INCEPTION Explained: A Clear-Eyed Trailer for a Dreamy Film

Despite its boffo box office results and strong critical response (not to mention its multiple award nominations) the most frequently heard reactions to INCEPTION were complaints about the complexity (and probable incoherence) of its narrative of nested dreams or the abrogation of the very rules governing dream logic established in the first half of the film. Of course movies, like dreams, are not required to make sense. This doesn’t stop the play of inquiry or the excited expectation that contradictions will be resolved, confusion will lift and clarity descend if only we keep “working” at the tangle of plot lines.

The trailer, on the other hand, for those who care to re-watch it, is a model of direct, compressed storytelling, a clarion dispatch from the surreal precincts of the dream state. Whether the story logic works out exactly, the premise is accessible enough in this preview that is told primarily through dialogue. Although the trailer misleads by presenting Mr. Dicaprio as the problem solver rather than the problem maker or intimating that Ms. Cotillard is his destined love object rather than his nemesis, the audience labors under no illusion that the work of inception, its epistemology or its metaphysics will be anything other than difficult and dangerous.

Let’s take a closer look. This 2:24 second theatrical trailer uses story, stars, spectacle and genre to engage its desired audience. Nothing surprising here, given it’s A-list talent, 9 figure budget, visual splendor, mind-bending narrative and hybrid (sci-fi-psy) generic appeal. It also relies on an appeal to provenance: at the helm is Christopher Nolan, director of the Dark Knight; Warner Bros, the major studio, is the distributor and Legendary is the producer.

Perhaps more importantly, the trailer elegantly answers the latent question of the recondite title: what is inception? The explanation is, coincidentally, a plot primer as well as a heck of an interesting sci-fi-psy concept that audiences will want too explore.

At :05, the medallions of WB, Legendary and Syncopy appear side-by-side on a black screen. A bass notes sounds as whitewater crashes over the camera to reveal DiCaprio washed up on the beach. But he’s not a castaway; his diegetic voice over (actually dialogue from the film) tells us who he is and what he does. “I specialize in a very special type of security: unconscious security.” His unseen interlocutor, draws out the unspoken, but obvious corollary: “you mean dreams?”

The cards for director Chris Nolan, “Director of the Dark Knight,” appear on screen at :25.
Back in the time and place of the film, Michael Caine (a recognizable, pedigreed star) in the role of affable professor introduces DiCaprio to a promising student (Ellen Page) in a grand academic setting. She (a possible female love interest) will be important to the mission, which she doesn’t yet understand: “You mean like a work placement?” she asks. Three clips of big-budget action-adventure stunts featuring wildly incongruous elements punctuate her query, setting up Dicaprio’s ironic understatement: “Not Exactly.”

In the next shot, DiCaprio explains to another character (the target, in fact) how inception works: “ We create the world of the dream: We bring a subject to populate it with his secrets.” The trailer cuts to DiCaprio and Page, as he shows her examples of the dream work. At the conclusion of these surreal scenes, she shows she understands the “score,” by asking the question that he prefers not to make explicit: “then you break in and steal it?”

DiCaprio blandly demurs, cueing three scenes of the inception team in action. DiCaprio’s summarizes: “It’s called Inception,” which refers both to the film and its trailer as well as the subject of the film and the story hook. This is a great line of dialogue, one operating both on the level of narration and promotion.

But the work of inception is fraught with risk, as a montage of volatility and danger within the “dream space” is underlined by the swelling music and a concise statement of the conflict and the challenge: “I think I found a way home and this last job is how I get there,” says DiCaprio. The remainder of the trailers gives the lie to his confidence.

Next, we see Leo’s Card, billed after the title and the director, reminding us that our investment in the “concept” of inception is accomplished through the complicated human protagonist portrayed by DiCaprio. Along with shots of Leo leading his team, we see Marion Cotillard with tears in her eyes, sympathetic, rather than dangerous, and as she is in the film, amidst other scenes of the action.

To my mind, this shot was included primarily because of a perceived need for a point of identification for female audiences and a story line for those interested in romance. (Contractual obligation to the actress, may also have played a role.) DiCaprio’s profound ambivalence toward her is not addressed in the trailer, for the very good reason that it’s too much story to cover in this format. The complexity/danger of inception itself is plenty for our 2 minute trailer without opening up that fascinating, but ancillary plotline. Cotillard thus occupies the role–untrue though it may be– of female love interest (rather than female side-kick, played by Page), whereas she is much more interesting than that in the film.

DiCaprio proceeds to tell Page that “dreams feel real while we’re dreaming,” as a succession of surreal images cross the screen. A copy card– whose letters tumble into legibility from a “machinic” graphic– declares, “Your mind…” as we cut to scenes of DiCaprio reaming a subordinate for operational failure; Marion in Tears; and Leo showing fear. It’s followed by another card reading, “Is the scene of the crime.” Put the two cards together to form a sentence that was also the print tagline. It’s a good line, whose internal rhyme underscores the “mind crime” that is inception.

Worrisome images and still more disturbing images bookend Joseph Gordon Levitt (a member of the inception team) warning that: “The Dream’s Collapsing.” DiCaprio asserts that he has it “under control,” which the rest of the trailer gainsays. Three blasts of a fog horn introduce a series of chaotic, surreal and catastrophic events as the dream architecture is compromised and the dream logic is contradicted. “I’d hate to see it out of control,” retorts Leavitt, expressing doubt. His ironic reaction, interestingly, is the exact opposite (an inversion, perhaps) of our desire as the audience. Watching the dream spin out of control and experiencing Leonardo’s dilemma vicariously is why we bought our tickets.

Finally, the title card tumbles into position, formed out of the same graphic letters used for the copy.

This trailer, has a charming, playful, topical and gently homo-erotic Button. We return to a scene in the middle of the movie, where Leavitt, within one of their dream scenarios defends against an attack from hostile forces. He fires a machine gun at a helicopter from a warehouse door. James Eades, the largest and more masculine member of the inception team, admonishes Levitt in seductive British accent: “You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger, darling,” whereupon he hoists an anti-tank gun with which he downs the helicopter.

The line “dream a little bigger” could have been a tagline for the poster, and it also works as a “call to action” for the video packaging and the standee. It’s a little camp and a light touch to conclude a trailer whose sound and score and subject are both serious and cerebral.

With respect to the soundscape of the Inception Trailer, I wish to speak admiringly of its muffled percussive beats and its metronomic rhythm. The obvious analogue to the varieties of such rumbling, moog-synthesized notes — notes one feels in one’s bowels — is the sound of an alarm clock, disguised as noise from the dream, but whose repetition will all too soon break the sleeper from its embrace. It’s the sound of warning, of countdown, of impending launch, detonation, and doom, embedded in a eight beat staccato line, like the ticking of a second hand on a mechanical watch. In dreams, time expands and contracts wildly. In our waking life, time is inexorable and ineluctable. Even the dream engineers cannot escape that constraint.

Editing in the Inception trailer has a regular cadence as well, with scenes changing on the blast of the horn, fading in and out like breaths taken by one deep in slumber. Match cut scenes of bodies falling and buildings collapsing (as well as snow avalanching) convey the vertiginous quality of the unstable dream construction. Purportedly, to land in a dream is tantamount to death. But falling—whether buildings or bodies, down or sideways, is the signature spatial relation in the editing. As a state of unconsciousness fraught with the dread of hitting bottom, the sensation of falling is usually sufficient to wake the sleeper. In this trailer, it’s more than sufficient to alert the potential audience member to the coming attraction heading his or her way.

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movietrailers101 by Fred Greene is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

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THE FIRST TRAILERS: SERIES & SERIALS

You would think that from the birth of filmmaking and film projection, trailers would have emerged as an essential mode of marketing, advertising and promotion. Instead, it took 18 years from Edison’s triumph to the first rudimentary and barely recognizable audio-visual promotion for an audio-visual entertainment. Why?

THEY WEREN’T NEEDED, AND THEN THEY WERE
The simple answer is scarcely conceivable today. And what’s different, augurs favorably for employment and careers in marketing, publicity, promotion, as well as entertainment, their parent industry.

Quite simply, there was no need for specialized marketing tools given the already vigorous demand for films supplied; moreover, the cost-benefit analysis was unfavorable, given the modest risk of time and resources required by the one reel films that dominated the period. The market didn’t yet demand the expenditure in resources and creativity a trailer represents.

FROM 1894 TO 1912
For the first 20 years of movie marketing, print was exploited as the medium for informing, publicizing and promoting film.

Signs & Billboards: How Films Were Originally Marketed

Glass slides, familiar to audiences from “magic lantern shows,” a technology dating to the 17th century,

A Magic Lantern: Projection Technology Since the 17th Century

joined print  in 1903, when the Lubin company created a bare-bones graphic title on glass for “Mephisto in his Laboratory.”

The design sophistication and quantity of glass slides swiftly increased—as you can see in these examples from the early 20th century.

By the second decade of the 20th century, the economics and ecology of the movie biz were changing. The dominance of the commodity one-reel “feature,” was waning, its eclipse by longer, auteur directed, star-driven, bigger-budgeted films competing with similar productions signaled evolving audience sophistication and maturation of taste. A glut of expensively-produced product required better marketing, in a word: differentiation! The trailer was at first the accidental and then the obvious response.

Promoting story: According to Vinzenz Hediger—an eminent trailer historian at University of Frankfurt in Germany–the first previews emerged within a transitional moment in the film biz to serve the needs of series and serials, a low-hanging branch on the evolutionary tree of feature films.

Serials were a brilliant, if reactionary, move by the major studios and distributors to differentiate their products and compete with the features. Collected, the reels of a serial are as long as a feature; persistent characters and situations imitate their sophistication. But Serials were cheap and easy to churn out. They also enjoyed this important marketing advantage: each episode functioned as an advertisement for its sequel; each cliff-hanger ending eliciting curiosity and desire for the rescue, the surprise, the twist or the expected salvation, that only the next installment could satisfy.

What Happened to Mary (1912) &  The Adventures of Kathleen (1913)
In 1912, the distributors of the Edison series “WHAT HAPPENED TO MARY,” were inspired to use the “trailing” end of the celluloid—the unexposed end of the reel used to wrap and protect the film—to deliver the most basic and most salient information to an audience that had just consumed an installment:

THE FIRST TRAILER

Only words on text, and prosaic words at that. No scenes, no call to action, no cast run, not even any “genre” cues, but the Trailer era had begun. In 1913, Tribune’s “The Adventures of Kathleen,” asked audiences whether “she would escape from the lion’s den,” which succinctly implies story, genre, implied spectacle and call to action! If you wanted to know what happens to this intrepid heroine, you’d have to come back to the theater. A mere two years later, trailers were recognizable as such: The Red Circle (1915)

NEW MEDIA FOR NEW ERA
Once audiences got a taste of audio-visual advertising, slides and print could never aspire to any role beyond collateral.

WHAT TRAILERS TELL US : CONTENT AS PROMOTION

What these “text-only” trailers make explicit is the logic of the series itself, in which content Is the lure for more content; in Lisa Kernan’s useful phrase, narrative rhetoric becomes promotional rhetoric. But this demand for further incident and resolution of conflict is still the engine of movie marketing today; a promise made to an audience that wants to know what happens next.

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movietrailers101 by Fred Greene is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

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MALE ANXIETY & FEMALE DISCOURAGEMENT: 30 MINUTES OR LESS

Buddy movies featuring hapless slackers in extreme circumstances, occupy a valuable niche in the domestic market, appealing, despite coarse humor, male protagonists and male pre-occupations, to mixed audiences.  Yet the International Red Band trailer for 30 MINUTES OR LESS, which skillfully plays to its core, young adult, male audience makes no effort to address or appeal to female audiences (of whatever age or cinematic inclination) outside the US.

Presumably the marketers believe that luring women to such an entertainment – whatever the cinematic reality as opposed to the marketing chimera– is a Sisyphean task.  Still, I can’t help thinking that the trailer overcompensates for the emasculating victimization experienced by its protagonist, played with frantic oafishness by Jesse Eisenberg.  The number of times the trailer employs sexualized profanity, oral-erotic imagery, phallic figures etc. cannot be accidental or motivated exclusively by Eisenberg’s predicament. It’s that decision—of how to tell the story told about this movie—which draws me in.

Rather than psychoanalyze the trailer—a thankless task and methodologically suspect to boot—I turn instead to an analysis of how the trailermakers express themselves in marketing and promoting the film.  Since a trailer is not an eruption of unconscious processes, but a carefully considered, audio-visually engineered mechanism for associating desirable emotional responses with a context, content and characters, I’m entitled to look at it this way.  (I have to assume trailer making is a rational, self-conscious-headed process undertaken by creative artists who understand their commercial obligations as well as the psychology of their audiences, otherwise I’m wasting my time with this blog!!)

So, let’s take a look at what the trailer shows and says before considering whether such choices are optimal.

From :03 to :17, Nick (Eisenberg) and Chet (Ansari) are introduced and the dynamic of their friendship is sketched. Nick watches from his stoop, flicking beer bottle caps in classic slacker attitude, as Chet receives a blow job in his car from his girlfriend.  Nick hassles him for kissing her after he’s “fucked” her mouth, which Chet defends as an act of chivalry and gratitude despite the admittedly abject quality of such contact.

After the Columbia and MRC logos, we meet mouth-breathing buddies Travis (Nick Swardson) and dominant Dwayne (Danny McBride) who concoct the scheme of forcing some sap to rob a bank for them.  A commercial advertising a pizza restaurant’s 30 minute guarantee is the “ahah” moment for Dwayne, as we cut to a shot of stoner Nick power sliding his delivery vehicle to a stop.

Oddly (or tellingly), Dwayne explains the serendipity of finding their patsy in this speech:  “sometimes fate takes out its big old cock and smacks you in the face with it,” an odd anthropomorphism of fate, one that also smacks of (proscribed, yet rhetorically reified) male on male oral sex.  Fate, it seems, will have its way, even with such confidently (pussy eating, gun firing, explosive savvy and blue-collar) heterosexual guys as these.

Next, in a parallel sequence, Nick explains his predicament to Chet cutting back and forth between the hallway outside Chet’s grade-school classroom, and the auto junk yard that is Travis and Dwayne’s crib.  Chet is suitably horrified.

After a card informing us that the director of this film also directed Eisenberg in Zombieland, we return to Chet and Nick, as Nick demands help and Chet, thinking what the situation demands, slaps Nick hard, insisting he pull it together.

The longest scene in the trailer involves our unlikely heroes in a worrisome exchange with a cashier, who clocks their purchases as those of a rapist.  She refuses to be convinced by their denials, (Chet describes them, tellingly, as “small fry”) and the scene ends with the exchange of a confused, ashamed and guilty look.

The minimal copy run, more like a print campaign than a theatrical trailer, continues with the card: TIME IS MONEY, followed by some quick cut scenes of indeterminate relevance and a longer shot of the antagonists fondly recalling their “Satanic” phase in high school.   “DON’T BLOW IT” reads the following card, a reference to time and money, but also, well the male member.  (The message:  don’t be the subordinate, the insertee, the servicer or the “bitch.” )

We then segue into the active part of the trailer, with the boys racing somewhere in their car as Chet’s girlfriend asks, “what happened to you guys,” since clearly something has changed in their demeanor.  They’ve bonded, obviously, and found their mojo in this most authorized and glorious of homosocial  (between men) bonding behaviors.

Cut to the poorly planned and confusion laden bank robbery, with unexpectedly funny and awkward consequences, followed by a quick cast run of the four principles.   Next, Chet and Nick are in flight from the police, as Dwayne and Travis observe.  Chet explains to Nick that just because he drives a delivery car, he is not thereby a professional driver, undercutting Nick’s confidence, which is then shattered when they are T-boned by a cop car, which flips the boys, sending them sliding diagonally toward the camera, both of their mouths open, their heads tilted identically, screaming in unison.

By the way, this is a terrific image, capturing as it does, the literal over-turning of their plans and the out-of-control aspect of their adventure.

At 2:21, we see the title spelled out in four shots.  Lastly, a clever button ends the trailer: A policeman arrests Chet and Nick, demanding they drop their weapons. To this request, Nick responds by tearing open his jacket to expose the explosive vest he’s wearing, hysterically shouting at the armed policeman, “guess what, you’ve just brought a gun to a bomb fight, officer,” at which point the cop drops his gun and runs for safety.

I don’t think I’m reading too much into it, to call this scene a lightly veiled (barely sublimated) “pissing contest” or moment of phallus-comparison, one which Nick wins against at stout, African-American, pistol-packing cop.

As a high-concept movie, the premise of the film is easily and briefly stated.  Jesse’s character, a pot-smoking, pizza-delivery boy, is outfitted, against his will, with a suicide bomber’s vest and told to rob a bank as the price of releasing him from the timed explosion.  Given the outrageous, thought-experiment quality of the premise, it’s the relationships and the awkward situations that ensue which absorb the bulk of screen time, rather than the improbably mechanics of his victimization. This is a comedy after all, and the Mcguffin of plot is merely the occasion for “stupid guy” and “nerdy guy” hi-jinks.

And yet Eisenberg’s victimization (whatever the details) is critical, since it both focuses his thought and motivates his energies toward survival and retribution. Moreover, his victimization, beyond its role as the initiator of plot, is also the source of the trailer’s appeal.   Why, you ask, would an audience derive pleasure from a character’s emasculating victimization?    I appeal to Dr. Freud and his concept of the repetition-mastery complex for the answer.  This psychological coping mechanism allows for a negative experience to be relived but resolved differently.

In this trailer (as in the film) the victimized and emasculated audience member (the slacker, nerd, loser, geek) is invited to identify with his own subordination (the repetition of a painful experience) in the person of Nick, and then, in the course of Nick’s stressful, dangerous passage through the plot, to triumph over and vicariously transcend the traumatic experience (the mastery or “compulsion”).

Of course, identification is only one aspect of a potential audience’s investment in a film.  Dis-identification is equally compelling, where the protagonist or, as if often the case, the villain, becomes a surrogate for experiences that the viewer will never have, or want to have, but finds pleasure from experiencing or exploring through a surrogate.  Still, the “me” and the “not me” appeal of identification and distanciation work better within a gender than across it.

Unfortunately, for 30 MINUTES OR LESS, there is no purchase place for a female audience—of any age, unless it be the sardonic, savvy cashier who calls the boys on what she presumes to be their rapine intentions.  The other notable female character, Chet’s girlfriend, has only one line in the trailer, with which she ask the question that the film ostensibly has been made to answer:  “What’s happened to you guys?”

What’s happened is that they manned up, found cojones, fought for dominance rather than rolled over and bared their white bellies.  I do think that the core audience of 16-36 year old males (slackers and go-getters, gay and straight alike) like these stories, these situations, these relationships because they remind them of who they are already or who they can’t ever become.  But this trailer hasn’t told a story for female viewers. Maybe there isn’t one, so the trailer is doing its job of keeping the wrong audience out.  But then again, if it’s as funny as the blogosphere says it is, then shouldn’t it have something for everyone?

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movietrailers101 by Fred Greene is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License.

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