Before I get into describing why I loved Inception so much, I thought it would be best to deal with some of the major criticisms of the film first. I think I’ll be able to write a better and more succinct appreciation of the film if I get this out of the way beforehand.
In my introduction to this week’s series, I linked to A.D. Jameson’s “Seventeen Ways of Criticizing Inception” from last week. This piece is mostly helpful because it groups most of the major criticisms of Inception into one place so that I don’t have to go searching all over the Internets to find them.
Jameson does make some good points, but his arguments are disguised behind a lot of condescension and a surprising amount of moral grandstanding. He starts off his piece with one of the hallmarks of condescension by saying that Christopher Nolan is “presumably a rather likable fellow.” There’s not even an attempt to hide the condescension here. That’s not even “Brutus is an honorable man.” And really, what does that have to do with the movie? I’m not so sure that Sam Peckinpah and Stanley Kubrick were “rather likable fellows.” They might have been. I don’t know. That doesn’t really matter.
And if he’s such a likable fellow, why all the attempts to demonize him into some dumb, action movie hack a la Michael Bay? Jameson constantly speculates on things happening behind the camera: Nolan’s intentions with the ending, whether he’s seen anything by Luis Bunuel, studio conferences while Nolan “plans another explosion.” What does any of this have to do with criticizing the movie? You praise or criticize what’s on the screen, not the filmmaker’s intentions, what films the director may (or may not) have seen, or anything else that you have no evidence to support.
And Jameson does seem really angry at the film, calling it “misogynistic” and “sickeningly violent” and insinuating that it’s racist in the treatment of Yusuf’s character (could there be more to Jameson’s D.W. Griffith reference than there seemed to be?). It’s not enough for him to criticize Inception in cinematic terms. He has to characterize it as morally reprehensible. And the unavoidable implication is that it is morally reprehensible to like something that is morally reprehensible. Jameson seems more interested in shutting down critical debate than encouraging it.
Which is a shame because Jameson clearly knows a lot about film, and he has a good list of films that are similar (he thinks superior) to Inception. His (brief) comparisons to The Asphalt Jungle and Rififi are worthy of much deeper examination (they are so brief, in fact, that they seem more like a writer flaunting his knowledge of film rather than an actual analysis of the connections between the works).
Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, I can focus on the actual criticisms in Jameson’s piece. Though he has 17 items in his list of criticisms, several of them could be part of the same criticism. They pretty much focus on shot economy, literal filmmaking, violence, treatment of women, thematic simplicity rather than complexity, and exposition.
Shot Economy:
Jameson writes that Nolan takes thirteen shots to do “what it takes most directors six to do.” I’m not really sure what he means by “most directors” considering that fast editing is really popular these days. He focuses on the opening scene of the movie when Cobb wakes up on a beach, sees an image of his kids, and is found by an armed guard. Jameson counts thirteen shots in this scene and proposes that it could be done in much fewer shots.
Since my next post will focus on the editing of the movie in general and this scene in particular, I won’t go into detail about this criticism, except to say that every cut that Jameson notices is necessary to this scene. I’m sure that Jameson disagrees with this, but if we accept (for the sake of argument) the premise that every cut in this scene is necessary, we can go into the point of Jameson’s argument, which is that fewer cuts is better than more cuts. This is an oversimplification, but let’s accept this, again, for the sake of argument.
Generally, I find a lot of modern hyperactive editing to be rather tiresome (see my post about 127 Hours), but this does not mean we should create some sort of arbitrary maximum number of edits that directors can make. Simply put, if an edit has a point, the edit should be made. Now, the criticism becomes entirely subjective. I think the editing has a point. Jameson doesn’t. I’m going to write later about the purpose that I think the editing serves, but that doesn’t mean Jameson has to agree with it.
Literal Filmmaking:
One of the biggest criticisms of Christopher Nolan is that he is a very literal filmmaker. Jameson points out Nolan’s fondness for insert shots (hence the Griffith reference). When Cobb talks to his kids on the phone, Nolan cuts to a shot of his kids playing in the yard. When his son mentions Cobb’s wife Mal, Nolan cuts to a shot of her.
These shots could suggest that the entire film takes place inside Cobb’s mind, but I don’t think that’s why they are there. The film is not all from Cobb’s perspective, but, like all of Nolan’s films, it takes on the character’s state of mind. This technique is not as integral to Inception as it is to Memento, Insomnia and The Dark Knight, but it’s usually apparent from the editing that Cobb’s state of mind is affecting the movie.
As Cobb talks to his kids, he immediately returns to the last image that he has of them. We don’t fully know the significance of this image yet, but it’s important for Nolan to establish it in the film before Cobb explains it. The same is true for the image we see of Mal. Both of these images, along with the projections we’ve already seen of Mal and the kids, establish how much Cobb’s memories have infected his subconscious. Of course, the entire film does not take place inside Cobb’s state of mind, but it often reflects his thinking. The only flashbacks we ever see are his memories. Matching up images of the characters with their names is not only a way to identify them to the audience, but also a way to show how the images dominate Cobb’s mind.
The other major criticism of Nolan as a literal filmmaker is that the dream worlds he creates (a downtown intersection, a hotel, a ski slope) are not very imaginative. The major here is with the ways to visualize dreams. Since we have no specific idea of what this should like, a director essentially has a blank slate to create anything. One way to do that is to use the David Lynch, Mulholland Drive approach which is to not only have a lot of weird stuff happening, but to do things with the story structure that would only make sense in a dream (and I’m not even sure that third act even works in a dream). That approach would not have worked with Inception because the dreamlike effect of Mulholland Drive comes with the accumulation of the entire story. At any point in the story before the box is opened, the film could still exist in some kind of reality. It would be a very strange reality, yes, but the realization (or assumption) that the film is a dream comes with the plot turn at the end. In Inception, we already know that we are dealing with dreams, so that simply would not fit with the story.
Another approach is to use CGI to create some kind of blue-screen, George Lucas world that has few connections to reality. Since Nolan has said that he doesn’t like using CGI, I don’t see that ever happening. Besides, if the dream world looked completely different from the real world, there would never be any ambiguity about which is which.
I don’t think people who make this complaint think it should have looked like Star Wars or even the strangely imaginative world of Dark City. I think that, after Cobb describes the “chance to build cathedrals, things that never existed, things that couldn’t exist in the real world,” and after Ariadne’s dream tutorial which features the film’s most famous special effect shot of Pairs folding over itself, many people were disappointed that most of the action later was not as spectacular.
However, I still think Nolan had a purpose with this. With Cobb’s speech and Ariadne’s experiments, Nolan is creating the expectation that we will see really spectacular sights. After this, most of the dreams seem to be taking place in a more realistic world. But of course, it is not the real world. Having already established the potential for the dreams, Nolan creates suspense as we wait for strange occurrences. Signs that the mission is having problems won’t always be massive. Things are just…out of place.
The rhythm of these scenes is very important. There is a different level of intensity (for lack of a better word and I’m going to keep using it until I can find a better word) to each thing that is out of place. Nolan starts the whole heist sequence with a bang (literally) as a freight train crashes through the downtown intersection of the first level. This is coupled with the sudden attack of Fischer’s projections, which is less surprising (this is an action movie), but still out of place because, even though the opening established the projections, this has not been mentioned in any of the plans for the inception.
The intensity decreases as they enter the second level. There are little things that are out of place with the modern world: changes in weather, shifts in gravity, the broken glass on the bar, Cobb’s kids in the hotel lobby. The team is able to reach the third level without much difficulty, bringing the intensity lower until it abruptly rises again (even higher than for the train, I think) for one of the high points of the film: Arthur’s fight with the projections in the rotating hallway.
The third level is a bit more curious. I will grant that it is probably the least interesting sequence in the picture (Mumbasa is a close second; it does serve a purpose of establishing Cobb’s situation, draws a parallel with the dream projections, makes good use of maze-like imagery, and gives a glimpse into the strange corporate culture of this world). I think it maybe Nolan’s tribute to video games. Usually when film critics compare a movie to a video game, it’s meant derisively, but Nolan deliberately draws a parallel with the use of the word “levels.” The structure of this sequence closely resembles a video game: characters begin the level outside a remote location defended by anonymous villains, and they have to find someway into the location to achieve some kind of objective. I think it was deliberately made to resemble a video game in keeping with the films themes about devices we use to deal with out subconscious.
Even though it makes sense thematically, there are a lot of questions with this scene. Why did they choose this location? Was their original plan always to enlist Fischer into helping them? If not, how were they going to fool him into thinking he wasn’t dreaming? And if they didn’t know Fischer’s subconscious would be armed (and even if they did know and now that they do), why would they provide the projections with a fortress?
But, you know what, I can forgive it those problems (it is understandable if you can’t). It does provide some pretty spectacular (even standard) action that is still more exciting than most of the action in both Iron Man films, both Transformers films, and the new Star Trek film. And it also lowers the intensity (in the way I’ve been using the word earlier) before we return to the Limbo City, the visual pinnacle of the movie and its most fascinating concept (more on that later in the week).
The rhythm of the film is rather brilliant in the way that it establishes the spectacular potential for the film, but saves the most spectacular for last, while using smaller events to keep the dreams exciting along the way. Of course, this doesn’t work if you think that the Limbo City is not as impressive as Paris folding over itself. But again, that’s purely subjective, and an argument about that will just end up at the Monty Python Argument Clinic.
Violence:
Actually, I think the word Jameson used was “sickening” violence. His criticism here is about the endless killings of the projections, manifestations of the subconscious that can kill, but are not actually real people. I found this criticism rather strange coming from Jameson, who elsewhere in his piece praises The Matrix without mentioning its gleefully stylized slaughter of police officers who are actually real people in pods just like Neo, Trinity and Morpheus were. One of them was just reading the newspaper when the guy with the cool sunglasses came in and machine-gunned him. Now, I’m not saying the violence in The Matrix is objectionable, I’m just wondering why Jameson thinks the violence in Inception is more objectionable than in The Matrix.
Jameson also mentions audience reactions to the explosion of a Humvee and hypothetical reactions to Ariadne shooting Mal. Audience reactions seem to be the basis for Jameson taking offense to these scenes. Since when did it become part of film criticism to review the audience? Who cares if people in the crowd just like seeing explosions? Nobody in the theater during the four times I saw film the cheered when Mal was shot. Why should the movie be held accountable for what some dumbasses thought about it?
Women:
Jameson’s main critique here is that Inception is misogynistic because Nolan does not deal with Mal as a human character and instead turns her into (his words) a “psycho bitch.” Nolan does have trouble with creating compelling female characters, and Jameson’s argument would be valid if we ever see Mal in the movie. We don’t. We only see Cobb’s image of her: his memory and his mental projection of her. His memories are the closest we ever get to seeing her, and most of these take place after Cobb has messed with her mind. And his mental project is not her, but his own subconscious. When Mal tries to stab him at the end, that’s really Cobb’s subconscious guilt trying to kill him (which is a pretty powerful image). It’s no more misogynistic than Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, The Social Network or any other film that deals with (and critiques) the male perception of women. Especially considering that Ariadne is probably the most sympathetic character in the film.
Themes:
This is where Jameson says that he doesn’t think Inception is as complex or meaningful as people think it is. I’m going to write more about the film’s themes later in the week (this post is long enough as it is), but this is another subjective argument. I think there is meaning in the film. Jameson doesn’t. If you don’t find meaning in it, then you don’t. Maybe you will. Maybe you won’t. That’s it. And there’s nothing wrong with it. I didn’t find a lot of meaning in Apocalypse Now. Perhaps I will sometime in the future, but I don’t know. And there’s nothing wrong with people finding meaning in it.
Exposition:
This is the criticism I’ve heard most about Inception, and it’s probably the best. It’s that most of the dialogue is about explaining the rules of the world and furthering the plot instead of developing the characters.
My first response to this is that it didn’t really bother me. All fantasies have to establish the rules of their worlds. Some of it does sound a little silly: “Five minutes in the real world gives you an hour in the dream.” But then again, if they were so experienced with this, wouldn’t they know the time difference?
Some of it is oddly placed. The introduction of limbo comes when the mission has already started. But it does serve several purposes. The fact that they are able to have that kind of discussion creates an immediate sense of being rooted in a place and that this heist is going to be a long haul. It also casts some doubt on Cobb since he didn’t tell the team they would be risking limbo, and he didn’t even tell Ariadne (our surrogate and the most sympathetic character) that limbo even exists.
The other example of oddly-placed exposition that Jameson mentions is when Ariadne asks Cobb if killing Fischer’s projections means killing parts of his mind during the assault on the snow fortress. This does seem random and, to be honest, that was my initial reaction. But the dialogue serves two purposes. First, it raises an interesting question (in fact, the projections could be the subject of an interesting discussion focusing on when a few of them are given a small amount of individuality). Second, it sets up Cobb’s confusion when he sees Mal in the dream moments later. There is a big contrast between his nonchalant explanation that “No, they’re just projections” and his hesitation at the sight of Mal. The tables are immediately turned between Ariadne and Cobb as she tells him that Mal isn’t real, and Cobb asks how she can know that.
Aside from that, I found a lot of the dialogue (even the expository dialogue) to be fascinating: Cobb’s descriptions about how the mind works in a dream, the discussions about architecture and gravity between Arthur and Ariadne, the way Cobb describes the buildings in limbo with touches of longing, regret and reminiscence. Jameson writes that the dialogue is poorly written, but he doesn’t really say why. His one explanation is mostly sarcastic speculation about Nolan’s writing process. I’m afraid a discussion of this might be another job for the Argument Clinic.
Well, I think I’ve done a pretty good job responding to the opposing view, at least well enough that I can refer people to this post if they have a criticism. And it’s always good to test your opinions against an opposition. Now, I can feel a little more confident about analyzing Inception.
