INCEPTION / movie

The summer offering from Hollywood had been bleak, so the movie public responded to last weekend's release of INCEPTION with smash box office numbers. Day 1 Christopher Nolan's sci-fi film grossed over $21 million. The weekend total was almost $100 million,as word of mouth filled 6000-plus theaters across the continent. Sunday night AP's wife gave him a freedom ticket. His children were going to sleep. BAM theater had an 8:45pm show. It was only 7:45. We finished out beers and grabbed hoodies for the possible frosty interior. AP kissed his daughter and son. His wife got a peck on the cheek. We were out of the door at 7:52.

The excitement built walking down Lafayette.

"When was the last time we went to the movies?" I asked quickening my step. The sun was setting between the buildings at the end of Fulton Street. This was the depth of summer. 90 and then some.

"We almost saw AVATAR."

"Almost doesn't count."

A snow storm had aborted our venture to the IMAX complex along the Hudson. We watched the blockbuster for free online. My computer screen rendered the movie's cinematic impact to that of an airplane film.

"We're going to this film no matter what." AP was a subslave to his family. This was our night out. We reached BAM at 8pm. The LED signs above each cash register read SOLD OUT. I threw my hoodie on the floor.

"Damn."

"We're still going to this film." AP's fingers were twitching over his I-Phone like Glenn Gould playing Goldberg Variations in a fever of spasms. He lifted his head. "There's a 9:10 at Court Street."

"Downtown Brooklyn." We hopped in a taxi at Atlantic. 1O minutes we were at the theater. A giant multiplex designed to sell popcorn to teenagers. Our luck was no better.

Sold out until 10:20.

I was for going home.

"I didn't come out to go back home." His return would be an admission of olditis to his wife. AP was a man. "We're going to the 10:20."

11pm was my lock-down hour. Midnight my pillowtime. We had smoked a joint. AP wasn't taking no for an answer. Tickets were $13.00 a piece. The price of a good drunk from a bottle of wine.

"This better be good."

"Let's find a bar." AP knew my heart.

A brunette with a smile noticed my Red Sox Nation Shirt. Her boyfriend was from the Bronx. Her hometown was Duxbury. She suggested the Last Exit. It was good advice. Hoegartens and punk rock in an empty bar. The only other customer a boxer. The bartender envied our tickets. AP generously tipped him with crisp $1 bills. He cuffed the 3rd round for us and the boxer.

We made the movie theater at 10pm. 20 people were in line. The excitement escalated as the previous audience exited from the theater. They were in a stunned state. No one said the movie sucked. That was a good sign.

We filed into the theater and sat in the best possible position. 8 rows back from the screen. Middle. The person behind us groused that he wanted our seats. We weren't giving them up.

The previews were forgettable. INCEPTION was our collective desire. The theater went black. The screen illuminated with the face of Leonardo DeCaprio laying face down on a beach. Children. Wife. Happiness. It's a dream. A dream shared by others. Magic. Myth. Movies.

I fell asleep at least five times during the movie. I was either tired or else the film was cleverly inducing a narcoleptic state to my alter ego. Leonardo was the star. He never fought the bad guys. His crew watched his back, as his character descended through the layers of the unconsciousness. His holy grail was reunion with his children. I understood his quest. Angie and Fenway are on the other side of the world. I'd do anything to be with them, but I went comatose during the collapse of a mountain fortress. I surfaced at the end. Leonardo was with his children. It was a good world.

Only his talisman showed the truth.

It might only be a dream.

THE END

The audience was semi-satisfied for the plot of stealing ideas for a corporation was lame. The corporations make our dreams. We are their slaves. Everyone knows that in their heart of hearts. This was no MATRIX, but it was good summer fun.

AP asked, "What you think?"

"It was better than expected."

"How can you say that?" It was the person who sat behind me. "You slept during most of the film."

"A bad film will keep me awake, but a good film is the best for sleeping." I misquoted the line from an opera critic caught sleeping by his reader.

"Bullshit."

"Maybe it was only a dream." The real reason I went to sleep was because the film was boring. Its intellectual conception was a fraud and the worst ending is that the ending is a dream.

Bullshit indeed.