poorly handled in comic-book movies. How does one grapple with power given? Is that power and subsequent celebrity that goes along with it actually a good thing? What happens when heroes age and become washed out?

Despite the film being clearly in the realm of dark and depressing drama, this film resists that urge to turn into a humorless and brooding romp that many modern superhero movies seemed obsessed with becoming. It is actually filled with tremendous humor brought about by its contradictions. The entire relationship between Mike and Riggan is the stuff nightmares are made of. And yet in its extremeness it comes off as ridiculous and hilarious. One of the most memorable scenes in the film showcases Riggan at his most vulnerable. He goes out for a smoke and finds himself locked out of the theater. He is clothed only in his underwear and must find a way back into the house somehow. So naturally he takes a stroll through Times Square where he draws tremendous attention. His desire in doing theater is to regain legitimacy, and yet here is, continuing to court embarrassment. It is a scene that makes the viewer pity Riggan, but it is also impossible to avoid laughing at the pandemonium onscreen.

Those are just a few of many fabulous moments of dramatic irony. The film's ultimate irony is in its big twist, surely Innarritu's expression of life's inevitable cycles and celebrity's constant hold on every individual despite their best intentions.

Keaton and the cast bring a diverse array of qualities to the film. Keaton gives a tremendously vulnerable performance that is subdued and contained, emphasizing the character's attempt to put on his best face despite unraveling emotionally inside. There are some truly riveting moments in which he snaps and they hint at his violent alter-ego.

Norton's performance is the antithesis of Keaton's. He thrives on laying his emotions bare for all to see. He throws out snappy comments with sharpness and wit and explodes at any given moments. And yet he is not a vulnerable man in the traditional sense. He never betrays a sense of inner implosion despite his actions expressing that very trait.

Emma Stone's Sam goes from a seemingly distanced and cynical character with an aggressive temperament to one of utter tenderness in her interactions with Riggan.

Watt's Leslye is extremely vulnerable but slowly finds sure footing as the opening of the play draws near. The same goes for Riseborough whose characters is arguably the least featured of the ensemble.

Zach Galifianakis proves to the world that he is a terrific actor as Riggan's agent and "best friend." He has charisma but mixes it with some hilarious neuroticism. His final scene is one fraught with contradiction and serves as a nice statement on the self-serving individuals in the industry.

Amy Ryan's Silvia is arguably the heart-and-soul of the film as Riggan's ex-wife and Sam's mother. She is the only stable presence, the only adult in a house filled with children. Despite only getting minimal screen time, her arrival is always filled with an angelic calm and tenderness. If Birdman is the demon destroying Riggan's inner being, she counterbalances it.

The music by Antonio Sanchez is a long serious of percussion riffs that are constantly interrupted by classical music by Tchaikovsky, Mahler and Rachmaninoff among others. Again, Inarritu is not afraid to being self-reflexive. The first sounds of the film are the performer uttering some words to the audiences, almost as if Inarritu is reminding the viewer of the artifice. And, at one point, the drummer actually makes a surprising appearance in the film's climax. When the credits are done rolling, that initial voice is heard yet again. The percussive sound is rather chaotic and lacks any sense of cohesion, but it highlights the chaotic nature of the world of theater as well as Riggan's crumbling psyche.

Despite consisting of only one shot for most of the running time, the film runs at a brisk pace as cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki's camera roves around with precision. But this is not simply frenetic movement. Instead, there are times where the blocking permits the camera to pause for a few moments and take in the scene. There are a few cuts at the end of the film, almost as if Innarritu is reminding the audience that this is after all a film. It is another instance in which he supports his contradiction theme by showcasing a contrast of styles at the climax. The world of the character has been unsettled, and so is the film's. But this sequence also allows him to also expand on the magical realism embedded in the film. There are images of a meteor descending and even a few shots of Spider-Man and Transformers characters on a stage; these images actually hint at the film's final ironic twist.

"Birdman" is filled with paradox, but its enormous quality is one characteristic that is not contradictory. This is arguably Innarritu's finest hour since "Amores Perros," and the film is not only endowed with tremendous technique and performances but also unimaginable levels of depth that will keep viewers returning to it time and again.

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