If there’s one thing that I love more than anything else about watching films, it’s having my expectations exceeded.

This can come in many forms. An intriguing or unusual performance on the part of an actor or director, for example – something I was certainly hoping for following the excitement of Amores Perros but the disappointment of Alejandro González Iñárritu’s subsequent features.

A second way my expectations can be exceeded is through innovation, for there is nothing more thrilling than watching a filmmaker doing something genuinely original. Birdman achieves both of these.

In a notable departure from Iñárritu’s earlier dramas, Birdman is a sharp black comedy about the washed-up actor Riggan Thomson, who is famous for his earlier role playing the eponymous Birdman, a character who puts on a Broadway play in an attempt to revive his waning career. I say sharp because Iñárritu’s previous films have tended to stray on the side of the self-indulgently long, yet with Birdman this is decisively not the case.

The script is not only funny, snappy and deep, but also watertight. Like its titular character, the film flies at a rapid pace, making for riveting viewing and, despite its 119-minute running time, not a moment feels unnecessary.

Although I haven’t loved all of Iñárritu’s past work, I’ve always admired his ability to draw stunning performances from his actors, and Birdman is no exception.

Lead by the ever-incredible Michael Keaton, the entire cast deserves as many awards as they can get their hands on. Even actors such as Andrea Riseborough, Amy Ryan and Lindsay Duncan, with only a few scenes between them, create three-dimensional, engaging characters in the limited time they are allotted.

Yet despite the star-studded cast, the real star of the film is cinematographer Emmanuel Lubezki. I never thought I would become a cinematographer’s fanboy, but after shooting masterpieces such as Children of Men, The Tree of Life, Gravity and now this, Lubezki has proven me wrong.

Filming in what seems like one continuous take, Iñárritu has not only taken a big risk (reportedly having been warned not to write and shoot it in that way), but has also done something that feels genuinely new to filmmaking.

The continuous shot approach more than pays off. The constant weaving in and around the corridors of the theatre and the streets of New York gives the film a dizzying, spontaneous feel, reflecting Riggan’s fiery character and even his suggested insanity.

Thus the cinematography, Antonio Sanchez’s percussion-heavy, jazz-infused score, the lighting and the darkly comedic script all work together to make Birdman an incredibly bold and electrifying fusion of new and old, comedy and drama, sanity and insanity and, most importantly, reality and fantasy.

On leaving the cinema I asked my friend what she thought of the film, to which she replied: “I liked it... it was a bit weird though.” And yes, Birdman is weird, very weird... but in the best possible way.