Posts Tagged ‘Inception’

Schrodinger’s Inception [Warning: SPOILERS]

In Marc Horne on August 3, 2010 at 2:00 pm

I’m on Schrödinger’s plane, over the Pacific. I’m locked in a box in an unobserved state with a dangerous element and when I arrive – in L.A. – I will find out if I am alive or dead. Looking at the low-down clouds, I wonder why it is that Schrödinger’s work is one of the few pieces of modern Quantum physics that artists have latched onto. Perhaps it is because of the cat that usually is trapped in this state: lonely creative types in sad little apartments, not even smelling the cat litter anymore, dreaming of other worlds and the possibility that, despite all appearances to the contrary… they are not dead.

I flip through the movie selection on the screen in the little pod I rest in. The pod is great but it only makes me surprised that I can’t watch any movie in the history of mankind. Why just this selection? Why would you have Caddyshack 2, for example, and NOT Caddyshack ‘1’?

I go with Total Recall, although I know that I will be asleep before the end of it. Quaid goes to Mars. That gross mutant guy is talking to him. It gets to the end. It’s dark on this plane. I look around me. Why was I just dreaming about a plane? My mates are looking at me funny “Watch the bloody film!” they say. Arnie’s on the top of the mountain now, with the woman who is less attractive than Sharon Stone karate kicking you in aerobic wear, but not bad. I feel the closure of a long narrative arc surrounding us, warming my narrative gonads. Then woah… what is this, it’s fading out. NO… not a last minute plot fuck! I don’t want to leave the top of the Martian mountain like this. This is as close as I will ever get to the top of that Martian mountain and I don’t want you to take it away from me.

Oh thank you. It was just a tease. They are Really On Mars. Then it ends. But I am immune to the sudden black shutter. I don’t freak out. I have my closure now. I don’t mind being back in the crummy seats with my mates who also have crumbs all over them.

Except my mates never turned up did they? But they were here? Well that was years ago, when we used to go to the cinema all the time and thereby, although we didn’t know it at the time, sort of dodged becoming glueys and then going to jail.

I leave the movie theater, as I now call it after years living with Americans and having Japanese businessmen insist that I teach them real US English. I pass through the lobby of the Odeon, and I note with some regret that my life is now so full of hot dogs that the smell of the pink, rolling tubes is no longer as exciting to me as Sinbad’s greatest adventure. I go outside and look at my watch. 30 minutes before the lads turn up. I could either sniff glue or get a pint. Read the rest of this entry »

The Misinception of Chris Nolan

In Pat Black on July 30, 2010 at 3:43 pm


Christopher Nolan blew back a strand of strayfully bodisome blond hair and looked in the mirror.

            “Now there,” he said, chuckling, “is a fine-looking man.”

            The mirror blinked, and then frowned. “Uh, thanks, Mr Nolan. Are you feeling alright?”

            “Whoah.” It wasn’t a reflection, it was… goodness, it was Leonardo Di Caprio. “But… you look just like me, with the tie, and the baby blues, and the wavy landslide hair, and… I need to write this down. This is important.” He did, too, clicking at his BlackBerry.

            Di Caprio drained a glass of scaatch. “Well… I’m sure it is. I’ll, uh, be going now. Great party, Mr Nolan. I have to go and, uh, keep my mildly cool resume updated.”

            “Yes, do, do,” said Nolan. “Oh, tell me. Where are you on the Newman Scale now? You’re what, a Level Four? Pretty boy turned full-fledged serious actor, but still a leading man? Is that the Brad Pitt?”

            “Sure is.” The Di Caprio grin. “Now it gets difficult. I’m going for Level Five. The Depp. Beautiful man unsure of own face, has to go all weird and dark to make sense of it. That’s where I want to be. A character actor in all but cheque.”

            “Sure thing.” Nolan gestured to the table, littered with party debris – cocktail sticks, lonesome quiches, empty bottles, lines upon lines of coke destined for the dustbin as usual. “Um… you sure you don’t want to take some?”

            Di Caprio was good at playing the innocent. “Some..? Come again?”

            “Oh come on. You want a slice, don’t you? To take home? To share with a lady friend, maybe?”

            “Gee. Well I’m not sure if I can, Mr Nolan. You throw a mean party and all, I hate to take advantage of your hospitality…” But he was rubbing his palms against his trouser legs. That was a “tell”, Nolan knew. Or eczema, maybe.

            “Nonsense, mate, nonsense. Come on, have a slice of Credibility.”

            “Are you sure? No… I couldn’t. I’m full. And I’ve had loads from working with Scorsese again on Shutter Island. I’ll get fat on that stuff.” But he was licking his lips.

            “Oh come on, don’t be shy now. I’ve got lots of it to go around. I’m Trusted. You know – ‘In Nolan We Trust’?” Read the rest of this entry »