If you fell asleep in a room with The Matrix, James Bond, Shutter Island, Fantastic Voyage, and every heist film ever made all playing simultaneously, you might have a dream like Inception. Christopher Nolan did, anyway. For his follow-up to the The Dark Knight, he writes and directs a story so complicated, so layered, so frustratingly indefinite, that only a director whose last film made a billion dollars could ever expect a major studio to support it – let alone go near it. Yet, despite its resolutely uncompromising nature (and possibly because of it), Inception will easily be one of the most talked about, rewatched, and remembered films of the summer – if not the year. This is not to say the film doesn’t have its flaws, but rather that it proposes a thought experiment so enticing that even audience members who dislike the film will nonetheless be discussing it with vigor.

Inception is structured like a maze of concentric circles (much like the one a character draws for us early in the film) featuring dreams within dreams, chase sequences within chase sequences, and, ultimately, inceptions within inceptions. The events are so folded within another that a viewer simply won’t understand everything that is going on from the first viewing, although the basic set-up comes across clearly enough. In a world where technology exists for groups of people to enter one person’s dream (using briefcases of drugs, wires, and magic buttons that are never fully explained), there exists an underground business of dream hackers, who enter another person’s dreams in order to steal secrets from their unconscious. Cobb (Leonardo DiCaprio) is one such thief-for-hire, perhaps the most skilled dream thief out there. A Japanese businessman (Ken Wantanabe) approaches Cobb to invade the dreams of one of his competitors (Cillian Murphy), not to steal information, but rather to plant an idea, which is much trickier. Cobb puts together a team of dream invaders – a group of specialists with talents ranging from architecture to forging identities – who must go deeper into their target’s subconscious than is reasonably safe, with the reward being cash for the team, and something much more valuable for Cobb. You see, Cobb only has one goal: to get back to his children in the United States, a country which, for reasons explained within the film, he cannot return to without facing arrest. That is, unless this “last job” is successful, and the fabulously wealthy Japanese businessman pulls some favors.

What makes Inception so fascinating (and frustrating) is the logic and execution of the dream worlds that are entered. There are many rules. Each dream requires a skilled architect who must design a world like a maze complicated enough that a dreamer won’t realize they’re dreaming; that world is populated by projections from the dreamer’s unconscious, which turn violent against intruders “like white blood cells attacking a virus”; and you can dream within dreams, each level down allowing the perception of time to lengthen, so that five minutes in the real world could b e potential decades in the basement levels of the dream. And many more rules and definitions, most of which have nothing to do with actual dreaming, and more to do with having an excuse for blockbuster special effects and stunts, like a fight sequence in a zero gravity hallway, or a city block in Paris that folds up over itself. These effects are quite stunning in their seamless execution, and entirely convincing despite their obvious falsehood. The complexity and intricately complicated rules and layers of the dream world keep the viewer actively involved, as we try to both figure out the rules of the world, and decide for ourselves what’s really going on.

Unfortunately, Inception lacks the raw emotions that dreams invoke. In fact, it lacks any emotion whatsoever. When characters aren’t explicitly explaining the dream rules (often to characters who already know them), they’re reenacting summer movie clichés. Leonardo DiCaprio gives a generic performance that seems copy/pasted from his role in Shutter Island – complete with the same motivations of guilt, the same mental hang-ups about reality, and basically the same mad wife and two young children. It didn’t work very well in Shutter Island, and it works even less here. I never cared more about Cobb than about the rules of the dream world, and I doubt Nolan did either. The rest of the characters are even less developed, reduced to archetypes that even this cast of incredibly skilled actors have trouble making into real people. Ellen Page is the Curious Newcomer, Pete Postlethwaite the Distant Father, Cillian Murphy the Ignored Son, and Marion Cotillard is simply Mal, the Bad One. Ellen Page and Michael Caine own every scene they’re in, but they’re far from their peak abilities, and are never given the chance to do much more than spout clues and teasers. They are all cogs in Nolan’s intellectual puzzle, their main function to express ideas in clear allegorical forms. And, because of this, it is not the characters we think about after watching Inception, but Christopher Nolan, and the question he poses to the audience.

Ultimately, Inception is a dramatically-flawed but intellectually stimulating film. It’s a cinematic puzzle, but not a poem, and should be approached as such. The action sequences are ambitious and accomplished; the score by Hans Zimmer haunting and somber (even if, at times, overbearing to the point of inappropriateness); and the grand, uncompromising nature of the film is something to be admired in a studio-driven environment. It’s a wonder that this script got made, given its outright intellectualism, and even more so that Nolan did it well. My main complaint is that the film never achieves an emotional resonance that is anywhere near the intellectual activity it inspires, but Inception is nonetheless recommended viewing, if for no other reason than in order to discuss it, you must first see it. (Perhaps even twice.)

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As Inception is a film more fun to talk about than to watch, I’m going to do just that: discuss it in detail, including the controversial ending. Obviously, the rest of this review will contain massive spoilers, and should not be approached until after seeing Inception for yourself.

(MASSIVE SPOILERS BELOW. DO NOT READ UNTIL AFTER VIEWING.)

So what is Inception really about? What does the ending mean? Does the spinning top fall, or keep spinning forever? Is Inception a dream or does it end in reality? And what does that have to do with what Nolan is trying to express with the film? What does Inception’s ending reveal about Nolan’s purpose? I’ve seen Inception multiple times now, and have thought about the ending and themes for what feels like a week straight. In that time, I feel I’ve made it through the mental maze of the film, and decoded its many symbols. I’m sure there are still details that I missed, things that will be much clearer once a DVD is out, and scenes can be replayed, freeze-framed, and reviewed endlessly. So any comments exposing flaws or holes within my theory would be welcome, as it is not my goal to be thought of as right, but rather, to get at the truth, even if it means being continually corrected.

Okay then. Let’s review the major rules and clues of Inception. First and most paramount is the rule that, in a dream, Cobb’s totem – the spinning top – will continue spinning forever, and in reality, it will not. Cobb spins the top at the close of the film, and the last shot ends before revealing if the top falls or not.

Second, that dreams as portrayed in Inception don’t look or feel anything like dreams, but rather instead like movies, specifically Hollywood movies with extravagant budgets. (Some reviewers count this as a fault of the film, but I’m certain it was completely intentional by Nolan. If he wanted anything to feel dreamy, he could have easily put in melting clocks and temporal disruptions. Instead, everything is calculated and precise in Inception. This is a major clue: that the dreams in Inception are more like how we experience movies than dreams.)

Third, Inception is a Hollywood movie with an extravagant budget.

Fourth, if an inception is to occur, the dream must be constructed by an architect, aided by a specialized crew.

Fifth, Inception is a film. It is directed by Christopher Nolan. He wrote and directed the film, which is as much to say he was its architect, aided by his specialized crew.

Sixth, dreams in Inception are a shared experience.

Seventh, the audience views the film Inception, at least in theaters, as a shared experience.

Eight, dreaming in Inception allows you to extend time, so that you experience what takes an hour in a few minutes, or a decade in a moment of real time.

Nine, film manipulates time, so that you can experience an hour in a minute, a decade in a flash cut.

I could continue, but I think you get the drift. Dreaming as portrayed in Inception is analogous to how we as an audience experience films. Even down to the brainstorming session, where the team must figure out a way to try to make a financial gain (i.e. box office) by using an emotional construct that can be contained within a simple statement (i.e. a premise). This element of thinking of Inception’s dreams as a stand-in for Hollywood films pervades almost every single line of dialogue in the film, and structures the logic of the dreaming. But why? What does film’s relation to dreams have to do with the spinning top, and whether it falls or not?

Let’s talk for a moment about the world within the film, without thinking of the world as a film. The main question people have, after figuring out what has happened – that Cobb has apparently returned from limbo and returned to his children – is whether it happened in the reality of the film, or in the dream of the film? The question is whether Cobb is still in limbo or not, and the doubt that he might be that is introduced by not showing the top fall.

Quite bluntly, I think it’s quite clear that Cobb is back to his reality, and there’s a different reason why the top isn’t shown to fall. That, if the film were to go on a little longer, the top would indeed fall, but Nolan stops the film not to make us doubt whether Cobb has returned from limbo, but for a very different reason.

First, why I think Cobb is indeed back with his real children at the end. There are several reasons. It makes sense, for one. Second, there are distinct clues that Nolan gives to prove this, including the much talked about wedding ring. Careful viewers have noted that, whenever he is in a dream, Cobb wears his wedding ring; whenever in reality, he doesn’t; and at the end, he doesn’t wear the wedding ring. Thus, at the end, Cobb is in reality.

I don’t think this is wrong, and I will give more support for this later, but first, let’s talk about why people think he’s still dreaming. The number one reason audiences might believe Cobb is still in limbo, or that he has never been in reality at all, is because Nolan has made his script intensely complicated. Let’s not forget that this is only Christopher Nolan’s second produced script. He’s still a new screenwriter, even if he is a very accomplished director. Even if his ideas may be the signs of a genius, his product is the result of someone who has spent more time making films than writing them. The most telltale sign of an amateur storyteller is the misbelief that in order to be complex, you must be complicated. And Christopher Nolan has spent nearly a decade complicating his script. It’s undoubtedly gone through many, many, many completely different drafts. There are plot holes. People who explain away these holes by saying everything we see is a dream, and that dreams are inconsistent, are thinking about dreamlogic, which the film does not subscribe to. It subscribes to film logic. So let’s be honest. Plot holes are plot holes. There are flaws in the logic of the film. There are mistakes in the filming. Nolan, no matter how intelligent, is still human. As the saying goes, even Homer nods.

Let’s point out some plot holes, just for the sake of it. The one that stands out most for me is the idea that the sedative that Cobb’s team uses doesn’t interrupt inner ear function, so that everyone can be awoken by “kicks.” Yet, the team isn’t woken up by a kick. They wake up on a plane, whenever the sedative wears off. Which conveniently is when they accomplish the mission. When the van freefalls into the river, the next level down (the hotel level) also goes into freefall. But the next two levels do not. Why? There’s no real explanation given, so we must just assume that freefall only goes one level down, while things like water splashes – which have nothing to do with inner ear function – go all the way to the bottom. This is a plot hole. It doesn’t hold up to scrutiny, and the inner ear explanation seems to only be an excuse for the spectacle of a fight in a hallway without gravity. Not convinced? Still think that Nolan is perfect, and therefore infallible? Well, let’s point out a more technical flaw. When Saito drops off Cobb and Arthur in the helicopter, we can hear the whoosing of the helicopter’s blades as Cobb and Arthur stand outside of the helicopter – yet not a single strand of their hair is blown by the wind that the helicopter would produce, nor is any water rippled on the ground below. Obviously, for that shot, the helicopter was not on so that Nolan could get good sound for the dialogue. That’s an error. There are scores more: objects appearing, disappearing. Continuity errors galore. It’s not a perfect film, and there are errors in the logic of the story as well. (Thieves entering a shared dream is not even a wholly original concept, as fans of Scrooge McDuck comics might already be aware of.)

There is much more conclusive evidence, like the wedding ring, that Nolan meant Cobb to return to the real world at the end than that he meant Cobb to still be in limbo. In fact, the only substantial evidence towards the interpretation of Cobb being stuck in limbo is that Nolan does not show us the top falling.

So – if Cobb is indeed in reality – why would Nolan not show us the top fall? Quite simply, so that we consider both possibilities. I’m reminded of the thought experiment of Schrödinger’s cat. It goes something like this: a live cat is put into a box with a poison that will either go off or not go off; whether or not this poison is deployed will be determined by a random number generator, and the only way to find out whether the cat is dead or alive is to open the box. But until you open the box, two realities exist: one in which the cat is alive, and one in which the cat is dead. Nolan is presenting a similar thought experiment with Inception’s last shot, except by ending the film, he closes the box. And seals it forever. So that both realities will exist: one in which the top falls, and one in which it doesn’t. The top both falls and does not fall.

In the context of the film, since Cobb returns to his reality, and in his reality, the top will always fall, if the shot were to continue, the top would fall.

But Inception is a film, which is like a dream, and not reality. So the top cannot fall if Nolan wants us to remember that we are watching a film made by him. Because, by ending the film, he’s waking us up into a world where if we spin a top, it will fall, and we can recognize the world of Inception as a type of dream.

By ending the shot, he’s doing three things: first, he’s allowing the top to fall and not fall; second, he’s forcing us to envision both realities simultaneously, which makes us question our conception of reality (or at least, the reality of the film); and third, he’s using his own language established within the film to plant an idea in the audience that we can be intercepted through films, beyond our awareness, exactly like characters can be intercepted in Inception. Inception itself is an inception.

If Nolan had said this directly, it would be like the scenerio described in the film where a character is told to “not think about elephants.” Nolan has to make us figure this out for ourselves so that it is our own idea, and a true inception. And Nolan’s inception happens to be about the process of inception itself, specifically the inception that our popular media exploits us with, and particularly the type of inception used in Hollywood films. He manipulates us into seeing how we’re manipulated. It’s like when we learn the process behind the magic in his previous film, The Prestige.

And who knows better than Nolan how films (shared dreams) can be used to exploit an audience for financial gain? His two Batman films have grossed over a billion dollars, and several times that in merchandising. The story of Inception bubbled and brewed in his head throughout his cinematic rise, and he saw its power. And, as Hollywood cinema has taught us, with great power comes great responsibility.

Nolan is trying to tell us that films can plant inceptions (ideas, beliefs) that extend to the waking state – simple ideas that grow “like a virus, and come to define the person.” And, as the plot shows through the alternate fates of Mal and Robert Fischer, Jr., these ideas can be constructive or destructive, giving either a healing catharsis or inspiring outright delusion. By not showing the top fall when, by all true clues, it should fall, Nolan is telling us that even if the top falls, we’d still be watching a film. We’d still be in a constructed dream world. It’s no coincidence that there are no opening credits, not even a title card, and that, after the initial studio graphics, the only time we are reminded that we are watching a film is right when the top should fall – right at the credits. Right when Nolan wakes us up.

I still don’t think Inception is a perfect film. It’s emotionally inert, and too complicated for its own good. I wish Nolan had let another screenwriter with more experience help him to do one more draft, because the idea behind the film is a great one, and the cast deserves more room to show off their talents. But I do believe it is an important film, and I hope that everyone sees it, so that studios will learn that audiences do want to be challenged, audiences do want to use their brains, and that audiences do want original stories, not just sequels, prequels, remakes, and reboots. That even flawed attempts to push the boundaries of storytelling and filmmaking are worthwhile, and that the only way Nolan is ever going to make a perfect film, the only way anyone can, is if he is allowed to make a few imperfect ones first. So let’s support that.