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movie review - Inception

the journal of Michael Werneburg

twenty-seven years and one million words

Toronto, 2011.06.15

Once in a while a movie comes along with a big splash and everybody raves about it, but it's actually crap. "Inception" was that for 2010. It hinges on the ability to travel within yourself to a level of abstraction that supposedly represents your dream state. The crew assembled for the job in this movie is used to doing so for the purposes of theft - they go inside someone's head to steal things. But now they're meant to implant a thought.

This is all pretty dumb, in the same way that time travel is dumb; it pre-supposes the problem space ("If you die in the dream, you die in real life!") while at the same time making incredibly difficult to tell a story without it becoming stilted on silly explanations that fall apart the second you take your eyes off it. For instance, someone came up with the idea of a mechanism for determining whether you're in the dream state or not: you spin a top. If the top spins, you're safe. Or the reverse, I don't care - because it doesn't prove a thing.

Of course the plot immediately goes in the direction of taking it to the second level of abstraction: OK, we're in the dream, but now we have to go into the dreamer's dream! Miiiind blooowwwn. Just as with time-travel movies that attempt to depict the complexities, doing so while remaining engaging seems to be beyond Hollywood.

I lost interest in this thing around the 2/3 mark. It was fun to watch all the mind-bending shifts in perception -- usually expressed as the scenery morphing around the characters; but sometimes as a large vehicle plowing through, depending on the rule of cool. But it became increasingly annoying right down to the final goddamn frame with a top spinning meaninglessly but with oh so much gravitas.

Not recommended.

rand()m quote

Illusions commend themselves to us because they save us pain and allow us to enjoy pleasure instead. We must therefore accept it without complaint when they sometimes collide with a bit of reality against which they are dashed to pieces.

—Sigmund Freud