Hihi, I'm one of those girls that makes her boyfriend take her to see Leonardo Di Caprio, as it seems :P But as tasteless as that may sound, the kid's turned into quite a safe bet when it comes to movies. Regardless of the fact I often avoid certain stars for knowing the product will be shit, I've seen three of his movies recently and they were all scary good. (The Departed, Body of Lies and Shutter Island.) Good thing he's not very cute anymore. Spank me later.

Prior to going to see it (and this time it was me who took HIM, even though he complained, but once again, if I didn't nag, we'd never go anywhere just for kicks. General always needs things to be soooo purposeful...)         

           I read about it and I read mostly only negative reviews. (They offer a far clearer picture than praise.) It said Nolan overstimated his audience's mental capacity (yes, and Knight and Day was a MUCH better bet, eh?) and that Ken Watanabe's pronunciation is all messed up - but I happen to need mentally challenging plot to care for the whole thing and, well, Ken Watanabe's way of talking, as if he's catching the surf of his own breath waves, in and out, is a millionish turn on for me. Except for the fact everyone looks badly underweight in the movie, I'd got see it just cause he's talking in it.

But there's loads of stuff I was very taken with. The locations, for one. They paid such elegant detail to the back story of architecture, to the streets, to the mathematical boundaries of construction, to how vital and how passionate architecture can be. The same was Neil Jordan paid homage to new York's scenery with The Brave One, likewise here the set was a) helpful and blatantly guideline-ish for the audience and b) another riddle/subplot.

        I was trying to guess things in advance: how I would do it, namely for being somewhat of a veteran expert on the subject myself.. and how it would end. Until the last second I was telling the General that all he now needs NOT to do is spin the damn thingie and he'll be fine, but... Fuck it. A dream is just a dream. I dreamt of airplanes and tapeworms and Ellen Page tonight, overwhelmed by the lot of them mentioned hours before - but I knew it was a dream and I kept being angry at it for being so transparent.

Other things I admired massively were the paradoxes: how some get lost in their fantasies and choose to drown, how some, without imagination, are better at directing traffic through them, how some are faced with the prospect of living one life and then getting another and wondering whether to do things differently and if so, would anything really change? I on my end believe you cannot change the bottom line of your fate: you can make some costumography decisions, like betting on the right horse, having money, dying with your loyal butler by your side - or simply being normal, average and dying with your favorite grandchild by your side: in the end the sum is exactly the same. If you are set on fucking it up, you'd fuck it up either way. If you are in love with life, you love it no matter where. Here, in Japan, Key Largo, Mumbasa... Makes absolutely no difference at all.

           Makes no difference if you're very smart or very foolish, either. I make my life spectacularlyrly difficult, thank you very much, but I only pray the General loves it as much as I do, when I do it. The man thinks he makes me sad sometimes, but what he doesn't believe is that he is worth pretty much anything. I'd go to a fucking theological faculty if he asked me. (Course he never would, but I'd do it just to mindfuck the priests anyways.)

           So why is reality better than a dream? Matrix answered that question long ago: because people cannot bare having it unproblematic. NOBODY out of those which complain how hard it is to pay bills and juggle jobs, kids and dogs, would really rather be a goat herder in Nepal - guaranteed tranquillity. That'd be a nightmare.