Inception is the most original film since The Matrix

The concept of people sharing—and experiencing—their dreams with one another might come off as implausible, but so far as I can tell, Nolan’s take on it in Inception is without flaw.

Through dream sharing, Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) can break into someone’s mind and steal their secrets. His trade is known as extraction and to aid him in his heists, he enlists the help of his friend Arthur (Joseph Gorden-Levitt.) As a researcher, Arthur finds out all he can about the target, including their relationships, and whether or not they’ve been taught how to keep their secrets secure.

Being exiled from his country and longing desperately to see the faces of his children, Cobb takes a job with a different description. He is asked to perform inception, which involves planting an idea in a target. For the idea to stick, the target has to believe it is originally theirs, demanding additional manpower and research.

Eames (Tom Hardy) is the first recruit. He's a confident and crafty forger, who like an actor, assumes the identity of someone else during a shared dream. The final recruit is Ariadne (Ellen Page), who, as her Greek name suggests, constructs the world of the dream. Ariadne is a prodigy, a whiz kid at the top of her class, and she creates some magnificent cinematic spectacles that could only be justified as 'dreams.'

With the team assembled, they target Robert Fischer (Cillian Murphy), the heir to the throne of a global corporation, aiming to construct, infiltrate and plant the idea of him splitting his empire. Ensuing are multiple dream levels, each dream within a dream delving further into Fischer’s mind.

The further they delve into the subconscious, the slower time elapses. Five minutes in a single dream takes twenty, but in a dream within a dream, the same five minutes elapses at the rate of an hour. In addition to the distortion of time is the seeping of one dream’s factors into another, like the exposure to water at one level manifesting itself as torrential rain.

This intelligent movie demands the audience's attention, but what really allows the movie to transcend mediocrity into genuinely great film territory is the depth of its main characters. Cobbs’ complex past brings an emotional depth that propels the entire story. The authenticity of DiCaprio’s performance makes us care about his character, and so the risks of inception are just that much more expensive.

Experiencing this original action thriller feels surreal, because although the audience is being educated on something foreign, familiar characteristics—like the sensation of falling when waking up from a dream—are present, and give this farfetched concept credence. And because anything is possible when dreaming, the action sequences couple with the emotional fabric seamlessly, and the two resound of one another in harmony, producing a spectacle that fascinates—titillates—long after the credits role. It is the unique culmination of its intelligence, performance, romance, action and production (which are all of the highest quality) that deem Inception be remembered as a great movie.

By Tony Ibrahim

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An open letter to Oliver Stone, the director of Savages

Oliver,

I don’t ever think I’ve seen a movie about drug dealers like Savages as the two leads, Ben (Aaron Johnson) and Chon (Taylor Kitsch), were philosophically enlightened and rather unconventional.

For starters, Ben is a university graduate. With his degrees in business and botany, he could be elsewhere making a decent living. Instead he grows, to quote the movie, “the best cannabis in the world” and with the proceeds, flies to third world countries to make a difference. A drug dealer who’s an idealist? Such complexity hasn't been exhibited by a character since Tupac.

“I had orgasms, he had wargasms.”

Ben’s partner and long-time friend, Chon, also draws intrigue. He’s the by-product of two Iraq tours. In the drug operation, Chon smuggles the pot seeds and handles the uncivilised part of business. “You are dead the second you are born,” he says, and somehow this outlook liberates him from the moral burden of killing someone. Alongside Ben, he makes for an interesting contrast and the two form an unusual synergy. Thankfully you tie the two different characters together with the aid of a beach babe. And this, Oliver, is where you add meat to the sandwich.

O (short for Ophelia) is in love with Ben and Chon. It’s a weird love triangle that has a ring of the seventies to it. She describes their relationship during the film’s intro:

"Chon is cold metal, Ben is warm wood.  Chon fucks.  Ben makes love.  Chon is earth and Ben's spirit.”

For O, combined they make the perfect man.

The three spend their time on Laguna beach, soaking up the sun and getting high on their own supply. Life is beautiful, until Chon receives a video of hostages having their limbs chopped off by a chainsaw.

It’s a clear message from Mexican drug lord Elena (Salma Hayek). Her drug cartel wants some of the premium product Chon and Ben distribute. She makes them an offer. A dodgy FBI agent, Dennis (John Travolta), tells them to take the deal, comparing it to an ordinary business takeover.

“They are Wal-Mart and they want you for a specialty aisle."

Oliver, first the notion of monogamy and now you’re undermining capitalism? I love it.

When Chon and Ben decline the takeover, Elena decides to give them an ultimatum. She orders O to be kidnapped and then negotiates her return over a couple years. Elena is a cunning matriarch, an exciting blend of beauty and danger. Think of her as the classic femme fatale whose husband and children have died, kicking her matriarchal disciplines into over drive.

With O in the hands of chainsaw-loving drug lords, Ben and Chon focus their energies on retribution. I kept my eyes closely on Ben as traditional action flicks would see this free spirit automatically equipped to handle warfare, but you know better than that Oliver. I can tell you’re more interested in seeing Ben fall slowly, cashing in his morality chips one at a time until he’s no different to Chon.

“And, the one thing they have in common is me.  I'm the home that neither of them have ever had.  And, they're mine."

The standout performance easily goes to Benicio Del Toro, whose Lado is the most memorable villain since Heath Ledger’s Joker. Lado is Elena’s right hand man. He’s tired of being the understudy and longs to be in control. He brushes his seedy moustache, toys with the police to their face and assures his insecurities by hand-feeding O. He is mercurial, slowing the entire film’s tempo down as he processes malignant thoughts behind a blank stare. Then with no warning, he kills.

But you fuck up the end game Oliver. You throw in endings (plural) that don’t serve your justice. It was the words that made Savages the great story it is and not style you dressed it in. Without spoiling the movie for enthused viewers, you lacked the conviction needed to give these larger-than-life characters the ending (singular) they deserved.

I understand Ophelia, the narrator, is named after Shakespeare’s bipolar and suicidal sister, but this facet of her personality does more harm than good to the story.

I really liked the beginning of Savages. I really liked the middle too, but as I end this letter I feel compelled to tell you—as though you need to be told this—don’t make a sequel to Platoon.

I’ll still buy a ticket to your next movie, 

Tony Ibrahim

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Shame is an orgy of anguish, eroticism and people

Few movies start with the same vitality modelled by Shame. Its opening is an engrossing tapestry of underlying themes, complex relationships and a fine example of Steve McQueen’s ability as a director. And this rousing introduction starts with something as banal as catching a train.

As Brandon (Michel Fassbender) boards, he sees a women sitting opposite him. He stares at her—their eyes lock. She blushes, clutches her dress and crosses her legs. We see a ring. As the train comes to a halt, she stands. Brandon comes behind her, close enough for his breath to be felt on her neck. The doors part.

In his everyday life, Brandon looks for such opportunities to have sex. He jacks off on his work break, has sex in public and maintains a live video stream with a pornstar. But like a drug addict in constant pursuit of that first hit, is the euphoria of an orgasm the same the second time?

What if it’s the second time that day?

Unlike an addict, Brandon holds a steady office job, is well dressed and generally quiet. He goes for solitary runs at night and for all intents and purposes, comes off as a gentleman. He is the every-man.

But when his sister, Sissy (Carey Mulligan), stays with him for a few days, he grows to resent her for disturbing his abusive routine. She brings her colourful chaos into Brandon’s grey regime, and her presence forces Brandon to evaluate his constant need to have sex. Is he wrong for giving into his every desire?

Fassbander’s performance as Brandon is a brave one and yet another affirmation of his substance as an actor. There are a few scenes characterised by an absence of edits, where the camera is fixed on his entire body and he never falters. It’s Fassbender who holds the script’s seams together, unifying it with unwavering intrigue, portraying Brandon as conflicted, shallow and paralysed by anguish. Impressively Mulligan manages to match his excellence, shining in her own right when professing her love for an absent lover, and again during a harrowing rendition of New York, New York.

Shame is the rarest of good movies. It’s exquisitely crafted—each shot and angle is not without purpose—but in a society indulging in online porn, polygamy and risqué sex, its subject matter is confronting, and as famed critic Roger Ebert points out, would be tough to watch a second time. Like Sissy, it is our rendition of colourful chaos, asking us if we give into our desires one time too many.  

Tony Ibrahim

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It's the quiet before the storm that makes Drive mesmerising

Drive focuses on a driver with no name, no back story and little in the way of personality. By day he’s a Hollywood stuntman, and by night he doubles as the getaway driver for criminals. At the beginning of the film he’s quiet, contained and a bit of a loner.

The stoic character meets Benicio, his neighbour's colourful little boy. It's the first time in the movie we see the inanimate driver let a smile slip through a demeanour that is otherwise impervious. The second time is when he befriends Benicio's mother, Irene.

They slowly spend some time together but the release of Benicio's father, Standard, from jail puts a halt on any romance. Standard asserts his presence and the Driver poses no romantic risk, but still makes appearances after forging a friendship with the little boy.

Even though Standard is a reformed crook, old criminal friends force him to commit one last crime. Realising Irene and Benicio's safety is at stake, the driver offers to help, but when the heist goes bad he's drawn into a world of underbelly thugs and street law.

Gosling is amongst Hardy and DiCaprio as one of Hollywood's most talented actors  

The driver exacts the form of violent justice only an anti-hero could, but it stems from such a good-natured place—the love he has for a neighbouring family—that it's hard to see him as a villain. After all, the film appeals to anyone in the audience, posing the question: how far would you go to protect someone you love?

Since the driver slowly reveals his character the audience begins to naturally care about him. They care about Irene, the adorable Benicio and even his reformed father. The affection towards these characters endows the action sequences with suspense and that special ingredient that causes viewers to sit on the very edge of their popcorn-stained seats.

The scenes are exquisitely crafted, with the driver exhibiting stealth alongside raw speed when he gets behind the wheel. There's also the added contrast of a slowly burbling engine, idling moments before it unleashes the fury of contained horses: a befitting parallel.

Of course, the gradual falling for the characters couldn't work if they weren't believable, and that's to the credit of the actors. Gosling's performance as the driver who internalises emotions is precise, selling the character with the slightest of tells. Even though the character rarely talks his performance is never flat and the driver is always complete and intriguing.

Carey Mulligan as Irene exhibits graceful vulnerability, showcasing a frailty undermined by stern independence. The circumstances leaves this strong, independent mother weak, and it's a perfect balance that explains why the driver gravitates towards her; it's why the audience does too.

But the credit goes to director Nicolas Winding Refn who steers well away from the traps akin to many Hollywood films. Refn clearly cares about the story and concentrates on the reasons behind Driver's actions and not the actions themselves. From the very beginning of the film he warns audiences Drive is not going to be another Hollywood action flick, ushering in the narrative with pink credits.

Drive is an exceptional flick because it's not an action movie first: it's a good movie that occasionally induces suspense with believable action. It gives the audience the credit they deserve, recognising they're intelligent and even though they never find out what the driver is running from, they enjoy what he drives towards.

By Tony Ibrahim

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Brad Pitt is magnetic in Moneyball

Moneyball follows the general manager of the Oakland Athletics baseball team, Billy Beane, and takes a look at the sport of baseball rather than the season-winning game.

Beane (Brad Pitt) is still grieving from a close loss in the previous season. To add insult to injury, he has to play against teams who have several times his budget and strip him of three pivotal players. He knows his little coin can't buy big talent, and understands the difference needs to be found off the field.

Unfortunately his present management team uses dinosaur-recruiting philosophies, judging players by their idiosyncrasies and if their girlfriends are ugly.

The naive Peter Brand strikes a stark contrast with a battle-hardened Billy Beane

During a meeting with a rival club he comes across Peter Brand (Jonah Hill). Brand is a pudgy Yale graduate who uses his degree in economics to reduce a player's on-field performance to a single number, and his modern perspective appeals to Beane's yearning for a fresh approach to the changing game.

The two use maths and science to create a team of misfits who have been labelled too old, injured or funny looking. The media, the public and even their colleagues swiftly claim the team is dead; heightening the very real risk that Beane could not only lose his job, but his career in the industry.

It might not read like much, but the hardball negotiations that take place off the field infuse this flick with a lot of action. Much in the same way The Social Network makes complex computing accessible to the masses, Moneyball makes baseball, its slang and mathematical analysis intriguing. Its no surprise to see as both films share screenwriter Aaron Sorkin.

At first audiences aren't sure if Beane loves baseball, choosing to not watch games, deliver inspirational speeches or even mingle with the players. It's not until an adorned montage we begin to see the logic, frailty and discipline behind his strict practices.

Beane doesn't look at a game's final score to see if he's won or lost. He is already filled to the brim with the mistakes he made in the past, and every little mishap eats away at him. Pitt's portrayal shows Beane cringing every time a ball is missed, a bat swings silently and the crowd stays seated. But Beane can still see the romance through his hardened scars.

Anyone can appreciate Moneyball's witty dialogue, complex characters and the hardships the characters go through. It transcends the sport of basebell without neglecting it, makes audiences care for the players without obscuring its commentary and draws them throughout the flick with unwavering intrigue. It's an extraordinary tale told in tasteful cinematic fashion.

By Tony Ibrahim

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