Inception: Part 2- Interpretation

But what the hell does it all mean?

SPOILER WARNING. I purposefully left my review vague, so you could read it without having seen the movie. No such promises will be made here>

It's understandable if you're left scratching your head at the end of Inception. I think you're meant to be. Nolan and co. leave it purposefully ambiguous, and I think that way you read the film is dependent on your personal world view. The way you read the film, by the way, can also help determine how much of a masterpiece you think it is - certain interpretations eliminate any potential plot holes, while others turn the whole film into plot holes. You might think this is because one interpretation is "right" while the others don't make sense, but I think Inception beggars that type of simplicity.

The film that Inception most recalls is, somewhat obviously, The Matrix. That is a movie similarly obsessed with playing with, exploring, and deconstructing our views on reality. However, unlike The Matrix, which played more to a philosophical crowd in between the intense action scenes, Inception isn't interested in name dropping established philosophies. It establishes its own world with its own rules, and more or less follows those rules in its pursuit of philosophical truth (I would argue that The Matrix, in contrast, synthesizes given philosophies and picks and chooses from those philosophies in its pursuit of truth). In this way, Inception is the more authentic exploration, since it never feels bogged down by the pretentiousness that eventually sunk The Matrix.

The film also recalls Nolan's own Memento, which plays with the ideas of the frailty of memory and reality, and with the mind's own desire to protect ourselves. Given the question of interpretation, I actually think this is the more telling comparison. For those of you who haven't seen it, Memento tells the story of Leonard, a man who loses his short term memory around the same time his wife is murdered. He spends the majority of the movie trying to track down his wife's killer, while dealing with the limitations of a disability that makes it impossible to understand his own interpretation of the universe around him. In the end, he can't even really trust himself.

The movie establishes a world where people can enter each others' minds and then leaves it at that. It never explains, nor should it. This is the universe we are asked to accept, and our acceptance hinges on the idea that the universe itself has a set of determined rules to be followed. Our ability to interpret this universe, therefore, is dependent on these rules and how accurately applied they are.

In Inception, our protagonist is Cobb (DiCaprio), an "extractor." Basically his job is to go into people's brains and take out their secrets, and as we are told he is one of the best in the business. The movie follows him as he attempts the opposite, namely inception, where he gives a person an idea. The movie's established rules for both extraction and inception are that once the brain realizes that a person or idea is false, it fights it off like a virus. Thus true inception is practically impossible, because the brain necessarily understands that the implanted idea is foreign and destroys it.

In theory that's the plot. It's the reason why Cobb gathers together his team (Gordon Levitt, Ellen Page, Tom Hardy, etc.) and it's the attempt to infiltrate Cillian Murphy's mind that drives the films action. However, the most exciting, frustrating and intriguing questions come up within Cobb's own story.

Cobb has a past, the uncovering of which is the actual fuel of the plot. To synthesize, Cobb was once married to Mal (Marion Cotilliard) and had two adorable children with her. They were both interested in exploring the potential of the dream technology. They pushed themselves too far, and ended up in limbo (a sort of purgatory for the dream-explorers, where time moves so slowly that you can live out decades of your existence and if you're not careful your brain can turn to mush), where they lived out a full life together. However, Cobb was always aware that this world was fake. Mal, on the other hand, hid that knowledge from herself, and therefore gave herself over fully to the dream world, losing her sense of reality and eliminating her ability to "kick" back to reality. In order to combat this (AND SUPER SPOILER WARNING COMING HERE), Cobb planted the idea in Mal's subconscious that her reality was fake. This is how he knows inception is possible. It also, however, is how he knows how dangerous this all is.

See, once Cobb and Mal got back to "reality" (and again, this is all open to interpretation), Mal still had this idea in her subconscious that her reality was inherently fake and that the only way to escape was to die. So she killed herself, begging Cobb to follow her to freedom. Cobb, tied to reality by way of his children, refused, and she framed him for her murder. Cobb then fled the country, and became a dream thief, desperately trying to get back to his kids. He's in this state when Ken Wattanabe's businessman, Saito, approaches him to try out Inception on Cillian Murphy. But he's haunted by the "ghost" of Mal, who foils his attempts at both thievery and inception, and constantly reminds him of his own guilt and causes him to question his own sanity. On top of this, he's no longer capable of normal dreaming, and builds himself a nightmare dreamscape where he is trapped with nothing but his regrets.

That is all more or less straight forward. Sort of. But what exactly is reality? Where do Cobb's dreams, or Murphy's dreams, or Saito's dreams end, and true reality begins? Your answer to these questions depends on your own personal viewpoint. Cinematical.com has a fascinating study of 6 different interpretations, but curiously it ignores my personal favorite, which I will elaborate here. If you want to read the other six, follow it here

My theory is thus: I take the movie at its word. That is to say, when Cobb decides something is reality (up until the very last scene) I agree that it is. They are in reality when they take the job from Wattanabe, and they are in the dreamscape once they plug in with Murphy on the plane. Maybe this is a simplistic viewing, but in my opinion it works just as well as the "it's all a dream" argument. If you follow the movie by its own admissions, then the only question left is the ending.

Throughout the film, DiCaprio's totem remains a visual link between reality and dreaming. The ending of the film is left intentionally ambiguous as to whether or not the totem is going to fall. With my theory, our interpretation of the ending tells us if we're a pessimist or an optimist. Do you believe that Cobb escapes and gets back to his children, or do you believe he's still trapped in limbo?

Personally, I think he's in limbo. I've got some evidence. For one, his kids didn't age, and they happen to be wearing the exact same thing they were in his memory. For another, how did his father even know to pick him up at the airport? Third, why exactly didn't he age when Wattanabe did?

After reading the cinematical piece, I found myself buying the whole "it was all a dream" narrative far more than I did while watching the film. However... it kind of doesn't matter. The point is the questioning. In film school, they made me watch a bunch of infuriating non-narrative films that were all about the experience and the subconscious. There was no logic to be followed in these films, no secret narrative to be uncovered. In a way, Inception is a non-narrative film wrapped in narrative, and uncoiling those layers is the process that gives the film meaning and eventually leads us to the catharsis that Nolan wants from us, regardless of our interpretation.

Inception: Part 1- Review

By Rachael

I think that in talking about Inception, you can do one of two things. First, you can analyze what the film means - what was Nolan saying, what does his world consist of, does it make sense? Second, you can actually talk about whether or not it was a good movie. I'm not saying the two parts are unrelated, nor am I arguing that one is more valid than the other. My point is merely that in a movie like Inception, I think the interpretation has less to do with whether or not it's a film worth watching and praising and more to do with the fascination that lingers after the film is over.

As such, I plan on writing TWO articles about Inception, which may be self-indulgent of me, but I think is the most authentic way to talk about this challenging, fascinating film. As such, this article is not interested in the "What does it all mean?" questions, but rather the most basic question of film reviewing, namely, "Was it a good movie*?"

My answer to this question is an unequivocal yes. Leaving aside all questions of interpretation, tempting though it may be to indulge in them here, Christopher Nolan's mind fuck of a film is still a masterpiece of epic proportions. The visual landscape alone, from the soaring metropolis's that make up the filmmaker's playground to the intimate dreamscapes, is cause for celebration. The artistry of the fight scenes, especially those starring the fantastic Joseph Gordon Levitt, is as revolutionary as any since (and we'll talk about this A LOT more in my interpretation) The Matrix.

Leonardo diCaprio brings his usual controlled chaos to his role as the central figure navigating someone else's subconscious. It's a role he's almost getting too comfortable in (as a huge fan of diCaprio, I don't want him to get stuck into one rut so early into his career, no matter how meaty the rut), but you can't deny that he's great in it. As for the rest of the motley crew of dream-jumpers, Joseph Gordon Levitt and Tom Hardy stand out, not just for their inherent badassitude, but also for bringing some much needed levity to some of the film's heavier moments.

The story is fascinating. Whatever your interpretation, you can't say that Nolan makes boring films. For a man who's films have grossed well over a billion dollars, there's nothing superficial about Nolan. He's asking big questions, and making bold cinematic statements. He challenges the typical notions of films, and has a visual artistry that is nothing short of profound.

Not to put it in too soaring and dramatic terms, because honestly I'm put off by all the "it's the greatest movie ever" gushing, but Inception marks a high point in the career of a man who has seemed to have nothing but high points. It represents a culmination (I refuse to say "the culmination" because I'd like to think Nolan has a lot more to show us) of the journey that Nolan started in Memento, a journey he continued through both of his batman films as well as his smaller pictures like Insomnia and The Prestige.

This is a man deeply interested in exploring reality, both cinematic and actual. And Inception is a film obsessed with these metaphysical concepts, yet grounded enough in reality that it makes the whole thing gripping and fascinating.

*Please don't conflate basic with simple. What makes a good movie is the basic question reviewers have been trying to figure out for years.

Not At All Despicable Me

By Rachael

I've come to take it as a granted that my favorite movie of the summer and year will probably be a Pixar film. I've learned to accept that the film that's going to bring me to the highest level of pathos and enjoyment will inevitably be something brought to me in animated form. This has been true since Ratatouille. But since last year*, it seems like the other animated studios are stepping it up,and, with absolutely no offense to Toy Story 3 (which was brilliant, fantastic, moving and amazing), actually challenging Pixar for its dominance of brilliance. And while Despicable Me doesn't quite unseat Toy Story 3, it comes so damn close it's pretty remarkable.

Despicable Me tells the story of Gru, a super villain by trade, who comes up with a plan to increase his super villain cred that requires the adoption of three little girls. It doesn't seem like a great premise, but damn if this movie doesn't make the tired "maladjusted guy needs children to make him grow up" premise and ring every laugh, joy, and tear out of it.

Major props should go to Steve Carrell's excellent voice work (the accent alone is enough to power at least half of the movie's jokes) as well as a fantastically surprisingly witty script (that doesn't fall into the "cheap pop culture" joke camp OR the "cheap fart and poop" joke camp that dog children's movies). But it shouldn't be understated how fantastic the art direction is on this piece. Although it forgoes the soaring landscapes of a typical lauded film, the overall look of this film (campy, ridiculous, and yet still beautiful and deep) really helps to keep the constant, goofy jokes and engaging narrative alive. Look no further than the brilliantly crafted "Minions" than to see how excellently these guys do silent physical comedy.

In the end, the result is a movie that is one part classic Mel Brooks farce (or maybe old school Pink Panther film, the Peter Sellers kind, not Steve Martin), one part The Incredible, and one part Big Daddy. Yet despite that weird concoction, the result is something fantastic, surprising, pee-your-pants funny and infinitely quotable.

*which saw The Princess and The Frog, Coraline, and Monsters Vrs. Aliens all stepping up the non-Pixar-studio game

Twilight: Eclipse

This post is brought to you by My Cinema's new writer, Rachael.

To begin with, a disclaimer: If the mere thought of sparkly vampires makes your blood boil, if you're so sick of Robert Pattinson's face and Taylor Lautner's abs that it makes you feel like Edward when Bella stands in front of a fan; or if you feel the sort of natural revulsion towards Stephanie Meyer's super-popular series that is normally felt by vampires towards werewolves, stop reading now. Nothing I say, or the movie series does, is going to change your mind. Go see Toy Story 3, or hell The Avengers, and forget that I even mentioned it.

They gone? Now for the rest of us...

I came upon the Twilight series in the summer of 2008. It was a dark summer in my life, and Stephanie Meyers' series was exactly what I needed: frothy, romantic, absurd, and anger-making. I instantaneously devoured the books, pouring over details, and found myself overcome with anger and frustration. Then the fourth book came out, followed closely by the first movie, and despite myself, I found I was the foremost expert on all things Twilight among my group of admittedly not-exactly-target-audience friends.

To summarize my thoughts on the first two movies, since I think it is relevant to my feelings about Eclipse: I thought Twilight was exactly what a movie version of Twilight should be: absurd, anger-making and filled with soulful longing. New Moon, on the other hand, was overly serious without being any better of a film, and despite the excellent emphasis on Taylor Lautner's beautiful Jacob Black, I couldn't recommend the film, even to my friends less inclined to dislike it.

And so it is with a minor disclaimer, and a fair amount of confidence, that I say that Eclipse is as much of a success as any movie based on the Twilight books can be.

With David Slade (30 Days of Night) behind the camera, this installment of the series that made abstinence cool is the very first to truly excel at anything other than lustful longing. The action sequences are kinetic, fascinating and occasionally frightening. The acting is more naturalistic, less tic-y, and (best of all) compelling. Even Kristen Stewart, who myself and thousands of Twilight fans have hated on since she first pouted her way into Edward's heart, is made into a fully flesh and blood actress in this film.

But let's be honest: nobody goes to a Twilight film to see Victoria's head get ripped off. They go to see just how far Edward and Bella and Jacob will take things this time. The thing that really sets David Slade apart from previous Twilight directors is his deft melding of the action-y fantasy and the romantic dramedy playing out in front of us. He wisely uses Robert Pattinson's ever-increasing dramatic range to offset Taylor Lautner's natural comedic instincts, and the result is a love triangle that is compelling, even as it's so clearly predetermined. The movie wisely uses the book's greatest strengths (basically, how intriguing the characters of Edward and Jacob are) to offset the weaknesses (Edward's possessiveness, Bella's inaction).

The film is flawed: the pacing is occasionally off, the dialogue often ham handed. But David Slade brought out the natural grace of Stephanie Meyer's characters and let them run free. Look no further than Jessica's valedictorian speech (completely made up for the movie), in which recent Oscar-nominee Anna Kendrick delivers one of the movie's major themes in a smart, witty, fun and character-appropriate speech. Slade gets both what makes teen girls flock to Twilight, and how to make a fun movie for people of all ages.

And yes, R Patts is pretty as hell, and Taylor's abs continue to look chiseled out of something godly.

The Case for Simplicity

Tom Cruise is very good at stunts. He runs fast, shoots well, can dangle from a building, throw himself into things and generally leap and fling about heroically. He's also charming, can hold the camera's focus and deliver a line effectively. He's quirky, can play interesting characters and instantly earns the audience's trust, even if most of them adamantly believe him to be a crazy person (a belief I don't fully subscribe to but understand the foundations for). Cameron Diaz, though never a favourite of mine (except in My Best Friend's Wedding, she's adorable in that), is similarly charming and capable. Paul Dano is one of the best young actors of his generation, delivering standout performances in some of the most acclaimed films of the decade. Viola Davis has 2 Tonys, 2 Drama Desk awards and an Oscar nomination to her name. Peter Sarsgaard is basically a god of complexly layered characters. Knight and Day had a basically solid script with strong backstory, decent characters, an engaging conflict and good pacing. The components were there for it to be a not-too-guilty summer pleasure movie. It seemed destined for action-comedy triumph.

So why is it so darn bad?

The answer is one word, and one word only: EFFECTS.

Knight and Day is brimming with action sequences so over complicated that it'll make your head spin. It takes you all over the world, into situations the story doesn't require or support and on more motorcycle and classic car rides than you can shake a stick at. But we may as well have been in the 1970s for all the technological sophistication in this film. They had an actor with more stunt experience than almost any other and yet couldn't just let him do his thing. A couple simple shootouts, a well-shot explosion here and there, some cleverly choreographed fights and maybe one chase scene (done properly, with actual chasing) was all the film needed to fulfill the action requirement in its action-comedy definition. But no, for some reason, a motorcycle ride through the running of the bulls was somehow deemed mandatory. So instead of a cleverly fun film featuring some truly engaging talent, we got a distractingly over-ambitious romp that looked like it was made at a local access channel using the weatherman's green screen.

There are few things more aggravating than a movie that could have been decent destroyed by a single department, and in the case of Knight and Day, the blame lies entirely with the special effects guys.