One of the biggest goals of cinema today is to break new ground, extend the boundaries of imagination, and warp our very sense of perception. By these standards, Christopher Nolan’s Inception is one of the crowning achievements of contemporary cinema, a film that entices us with a complex dream premise that spirals into dizzying, brain-bending logistical questions, and sells the experience with mesmerising production design and visual effects. But Inception is not unique for its forays into Kafkaesque story‑telling while exploring the idea of existence within existences, and asking what intelligence-drenched questions these explorations raise about our psychology as the viewers of these experiences. This article is concerned with films like Inception: films that offer the possibility of losing oneself in a maze of narrative, storytelling ingenuity, psychological inquiry into perception and cognition, and a pandemonium of ideas and images.
Shutter Island is a kind of cousin to Inception, and it’s also a particularly powerful study of psychological landscape. In the hands of the brilliant Martin Scorsese, the viewer is transported on a terrifying adventure through disappearance, delusion and darkness in a remote mental hospital. Leonardo DiCaprio’s US Marshal Teddy Daniels is a compelling study in obsession and torture, with the viewing experience an attempt to figure out what is real and what is madness amid a narrative rich in atmosphere and ambiguity.
Christopher Nolan’s breakthrough debut Memento (2000) narrates the story, from the opening through to the end, through the ruined reconstructions and memory satellites of its protagonist Leonard Shelby (Guy Pearce), a man bent on solving the abbreviated murder of his wife by reconstructing the unravelling cogwheels of his damaged brain. The reverse narration of the movie tracks the reverse of Leonard’s progress, taking the viewers out of the familiar world to undertaking the task of putting the story together from the tail upwards in a cinematic version of solving a cryptogram. It is another symphony of persistent unreliability, in which the viewer – like in Inception – is invited to doubt the validity of perception and memory.
Jordan Peele’s Get Out plumbs the territory of social horror, blending the psychological thriller with sly social commentary into an uneasy late-period mashup of the two. The story of young black man Chris (Daniel Kaluuya) and his chilling experience with his white girlfriend’s family (played by Catherine Keener and a creepy, off-kilter Bradley Whitford) is a personal one about race, identity, and the terror of losing one’s roots. Peele crafts an atmosphere of ominous escalation of the sort that, while differently realised, also permeated Inception’s hybridisation of private tribulation and larger existential issues.
In Source Code, Colter Stevens (Jake Gyllenhaal) is sent on a constant high-speed loop through time and identity to stop an explosion before it happens, but while he is caught in the body of a stranger. Thriller, romance and speculative fiction are entwined in this reiterative enterprise against time, seen as a puzzle to be solved. Its narrative is recursive and speculative in its exploration of sacrifice and redemption, the kind of task the dream divers of Inception go through.
However, The Matrix will live forever as a groundbreaking product of film’s dreamWorks’ biggest-budget, sci-fi movie about illusion and the struggle for freedom. The camera swirls around Neo in slo-mo as the world suddenly jolts into Matrix code. Queue the luscious klassiks soundtrack and exhilarating parkour as he fireballs squads of Bausch and Lomb goons. Neo’s Matrix-waking-up-moment explores the parameters of reality and freedom in a way that’s indebted to Inception’s dreamscaping. The film’s revolutionary special effects and philosophical angst continue to open up discussions about perception and control.
The same obsession with devising a perfect illusion — which in The Prestige (2006), another excellent Nolan film, molds the rivalry of two feuding stage illuders into an increasingly destructive game of deceit and vendetta gained over years — divides the creative impulse from the destructive one here, too. Both plots proceed in layers of puzzle, paradox and distraction, with truth stripped off layer after ever more abstract and generalised layer of masking in which it is hidden, force-leading the viewer to become engaged with the process and techniques of unveiling it. Inception’s thematic heart, then, shares the deepest formal drive of the seaside stage magician film: a deep, twisted suspicion that truth lurks beneath another and more fabulous layer of deception.
In Donnie Darko (2001), Jake Gyllenhaal’s disturbed lead character is haunted by visions of a grasping six-foot-tall rabbit. His battle between normalcy and rising existential angst is one of the intricate narrative structures and themes that reverberate with the threads of destiny, free will, and the nature of time running along Inception’s tracks. Familiar trappings of another coming-of-age story and puzzles for audiences to solve reappear in Donnie Darko.
In Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind (2004), written by Charlie Kaufman and directed by Michel Gondry, Joel ... [text truncated due to character limit]...
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