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In
dreams: (l-r) Gordon-Levitt and DiCaprio in Inception.
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Welcome
to My Nightmare
By
Ann Morrow
Inception
Directed
by Christopher Nolan
Corporate espionage is taken to new levels—three levels, to
be exact—in Christopher Nolan’s new mind-bender, Inception.
Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) is the best “extractor” there is:
He steals information by “dream sharing” with unwitting victims
at the behest of powerful clients. But something goes traitorously
wrong during a meeting with a new client, Mr. Saito (Ken Watanabe),
who wants more than information from a rival energy mogul.
So Cobb proposes a dangerous solution: to implant an idea
in the rival’s mind so that he will ruin his own empire. It’s
called “inception,” and unbeknownst to his team, Cobb has
already experimented with it. As he explains, the most resilient
viral parasite is an idea. But how to get a self-destructive
idea into the mind of Fischer (Cillian Murphy), the soon-to-be
heir of a dying corporate titan? Nolan, the maverick who made
his mark with Memento and who enriched the Batman back
story in Batman Begins, creates visually dazzling playing
fields for this ultimate in corporate raiding.
Cobb’s assignment is the framework for Inception’s
multidimensional exploration of the interplay between dreams
and memories, reality and delusion, and the invasive power
of technology. A popcorn movie this is not, and any similarities
to The Matrix are subversively expanded upon. Since
Fischer has been trained to fend off mental invasions, Cobb
proposes taking him down to a deeper level of consciousness
where he can be convinced, through psychological chicanery,
of a false reality regarding his father’s true intentions
for his inheritance. The job requires a new dreamscape architect,
and Cobb finds her in a brilliant student, Ariadne (Ellen
Page). Flexing their new dream-sharing muscle, Cobb and Ariadne
bend an entire city in half and then walk up the sides as
though gravity didn’t exist. But gravity does exist, even
in dreams.
What Ariadne eventually finds, however, through dream sharing
with Cobb, is that he may not be stable enough for the mission,
putting the other team members—his client Saito, his assistant
(Joseph Gordon-Levitt), his psychological contact, Eames (Tom
Hardy)—in danger of losing their minds in a way that the film
gradually reveals. The destabilizing agent is Mal (Marion
Cotillard), his wife and mother of his two children. Mal is
always on Cobb’s mind and wreaking havoc in his dreams.
Unfortunately, the stylishly bombastic score (by Hans Zimmer)
swells in import in every scene, weighing down the chesslike
advances in this mental puzzle box. Similarly, unchecked swells
of action and emotion run rampant over the script’s psychological
precision. However, the cinematography is as sleek and sinuous
as a waking fantasy, the acting is utterly convincing (especially
Page and Murphy in the less showy roles), and the plot delivers
even when going out on a conceptual limb.
Cute
Villainy
Despicable
Me
Directed
by Pierre Coffin and Chris Renaud
While I didn’t see the new 3-D movie Despicable Me
in 3-D (probably, for weak-kneed me, a good thing, considering
the roller-coaster scene), I think it’s fair to say that this
is a movie that’s worth the ticket price, regardless of which
format you choose. A sort of modernized version of Boris and
Natasha, minus Natasha, Despicable Me hangs its narrative
format around the second-rate villain Gru (voiced by Steve
Carell), whose attempts at finally gaining the respect and
love of his mother (Julie Andrews) culminate in a brazen plan
to steal the moon. Problem Numero Uno: In order to succeed
at such heist, Gru needs a shrink-ray device currently in
possession of his arch nemesis, the nerdy Vector (birth name:
Victor) (Jason Segel), who resides in a practically impenetrable
fortress of a house, whose living-room floor is a piranha
tank. Second problem: Gru needs seed money from the Bank of
Evil (formerly Lehman Brothers), only the Bank’s chairman
is Vector’s dad. What’s a thwarted bad guy to do?
Well, in this case, as often happens with animation, enter
cute tykes. Three orphaned girls named Margo (Miranda Cosgrove),
Edith (Dana Gaier) and Agnes (Elsie Fisher) are able to gain
entry to Vector’s lair, while selling cookies for their orphanage.
Gru, noticing this, hastily arranges an adoption of the trio,
only to find out that their collective wits are more than
he bargained for. “First rule,” Gru instructs, “is that you
cannot touch anything.” Whereupon he lists a whole lot of
things the girls cannot touch. Not to be outdone, Margo queries
“What about the floor? . . . the air?” and so forth. It may
be a cliché that Gru grows to like the girls, and they him,
but strangely, this doesn’t take away from the magical quality
of the movie.
Also assisting Gru are his mad- scientist partner (Russell
Brand channeling Peters Sellers and Boyle) and a posse of
yellow pill-shaped helpers called the Minions, who themselves
are worthy of a cartoon series. The movie is inventive and
fresh, even as it harks back in a weird but delightful way
to the ’60s, and the stars really act, not just provide voices.
The most audacious animation sequences evolve from the characters
and their actions, which is a nice change of pace. Watching
Despicable Me, one can’t help but feel we’re in the
presence of decidedly intelligent filmmakers who recognize
their viewers’ like-minded appreciation of smart storytelling,
not just chills and thrills. This is, all in all, a very good
thing.
—Laura
Leon
Sulphurous
Fury
The
Girl Who Played With Fire
Directed
by Daniel Alfredson
Lisbeth Salavander (Noomi Rapace), biker-bitch computer hacker
with a horrifying past, returns to Sweden a changed woman—at
least at first. In the second installment of Stieg Larsson’s
kazillion-selling Millennium trilogy, Lisbeth’s attempt
to start a new life intersects with an investigation by magazine
writer Mikael Blomkvist (Michael Nyqvist), her cohort from
the first installment, The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo.
Mikael, who is still enthralled with Lisbeth more than a year
after she disappeared, is involved in a new case of corruption—a
sex-trafficking ring discovered by a young journalist and
his criminologist girlfriend—that reaches deep into Swedish
law enforcement. Lisbeth is entrapped in the case by her nemesis
from Dragon, her memorably repulsive legal guardian.
When said guardian is found dead by a bullet to the brain,
Lisbeth becomes a suspect, and Mikael works behind the scenes
to protect her from the authorities.
Since their uneasy and intense collaboration was one of the
most riveting aspects of Dragon, the lessening of their
interaction for the follow-up diminishes some its voltage.
So does the replacement of edgy director Niels Arden Oplev
with the more conventional Daniel Alfredson, who softens the
story’s inventively lurid sex and violence. However, since
the plot is less sensational than in the debut, the director’s
emphasis on low-key realism works to advantage with the old-fashioned
police procedurals and dogged investigating of the Millennium
team. He’s especially skilled with the plot’s emphasize on
consequences as the banality of the sex-ring’s evils reverberates
in an ever-widening web of malfeasance. A unique character
in the annals of feminist vigilante survivors, Lisbeth is
not as shockingly damaged—or creepily resourceful—as she was
in Dragon (somewhat necessary, since characters progress
differently on the page than they do onscreen), but revelations
regarding her upbringing are paced for maximum impact. And
like Dragon, the follow-up has a cast of fully dimensional
supporting players from heroic to psychopathic, such as a
professional boxer (Paolo Roberto) who gets involved, and
a zombielike henchman (Micke Spreitz) who strikes terror in
everyone he brutalizes.
The
Girl Who Played With Fire is also distinguished by the
trilogy’s stylized view of Swedish society (though it’s warmer
than the forbidding chill of Dragon’s settings) and
an effective soundtrack of subtle crime-drama music. Though
the climax is not as horrifically satisfying as expected (and
is noticeably a lead-in for part three), this distinctively
Swedish thriller still sizzles with a sulphurous fury rarely
achieved by Hollywood.
—Ann
Morrow
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