Vacuous

Rating: 2/10 (25 November 2010)

No, not intellectually: there's tons of thought (or at least editing) going on in this film. But there's no characterization, there's no heart (Leo's one anguished cry of "Jesus, noooo!" isn't "heart," it's badly directed overacting), and, worst of all, there's no morality.
I'm an ill-tempered, outspoken, foul-mouthed termagant (that by way of explanation for those about to call me a right-winger, a teabagger, or a prude), but when I watched this thing I was dumbstruck not on an intellectual level (oh, golly gee, we're dream-diving! Like in "The Matrix," only inside brains instead of a mainframe! Wow. Uh, sure.) but on a moral one. See, the film has NO PROTAGONIST. It has criminals, it has those who facilitate those criminals' activities, and it has a victim. That's all.
And, yes, I had-- and have-- a real (or is that "real"-- see, I'm of the camp that thinks the whole sorry mess took place in Cobb's bigger mess of a head) problem with that.
Almost no one (I would have opted for a plain, sweeping "No one," no "almost," but I recall one review among dozens and dozens that hit on what I'm about to say) seems to see anything wrong with the idea that Cobb and his crew are (ostensibly-- pretermitting for the time being the perpetual argument regarding whether the whole sorry scenario is or isn't a dream) performing an act of mental violation on an innocent man. Why is this? The action isn't that impressive (even the infamous hotel-corridor sequence)-- yes, Nolan does "loud" and "in your face" very well, but the Bond films have been doing more breathtaking and cleanly shot action work for four decades now. (I actually laughed out loud when Cobb and Arthur, decked out in pimp-fashion leather coats and stocking masks, shouted threats at kidnapped Robert Fischer in a dream-warehouse-- not, of course, to be confused with a warehouse of dreams (that might invoke imagination): what, you couldn't just have your goons strong-arm a kidnappee in the "real" world, Nolan? This is as creative as you can get?) We can't just proffer "Cobb must see his kids again at any cost!" as an excuse-- or can we? (I would certainly hope not.) Is it because Fischer is a Caucasian businessman, and therefore intrinsically deserving of attack in this economically volatile era? (The argument that Fischer's business rival Saito is somehow bravely trying to prevent Fischer from forming a monopoly is weak at best: that's what anti-monopoly laws are for, and, by agreeing to attack Fischer on Saito's behalf, Cobb is merely enabling Saito to form a monopoly of his own. And, seriously, inception and/or extraction would be ridiculously iffy forms of espionage. Break into the safe inside my skull, Cobb my boy, and enjoy the five hundred verses of "I'm 'Enry the Eighth, I Am" I've got planted there.) Or is it, possibly worst of all, because Cobb and his goons "kindly" leave Fischer with happy thoughts of his coldhearted father? (From monopolies to psychiatry, then: if Robert Fischer has daddy issues, that's what analysts are for. Cobb and his stampeding creeps are in Fischer's mind to commit a crime; any "resolution" they provide him is a byproduct of that crime, and resoundingly, cruelly false.)
We might argue that Cobb and his crew are anti-heroes, but they're not. "The Dirty Dozen" are anti-heroes, criminals and psychopaths nonetheless working for the forces of good by fighting an evil greater than themselves (that evil being the nasty Nazis); Dom Cobb is nothing more than a thief (and, despite the ad copy, not a very good one) perpetrating an insidious act of mental rape against an innocent man (and, by extension, all those who rely on that innocent man's business for their livelihoods). Why all the sympathy for this thug and his crew? What's the catch? When children are involved, or when guilt (real or imagined) is in the mix, are we just supposed to chuck morality out the window...? (The last sad thing, I guess: No one on the team, not even newbie Ariadne-- and, granted, she's likely either a figment of Cobb's imagination, like the story as a whole, or a plant-- questions the "right" of what they're doing. Not only does this make me deeply uncomfortable, it's incredibly shallow writing. An opportunity for character development, tossed. But that's classic Nolan, isn't it? If he can't cover it with an iconic grunt-- "She was lovely," Arthur deadpans to Ariadne, when Ariadne asks what nasty dream-shade Mal was like when she was alive (heck, Arthur, she's still, technically, "lovely"; we were looking for maybe just a touch of explanation here regarding her relationship with Cobb and the team, big boy)-- it doesn't get covered.) Or, in the end, are we just supposed to excuse the immorality of the situation by saying, "Ha! It's all a dream anyway!"? Very much bothered by this, especially since this behemoth has gulped down some one billion dollars in box-office take worldwide....
... and that's why I'm giving it two stars. Cillian Murphy looks very nice in his natty suits, and he cries very prettily before Nolan realizes that-- horrors!-- someone is emoting on screen, and jerk-cuts away. Marion Cotillard does her best to squeeze dimensionality from yet another one-d Nolan-woman part; as Mal, she's a sad, psychotic, lovely mess. One star for each of them. As for the rest of it: what a pathetic reflection on values, and what a lousy story. Excellent snow-job, Mr. Nolan, but no star for you.