Those of you who haven't read the Dileep Rao interview yet really ought to.
I finally read it last night, and it made me sleep really well.
Some highlights:
I love that. "Apostatic act on art itself."
And I just gotta quote the whole last bit:
The interview continues and concludes with the words below. I just want to set them apart, because I think they are quite profound:
So in the end (for me) the movie is about two things: Faith and Letting go of guilt.
Why does he spin the top and then walk away? Because he has absolute faith that it will fall. Why does Noland cut the scene before it falls?
Because it gives us the opportunity to exercise the same faith. Are we as certain that it's real as Cobb is or will we give in to doubt.
I, for one, believe.
I finally read it last night, and it made me sleep really well.
Some highlights:
So what about the final shot, when the top seems like it could keep spinning before we cut to black. Let's call it the n-1 theory, where the whole film is all a dream, even the "reality" level. In other words, every level is one lower than we think it is.
Yeah. I don't think the "It's all a dream" theory makes much sense to me, because where is "the real" Cobb? We never see n. We never see reality. We have no idea who this man is, what his circumstances are. To me, there's really only two paths: Either it's a wobbling top, which it does sound like at the end, and it's real; or the whole thing, regardless of totems, moments, girls, children, people, machines, the whole thing — it's all some dream. And that's more philosophy. I think the film does this wonderful exploration of the entire idea to the nth degree. It feels so full. Because of that, there's so many weird bits that seem to warp our sense of the real and unreal.
I felt a very dreamlike feeling when Cobb is being chased by the Cobol guys and Ken Watanabe shows up to save him. I mean, squeezing through the wall when they're coming for him, I've had so many nightmares like that.
Archetypes. We all dream in certain ways. Teeth falling out, being chased ... and that stuff is poignant. But the more you explore it, the more you realize that Chris has already thought about it. I think there is a definitive answer, but it's hidden so you have to take time to think about it. But I do think it's real because it's an apostatic act on art itself to suddenly say "Well, none of this happened, and I have no explanation."
I love that. "Apostatic act on art itself."
And I just gotta quote the whole last bit:
What if Leo is the one being "incepted" with an idea? We keep hearing the phrase "Do you want to become an old man, filled with regret?" and it's like someone — maybe Ellen Page's character because she's the catalyst of his emotional catharsis — has set this all up so he can let go of his regret over Mal's death. That's why at the end with Saito he offers to come back and be young again (not old, full of regret). Even the Edith Piaf song they use to signal ten seconds before kick translates to "No, I regret nothing." And there's so many scenes where Ellen Page is talking to Leo, getting him to reveal his issues, in the same way that Eames tricks Fischer into revealing his issues. Also, Leo's kids are the same age at the end, right?
I'm not trying to be authoritative, so this is just my understanding of how I approached it from my work on it. But you're saying it's like some sort of crazy-ass psychotherapy session where the whole thing is a constructed narrative of massive complexity only to distract Cobb so that he will achieve his change? I mean sure, you could totally say that that's what it is. In a way, that's what we're doing to Fischer, so it's not unfounded.
The problem for me is that you're using negative evidence to support a story that isn't there. I don't know what to say about a character who only exists before and after the movie. You're talking about a character who isn't onscreen. And I mean on one hand, it's awesome that this movie can sustain that kind of discussion. It shows you just how well-thought-through and comprehensive it is, but I mean I don't know where that kind of speculation ends. It's like people who are convinced 9/11 is an inside job. It's a mental heuristic failure to think that one or two minor details explain absolutely everything. I mean, kids wear the same clothes all the time.
To me, it's a far more elegant story if it's a vast job that Leo has to pull off. The threat is real, the growth is real, the adversary is real. The weakness of "It's all a dream" — why we hate that, why we feel cheated when narratively anything is revealed to be all a dream — is that you've just asked me to spend so much time and emotional capital investing in the stakes of this, and you've now swept it away with the most anti-narrative structuralism that doesn't have anything to substitute in its place. It's laughing at you for even taking it seriously. You don't want to feel like a victim of the narrative, and I don't think Christopher Nolan would do that.
For me, though, this film could say "It's all a dream" and I would feel even more satisfied. Because the premise is "through a very complex dream, we can enact real change in a character." All of the sudden it's not a fake-out bull____ journey, if that's the case. In other words, if I'm satisfied by the success of Fischer's transformation, then Leo's growth is just as satisfying.
But he doesn't have to be dreaming for that growth. If, by way of example, in the last scene where Cobb ran off to hug his kids, there were a reflection of Mal in the window? That would make it far more vague and I'd say, sure. But that's not there.
Close your eyes and listen to the sound at the end. I really do think the top wobbles and that it's real. Cobb does go on a journey, because that's what movies are, and I think that's what leads audiences to this kind of speculation. Because of the story he chose to tell, Nolan is also commenting on the nature of stories themselves, all stories, which is why Leo's change can't be evidence that it's all a dream.
The interview continues and concludes with the words below. I just want to set them apart, because I think they are quite profound:
To me, the real story all boils down to Saito's line in the helicopter. Leo wants to go home and see his kids. Saito says, "I can help you, but it'll have to be an act of faith." Leo has to trust Saito, and he does this while putting total faith in himself and the team, and everything goes ape____ wrong, but he has to believe that if he does the job, Saito will do what he promised. And they've grown, they've become friends, which is why Leo says "Come back and let's be young men together." Leo's follow-through on that act of faith is his transformation. He becomes a person who can take a chance.
There's also kind of a beautiful negative symmetry between that leap of faith, and Mal begging him to make a similar leap of faith. After he did that with her, and the guilt plagues him, he can't function anymore. He's exploring his memories in a dangerous, unhealthy way, and he's going to let that go by the time the movie's over.
Everyone's so concerned about whether the top falls or not, but no one seems to care that Leo walked away without caring. The moment he sees their face, he can walk away. That's testimony to the fact that he's gained that faith.
So in the end (for me) the movie is about two things: Faith and Letting go of guilt.
Why does he spin the top and then walk away? Because he has absolute faith that it will fall. Why does Noland cut the scene before it falls?
Because it gives us the opportunity to exercise the same faith. Are we as certain that it's real as Cobb is or will we give in to doubt.
I, for one, believe.
