So I’ve seen “Inception” twice now, and plan to see it two more times. That’s the courtesy I give Chris every time he drops a new one on me, I like to get myself to a place where I really grasp the DNA of the story. It is a terrible process to try and rank Nolan’s filmography, as you are trafficking in titans, and all of them vie in earnest for your affections. Nonetheless, before yesterday evening, my unofficial breakdown was as follows:
1. The Dark Knight. His crown jewel.
2. Memento. A movie whose legacy as one of the great mind-benders has only increased with time.
3. Batman Begins. The film that saved Batman. And Warner Bros.
4. Insomnia. Often overlooked because it’s his most straightforward affair, but an incredibly deft thriller whose sturdiness was proof that Nolan had mastered the fundamentals of good storytelling. He didn’t need to hide behind tricks.
5. Following. His debut picture. An adorable little lo-fi gem, and almost the cerebral cousin to “Clerks.” Like Kevin Smith’s debut, it’s a daringly flawed film that is lovable for its refusal to apologize.
6. The Prestige. An engrossing battle of wits between 19th century magicians that is nearly brought down by a surprise ending too easy to see coming. Nearly. Fortunately, “The Prestige” is imminently re-watchable, one of those movies that blossoms as the viewer searches for the layers of meaning in each pass.
Now that “Inception” is out, we have a new member in the family. The first question is: does it meet Nolan’s high standards of quality? Does it get to enter the pantheon? Because make no mistake, even “The Prestige” in dead last place stands head and shoulders above the best films most other directors will ever make. That’s quite a high bar to jump over, and I can’t fathom that Chris won’t someday fail to make the leap.
But not today. Today he gets to put another notch on the metaphorical belt. “Inception” is a classic, one of the most distinct and original films I’ve ever seen. Like all of Chris’ work, its chief victory is its ability to fuse the intellectual with the visceral, to bring ideas to spectacle. And because the project is something of a victory lap for him after the runaway success of “The Dark Knight,” Nolan shifts into high gear and slams down the pedal as hard as he can. He reaches, as always, for the highest things he can possibly grab, constantly competing with himself to come up with bigger action and bigger ideas. This is the headiest intellectual stuff he’s ever attempted, it makes “Memento” look almost straightforward. It’s also the grandest spectacle of his career. “Inception” is Chris doing what any artist at this stage in his career should be doing: pushing himself.
Still, it doesn’t quite ascend the heights of his Bat-Flicks, and I’ll get into why later. For now, assume my new hierarchy is:
1. The Dark Knight
2. Memento
3. Batman Begins
4. Inception
5. Insomnia
6. The Following
7. The Prestige
Leading Man
Leonardo DiCaprio is perhaps the most natural leading man Chris has ever gotten his hands on, and it’s something of a miracle they didn’t work together sooner; the two even look alike. DiCaprio specializes in precisely the kind of intellectual angst that Nolan is obsessed with, he is the quintessential striving man. Bale had the same drive, but it was more carnal, more beast-like, rooted in the physical. Guy Pearce’s masterful work in “Memento” was almost detached, he was a man who had learned not to look into the abyss too deeply. And Pacino was Pacino, Nolan’s greatest achievement with him was bringing his tremendous abilities back down to Earth. All of them answered the call successfully, and yet each was borrowing some piece from Chris’ own psyche, not the entire thing.
DiCaprio is different, he feels almost like a stand-in for Nolan. His mannerisms, his way of thinking and behaving, have a quality to them that seems more personal than anything Chris has put on the screen before. In truth, Dom Cobb (Leo’s character) has more in common with Nolan than any of his other leading men: he is a husband and a father (or was), a highly intelligent weaver of fantasy, and a man perpetually in love with mazes and paradoxes. He is not an object of wrath like Bruce Wayne, or barely clinging to sanity like Leonard Shelby–he’s a philosopher, an intellectual, and a prisoner of the need to know.
It’s no coincidence that “Cobb” is a name Nolan has used for another one of his characters: the original Cobb was the sharply dressed, malevolent Mephistopheles to the nameless protagonist’s Faust in “Following.” This cyclical nomenclature is meant to bring the attentive viewer back to “Following” in more ways than one. That film, being Chris’ first, was an intensely personal war between two sides of the same coin. Cobb (the original) and the protagonist were two characters pulled from the inside of Nolan’s mind, where they had likely been battling for supremacy long before. Consider the two Cobbs Chris has given us:
Dom Cobb (DiCaprio): an extractor, a man who sneaks into other people’s dreams and acquires information they don’t want anyone to have access to.
Cobb (Alex Haw): a thief who makes a habit out of breaking into peoples’ homes when they’re away, and learning who they are by examining their personal belongings.
Do you see the similarity? Both are thieves, both penetrate the private spaces of other people while they are unaware, and both are looking to take primarily from the mind, not the body. DiCaprio and Haw both played characters who invade the lives of strangers. They use theft almost as an excuse, because what they really want is a reason to pry open the existence of another human being. Rooted at the core of this is a borderline neurosis, a compulsive fascination with the minds of other people. The reasons for this interest go deeper than there are words for, but it’s worth mentioning that there are several mental handicaps characterized by an inability to transpose a duplicate of the “self” onto other people. A person with autism is almost defined by the fact that their minds do not look at other people and see “another me, just different looking.” They do not see other agents comparable to themselves. Philosophy and existentialism stumbles backwards into the same conclusion: how are we so sure people with autism are wrong? How can we look at one another and know there is another me inside of there? There is plenty of proof, but nothing that couldn’t be faked by the mind. I think Chris Nolan is fascinated by the greatest question mark in human existence: other people.
Kubrick, a director Chris is increasingly mentioned in the same sentence with, was also fascinated with this, but in a different way: he wound his characters up like clocks, looking for the mechanical in them, trying to find the line between human and organic machine. Nolan does not accuse people of being machines, he seems willing to grant basic humanity to others, but in doing so he finds himself at a much more frightening conclusion: if we really are human, we are fundamentally unpredictable. If I was forced to sum up every Nolan film ever made, I might (and I stress “might”) consider using the phrase, “A human being is a maze.”
The two Cobbs are also commemorative landmarks, ways for Chris to look at himself. When he wrote the original Cobb, he was a man of relatively limited means, making movies on a shoestring budget armed with nothing besides the drive to do it. Haw’s Cobb is the same, we have the impression that his financial resources are constricted by his effervescent lifestyle, and he surrounds himself with people of a similar disposition. Now we arrive at DiCaprio’s Cobb, a man who is wealthy even in forced exile, and who rubs elbows with CEOs and multi-billionaires. This is much like Chris’ ascension from independent filmmaker to Warner Bros’ go-to hit-maker.
So Cobb is autobiographical in more ways than one, and Leonardo DiCaprio is the perfect choice to essay that role. He brings a streamlined, Hollywood version of Chris Nolan’s presence to the screen, letting us experience the man’s mind in a singular way. DiCaprio also brings another vital asset to the table: selling exposition. His character is forced through some pretty heinous dialog passages in a desperate scramble to force “Inception” to make sense. This is stuff you just don’t say in real life: “I can’t create you in all your perfection, in all your imperfection.” It’s an uphill battle to make that crap stick, but he’s on it like white on rice. Leo’s gift as an actor is angst, you can give him the most preposterous things in the world to say, but if his character is tormented by existential burdens, they’ll sound fine. The shivering timbre of his voice and the restless, piecing character of his face makes us accept him as haunted automatically.
Whew.
Okay, that’s enough for now. There’s much, much more, but I don’t want to overwhelm you here, so let’s do this in pieces.