Freakonomics - Feelings of Superiority and Inadequacy

Freakonomics: Revised Edition

Authors: Steven D. Levitt & Stephen J. Dubner

Morality, it could be argued, represents the way that people would like the world to work; whereas economics represents how it actually does work. –Stephen Dubner

If you learn how to look at data in the right way, you can explain riddles that otherwise might have seemed impossible. Because there is nothing like the sheer power of numbers to scrub away layers of confusion and contradiction. –Stephen Dubner

It wasn’t gun control or a strong economy or new police strategies that finally blunted the American crime wave. It was, among other factors, the reality that the pool of potential criminals had dramatically shrunk. –Stephen Dubner

When people aren't compelled to pay the full costs of their actions, they have little incentive to change their behavior. –Stephen Dubner

Amazon.com describes Freakonomics:

Which is more dangerous, a gun or a swimming pool? What do schoolteachers and sumo wrestlers have in common? How much do parents really matter?

These may not sound like typical questions for an economist to ask. But Steven D. Levitt is not a typical economist. He studies the riddles of everyday life—from cheating and crime to parenting and sports—and reaches conclusions that turn conventional wisdom on its head.

Freakonomics is a groundbreaking collaboration between Levitt and Stephen J. Dubner, an award-winning author and journalist. They set out to explore the inner workings of a crack gang, the truth about real estate agents, the secrets of the Ku Klux Klan, and much more.

Through forceful storytelling and wry insight, they show that economics is, at root, the study of incentives—how people get what they want or need, especially when other people want or need the same thing.

I listened to the audible.com version of this book, read by one of its authors, Stephen J. Dubner. A few times while listening to it, I experienced a bit of déjà vu. A few years ago I listened to Malcolm Gladwell’s The Tipping Point, which also uses data to examine questions I’d never thought to ask but wish I had. Books like Gladwell’s (Blink and Outliers are two of his other works) and Freakonomics are fascinating to read. I have a hard time putting into words exactly how they make me feel, but it’s somewhere between ravenous and insufficient. Listening to even ten minutes of any of these works makes me hungry for more – I can’t seem to stop, as if I’m consumed by a need to find out more, delve deeper, eat up every word dropped from the mouth of the author.

But as fascinated as I am by everything they say, I find myself feeling completely insufficient as a human being. Why hadn't I looked at these questions in this way? Why hadn't I thought to ask them? How is it that everything they say sounds so obvious, yet they’re the first person to have broached the question and gotten those exact results? When will I find the magic question and answer that propels me to the status of Levitt and Gladwell? For surely there has to be some as yet unasked question with as yet un-examined data that will clearly lead me down the path to discovery.

I listened to every second of Dubner’s 6 hour and 55 minute reading of the revised edition of his book, eyes wide and mouth agape head shaking and nodding furiously with each point he made. I marveled at the simplicity of the words and the complexity of the data. Yes, of course the legalization of abortion in the 70s aided in the decrease of crime in the late 80s and 90s. Yes, of course sumo wrestlers are driven by the same motivation as schoolteachers to cheat. Yes of course realtors will undersell your house more often than not.

Rationally, of course, I know that everything Dubner says and Levitt determines can likely be argued against by economists of a different school of approach. But data presentation can be mesmerizing to someone not constantly surrounded by it. And I was sucked in from minute one.

I checked out some of the reviews of the book, post-listen, on Audible.com, from whence I’d downloaded it. The first one is titled "Good, but be careful." I didn't have to read the review to know what the writer was warning against. It’s easy to be pulled into Levitt’s and Dubner’s point of view because that is the one being presented. It is much harder to listen objectively and realize that everything – even cold, hard data – can be seen and explained from more than one angle. Heck, Dubner even says something to that effect within the book!

The second review that appears is titled "Interesting yet lacks unity." Now this subject-line made me laugh: Dubner flat-out says in the introduction that this book does not have a unifying theme. He says there is no thread that runs through each subject matter attacked, unless you count "Odd Questions Asked & Answered" as a theme. There is no single rigid approach to the data or subjects addressed – the book tackles education, Sumo wrestling, gangs, drugs, real estate, crime control and the importance of parents, among other things.

If, my friend, you choose to read this book – or to listen to it, as I did – go into it knowing two things: 1) it will lack unity; and 2) it will make you feel both incredibly intelligent and sufficiently stupid at the same time. I don’t know how you will respond to that combination, but I for one, loved it, and I’m pretty sure I now hold the keys to the universe and to the void, keys for which I will never find the right locks.

My takeaway: Sometimes it takes more than having the right answers – it takes asking the right questions! And yesterday’s 'Britney' is tomorrow’s 'Waverly.'

Gone with the Wind - Adaptation at its Best (or at least not its worst)

Gone with the Wind

Director: Victor Fleming

What gentlemen says and what they thinks is two different things. –Mammy

With enough courage, you can do without a reputation. –Rhett

As God is my witness they’re not going to lick me. I’m going to live through this… as God is my witness, I’ll never be hungry again. –Scarlett

I’m not in love with you anymore than you are with me. Heaven help the man whoever really loves you. –Rhett

She’s the only dream I've ever had that didn't die in the face of reality. –Ashley

Frankly, my dear, I don’t give a damn. –Rhett

I’m not sure I need to post the Netflix description of this movie, since I included a description of the book only a two posts ago, but I’m not one to stray from tradition, so here it you go:

Director Victor Fleming's 1939 epic adaption of Margaret Mitchell's novel of the same name stars Vivien Leigh as self-absorbed, headstrong Scarlett O'Hara, a Southern Belle who meets her match in Rhett Butler (Clark Gable) just as the Civil War breaks out. Living on a large cotton plantation called Tara in rural Georgia in 1861, Scarlett sees her beloved home and life as she knows it go up in flames -- but will her true love be lost too?

I can understand why people take to the movie so much. Had I not read the book, I might have even liked the story of Scarlett and Rhett and Ashley. Whoever it was that adapted the book to make the movie made some wise decisions in choosing which parts to cut. There are, of course, some choices I would question, but overall, the scenes included portrayed a very different Scarlett than the one presented in the book.

While some minor characters were not included in the movie version, the writer and casting director did a great job working with the ones that were kept. The best two characters – minor though they are – are Aunt Pittypat and Prissy. These two women added some timely humor and color whenever they entered the scenes.

One contention I had with the characters was Melanie. While I like that she was portrayed as a much stronger person mentally and emotionally in the movie than she was in the book, I didn't care much for the way the actress feigned weakness, grasping feebly onto railings, furniture or people every time she tried to move. Melanie is supposed to be a delicate creature, no doubt. But the way it came across, at least to me, was that Melanie was capable but chose to act otherwise. The pain and weakness that should have been written on her face wasn't there, making it look like she was just being lazy, not struggling against herself to do something she was not physically able to do. I don't know whether I should fault the actor for not being convincing or the director for not demanding more intensity.

There was one aspect of the movie that I found extremely lacking realism – akin to Melanie’s facial display of strain – that I felt actually did work to the story's advantage. Throughout the movie, the actors were set against ridiculously fake backdrops. Yet, as unbelievable as they were, they somehow seemed fitting. Maybe it’s because, had they been more realistic, the movie would have been downright depressing: the grays of a war-torn country, the blood and fire and smoke, the permeation of death, despair and poverty. More realistic scenes would have darkened the mood of the movie, serving to remind the viewer that the war was real, as were the poor combat conditions, the emaciated soldiers, the towns' scarcity of clothing, food and even living conditions. All of these sights would have detracted from the love story, which, at its simplest, Gone with the Wind truly is. I think the bright reds and yellows of the bold backdrops served to add to the romance, the rapture, the heat of the story. Not only that, but it somehow added a softness that the book often lacked, particularly to Scarlett. For even a character as sharp and selfish as Scarlett can benefit from good lighting.

However, even lighting did not make me warm to the interactions between Scarlett and Ashley. Every time they came on the screen, I cringed. The immaturity in the love they claimed to feel for each other, especially in contrast to the genuine love Rhett obviously held for Scarlett, angered me. I never bought into the story that he was her one true love or that they were meant to be together, each suffering silently (or, in Scarlett's case, not so silently). I think it was perhaps worse in the movie than the book, where Ashley’s love was concerned. The movie contained a few scenes where Ashley appeared to genuinely love Melanie. He rushed to her, kissed her, hugged her, all unprompted. So the viewer could foresee his epiphany that Melanie was the "only dream" he’d ever had that didn't "die in the face of reality"; it made sense. The book, however, showed Ashley as less openly affectionate toward Melanie – always instead showing her as the initiator of physical contact. Quite honestly, neither of those takes on the love triangle worked for me. Was it better when I could see Ashley's love for Melanie while he claimed love for Scarlett (movie), or was it better when I was led to believe Ashley only feigned interest in his wife while he stoically pined for Scarlett (book)? I don’t know – the end result was the same: disgust for both characters.

My takeaway: Sometimes a movie, with its decisions of when to adhere to and when to deviate from a book’s realism or character development, can be more satisfying than the book. And I still hate Scarlett… and Ashley.

Duck Soup - Followed by Naptime

Duck Soup

Director: Leo McCarey

Hail, hail to Freedonia! Land of the brave and free! –crowd

Mister you no understand. Look, he’s a spy and I’m a spy, he work-a for me. I want him to find out-a something, but he no find out what I wanna find out. Now how am I gonna find out what I wanna find out if he no find out what I gotta find out? –Chicolini

           –Pinky

Gentleman, Chicolini here may talk like an idiot, and look like an idiot. But don’t let that fool you; he really is an idiot. –Rufus T. Firefly

The Netflix description of Duck Soup:

Thanks to the patronage of well-heeled widow Mrs. Teasdale, Rufus T. Firefly becomes a dictator of the tiny country of Freedonia. But when the ambassador of the bordering nation of Sylvania declares his love for Mrs. Teasdale, Firefly declares war. The Marx Brothers are at their sidesplitting best in this raucous political satire, in which Chico, Harpo and Zeppo co-star as spies and counterspies.

This was my first Marx Brothers movie. And it exhausted me. Their style of quick wit and quick bits left my head spinning as I tried to catch up again and again. I’m absolutely sure I missed some funny comment, a double meaning and a sidelong glance or two.

I don’t know anything about the Marx Brothers except that they’re funny. So I don’t know if the roles given to each of them are typical of their careers. I don’t even know if Harpo, who played Pinky in this film, is always mute in his appearances. I chose not to investigate them further until I’d experienced the movie. I feel like there is so much information available out there on anything and everything, that it’s sometimes nice to ignore it all and go in with a completely open mind. The over-inundation can be very distracting when trying to enjoy art for art’s sake.

This movie reminded me, at times, of any number of cartoons. The scene in particular where there are three characters dressing alike, all interacting with the same person but in very different styles, looked like it was pulled straight from an episode of Looney Tunes. Pinky dresses up like Rufus T. Firefly but remains silent; Chicolini dresses up like Rufus T. Firefly but speaks with an Italian accent; and Rufus T. Firefly appears in the scene as himself, not knowing that Pinky or Chicolini has been imitating him to Mrs. Teasdale just moments before.

This leaves Mrs. Teasdale thoroughly confused, as she is presented with each of these versions of Rufus T. Firefly, and tries to assimilate in her mind how the three versions fit together as one whole person, for of course she does not know or question that it is not the same person she keeps interacting with. This is something unlikely to happen in real life, as most people would be able to distinguish one person from another, no matter how similarly they are dressed. But of course, this movie is not exactly striving for realism.

Exhausting and unrealistic as this movie was, I had a great time watching it… rewinding sections… and re-watching for clarification. This post is short because I'm still trying to stop my head from spinning. Hail, hail to Freedonia!

My takeaway: In movies, as in life, wars of many scales can be waged, won, lost or ended by a woman. And when you can’t think of anything else to say, object!

Gone with the Wind - My Scarlett Rant

Gone with the Wind

Author: Margaret Mitchell

I love you, Scarlett. Because we are so much alike – renegades, both of us, dear. And selfish rascals. Neither of us cares a rat if the whole world goes to pot, so long as we’re safe and comfortable. –Rhett

God intended women to be timid, frightened creatures. And there’s something unnatural about a woman who isn’t afraid. Scarlett, always save something to fear, even as you save something to love. –Grandma Fontaine

Babies, babies, babies. Why did God make so many babies? But no, God didn't make them. Stupid people made them. – Scarlett O'Hara

And, you, Miss, are no lady. –Rhett

I'll start with the story's description, as found on Wikipedia [for such a renowned and widely-read book, it is hard to find a "description" of the book that sticks to the story's content and doesn't instead focus on the popularity of the book or the praise of its author:

The story is setin Clayton County, Georgia and Atlanta during the American Civil War and Reconstruction, and depicts the experiences of Scarlett O'Hara, the spoiled daughter of the well-to-do plantation owner, who must use every means at her disposal to come out of the poverty she finds herself in after Sherman's March to the Sea.

Never have I hated a protagonist as much as I hate Scarlett O’Hara. “Hate is a strong word,” you say? Then I’ve chosen correctly. Without fail, every time I felt her renewing herself with a thought or an action, she said or did or thought something to the contrary that just made me remember how strongly I hated her.

I chose the audio version of this book due to its length. And for a brief, fleeting moment, I thought perhaps it was the reader’s depiction of Scarlett’s voice or haughtiness that appalled me. But, it was not. The words, no matter whose voice read them, were the same.

I often found myself yelling at the recording as I drove to or from work, to or from a doctor’s appointment, to or from my parents’ house. I yelled at Scarlett; I yelled at Ashley; I yelled at Margaret Mitchell. I wanted to know how she could create such a horrible, horrible protagonist and such a god-awful supporting character (for I hate Ashley almost as much as I hate Scarlett, but more on him later).

Never have I read a character more selfish, manipulative, shallow and downright evil as Scarlett O'Hara. She does maybe two things in the whole book that do not somehow benefit her – and even those things, I’m sure, were done accidentally. Even at the end when she finally realizes how very much she loved, needed and depended on the dying Melanie, Scarlett’s thoughts scream out to God to know why he has done such a cruel thing to her, Scarlett, by taking away her friend. Not even on Melly’s deathbed does Scarlett allow the celestial spotlight to be removed from her head.

And then there’s Ashley. I tried to like him. I tried to appreciate the fact that he shunned Scarlett’s love in favor of his morals, as he was first an engaged, and then a married man. I yelled at Scarlett that he didn’t really love her and she needed to get over him and let him be. She was so convinced that he loved her and wanted her and would do anything for her, that he was silently suffering because of his upbringing and moral integrity. And I tried to tell her she was wrong.

And then came wood-splitting Scene where Ashley, irresistible to Scarlett’s charms and apparently finally giving in to his suppressed desires, takes her in his arms and kisses her and professes his love for her. And that’s when I lost all respect for Ashley and deemed him almost as wretched as Scarlett herself.

This book is always touted as one of the greatest love stories of all time. I’m not entirely sure if this supposed love affair is supposed to be between Scarlett and Ashley or Scarlett and Rhett or Melanie and Ashley. Each of these affairs ends in tragedy. But as far as I’m concerned, the only true love affair in this book is Scarlett’s love affair with herself.

My takeaway: Just as the saying goes, there are two sides to every story, and there are two sides to every war; the American Civil War is no different, in that the only point of view I remember being taught as a legitimate one was that of the Union – the winning side, and the side with which I’ve most associated with – which makes it hard to remember that the Confederates felt just as strongly about their own views, and saw the Union as ones in the wrong. And Scarlett is a bitch.

Freaks - How I Failed the Test

Freaks

Director: Tod Browning

For the love of beauty is a deep-seated urge which dates back to the beginning of civilization. The revulsion with which we view the abnormal, the malformed and the mutilated is the result of long conditioning by our forefathers. The majority of freaks, themselves, are endowed with normal thoughts and emotions. Their lot is truly a heart-breaking one. –Special Message/Prologue

We accept you, we accept you… one of us, one of us… –Freaks

They did not ask to be brought into the word; but into the world they came. –Sideshow Barker

The Netflix description of this movie (see below) did very little to prepare me for what I was about to watch. Though, to be fair, I’m not sure any description could have fully prepared me. The movie’s Special Message prologue, some of which I’ve quoted above, dug a bit deeper into the heart of the matter, though I still couldn’t have fully known what to expect.

Netflix says,

Director Tod Browning cast authentic circus folk, not actors, in this Greek tragedy about sideshow “freaks.” Normal-sized trapeze artist Cleopatra marries diminutive Hans with plans to poison him, take his inheritance and marry the brute Hercules. When the freaks uncover Cleopatra’s scheme and Hercules forces himself on an innocent girl, they gang up on the two miscreants.

At times, I found it very uncomfortable to watch the movie. Many of the characters are, after all, genuine circus folks, considered sideshow freaks. We’re taught in today’s society, that physical appearance does not dictate inner beauty, and that we are not supposed to notice physical differences. That’s why portions of this movie are uncomfortable to watch. We are asked to view these people as abnormal, which goes against our moral training.

But the most human moments of the film, the scenes evoking the most emotion, are two involving the Freaks’ interaction with Cleopatra and Hercules, first at the Wedding Feast and then at the movie’s climactic terror scene. Watching the character of Frieda, elegantly dressed and styled, tear up as the love of her life suffers to see his new wife kissing Hercules, draws me into the pain of a broken-hearted woman, freak or no. The most painful part of this scene, however, is the look on the faces of the patrons as Cleopatra douses Angelo with the communal cup he has just offered her as a symbol of welcome to the family of the Freaks. The scene serves as an attempt by the freaks to show their acceptance of Cleopatra as “one of us.” Her outrage and Hans’s subsequent shame make it impossible to feel nothing. You can’t help but feel for the Freaks.

Similarly, the scene toward the movie’s end draws big emotions. Watching the family of Freaks close in upon the two villains under the dark of night in the pouring rain causes me to shudder and sink back into my chair. It is truly terrifying, both psychologically, as the Freaks, for the first time, are portrayed as the monsters the world claims they are; and emotionally, as I find myself, unknowingly (and, later, shamefully) relating to and associating myself with the “normal” Cleopatra and Hercules, despite the fact that they are the attempted murderers. And that goes back to my statement before: we’re taught to disregard and not really see physical deformities. Yet here I am, watching the group of Freaks – in this case the “good guys” – crawling toward the “normal” people – the “bad guys” – and I’m still relating to the people who intrinsically look more like me. While it’s definitely not a conscious decision, I realize upon analysis afterward that that moral training I’d been given by society hadn’t really stuck at all. And now I’m not uncomfortable looking at the Freaks; I’m uncomfortable looking at myself.

…

I watched the movie a second time in order to hear the commentary. There, I learned that several scenes were eliminated or severely altered for the sensors. The fates of Cleo and Hercules, in particular, were slated to be even more bone-chilling than they are. Another bit of information the commentator drops is that Browning, the film’s director, was known more for his silent films than for his “talkies,” which he apparently never warmed to. The two emotionally-charged scenes I discussed above are, in fact, built more for silent film than for sound. Re-watching the scenes with the sound muted, I completely agree. Throw in a few title cards and some whimsical Charlie Chaplin era instrumentals and the actors’ words wouldn’t even be necessary. I’d still feel the same way I did the first time…

The commentary was delivered by David Skal, a man known for his writings on the horror genre, both film and literature. While much of the information he provided was facts on the actors’ and director’s lives, he also spoke of the movie’s affectations on culture and society. References are apparently still being made of this movie today. As Skal so eloquently put it, “Whatever one thinks about it, Freaks is a film that simply won’t go away.” I know it will be that way for me, unpleasant though that may at times be.

My takeaway: Familial bonds know no physical deformities or individual insults – you hurt one, you've hurt them all and you had better beware. And often the truest freaks are the ones who look just like us.

The Bridge of San Luis Rey - Is Falling Down, Falling Down, Falling Down...

The Bridge of San Luis Rey

Author: Thornton Wilder

Style is but the faintly contemptible vessel in which the bitter liquid is recommended to the world. –Narrator

Here the Perichole would fling her face and arms upon the tables…, caught up into a trembling fit of weeping. Only perfection would do, only perfection. And that had never come. –Narrator

But soon we shall die and all memory of those five will have left the earth, and we ourselves shall be loved for a while and forgotten. But the love will have been enough; all those impulses of love return to the love that made them. Even memory is not necessary for love. There is a land of the living and a land of the dead and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning. –Abbess

Book jacket description:

“On Friday noon, July the twentieth, 1714, the finest bridge in all Peru broke and precipitated five travelers into the gulf below.” With this celebrated sentence Thornton Wilder begins The Bridge of San Luis Rey, one of the towering achievements in American fiction and novel read throughout the world.

By chance, a monk witnesses the tragedy. Brother Juniper then embarks on a quest to prove that it was divine intervention rather than chance that led to the deaths of those who perished in the tragedy. His search leads to his own death – and the author’s timeless investigation into the nature of love and the meaning of the human condition.

Every time this book is mentioned online, it is surrounded by glowing praises. That’s the reason I chose it for my list. And while I agree that the language Wilder used throughout was poetic, and the interconnectedness of his five subjects was well-thought out and beautifully unfolded, I didn’t find the work as brilliant as I was supposed to have found it. Granted, I’m no expert and have no great authority, but I found it only ‘good’ and not ‘the best thing ever written.’

The story is broken up into five parts – not one for each of the deceased, like I initially thought. No, only parts 2, 3 and 4 discuss the people involved in the accident. At first I thought this was maybe a copout… doesn’t each person deserve his or her own section? But the more I thought about it, the more it really made sense… if you’re traveling on a journey, you’re often not alone. So why should each character be alone on his or her passage across the bridge? And even though the five people were broken up among three sections, not a one of them was crossing alone.

In Part Two (Part One was the setup, titled “Perhaps an Accident”), the Marquesa de Montemayor and her companion Pepita are returning from a pilgrimage to a saint’s shrine. And, as is typical before a literary death, one of the characters – the Marquesa – has just had an epiphany about her life, and the other – Pepita – has just learned she is going home to the convent, after having been sent away. And on that happy note, they fall to their deaths.

Similarly, in Part Three, Esteban is traveling with his new employer Captain Alvarez. Fortunately for the Captain, he had to ferry a boat across the river to carry all of his supplies. So while the section is only about Esteban’s death, even he isn’t really traveling alone. And also similar to Part Two, it is an inopportune time for Esteban to die, as he has just purchased a gift to give to his beloved Abbess, who raised him. Instead, he dies.

Finally, Section Four deals with Uncle Pio and Don Jaime. They were traveling back home so that Don Jaime could undergo theatrical and musical training from Pio, who – rumor had it – was his grandfather. They were about to usher in a new era, as Uncle Pio would once again be grooming someone for the spotlight, as he once did for Don Jaime’s mother, Camila Perichole. Their deaths came at the time of their new beginnings and fresh hopes.

Each death happened in the prime of a life, when the victim of the tragedy had just made or was on the verge of making a life change. And while that seems… unjust, it’s almost poetic justice that each person who died had made a decision to alter the way he or she was living. They were taking metaphorical steps to better their lives in one way or another, and instead their physical steps led to their deaths.

The two women who were intertwined in each of these people’s lives, the Abbess of the Convent of Santa Maria Rosa de la Rosas and the great performer Camila Perichole, both live. The Abbess loses her prodigy in Pepita and her favorite charge and scribe in Esteban; Camila Perichole loses her valet, “her singing-master, her coiffeur, her masseur, her reader, her errand-boy, her banker; rumor added: her father” in Pio and her favorite son in Don Jaime. And both women lose a matron and acquaintance in the Marquesa. Wilder weaves other minor characters into the lives of the victims, as well, but none so prominently as these two women.

And now I’m re-evaluating my stance on whether this book deserves all the praise it received… the way that Wilder interweaves the major and minor characters while simultaneously outlining the lives and future hopes of each of his victims all in less than 200 pages is, simply put, genius.

My takeaway: There is a time and a reason for every life and for every death, though we may never fully understand any of it. And, if given the option in Peru to take a footbridge or a ferry, take the ferry!

Following - Breaking In and Out of Order

Following

Director: Christopher Nolan

Other people are interesting to me. –Bill

The most important rule was that even if I found out where somebody works or where they live, then you’d never follow the same person twice. That was the most important rule. That’s the one that I broke first. –Bill

Everyone has a box. […] Sort of an unconscious collection, a display. Each thing tells something intimate about the people. It’s like a diary. –Cobb

Netflix blurb:

Christopher Nolan writes and directs this odd, claustrophobic neo-noir film about a seedy young Brit who’s obsessed with following people – albeit harmlessly at first. After meeting a like-minded bloke, the twosome graduate to breaking and entering – but meet their match in a tough blonde dame who may have dubious plans of her own.

I did something a little different this time. I read the Netflix description before I watched the movie. So I knew there was a dubious blond to watch out for. But knowing ahead of time where the movie was going didn't really help. Because with Christopher Nolan, you never really know where the movie is going. Of course, that’s not a fair assessment of all of Nolan’s films, but like Memento and Inception, Following leaves the viewer trying to piece information and scenes together into some sort of intelligible story line. Unfortunately, the Netflix description did not prepare me for that…

The initial premise – that of a man following random people throughout their days – is a bit off already. But then comes the first break-in. And it is the most psychologically interesting break-in I've seen. The point isn’t to burgle, exactly, but more to get a glimpse into the lives of the inhabitants, to, for a moment, become the inhabitants. They open a bottle of wine, trifle through a box of sentimental bits, take what they like but only if there is anything interesting enough to take. The point isn't to steal; it’s to become. Voyeurism verging on obsession. Obsession to become someone else…

As I mentioned, the movie has the disconnected feel of one of Christopher Nolan’s other big hits, Memento. And just like Memento, the movie’s scenes are not in chronological order. It does make me wonder if, during production, they filmed the scenes in chronological order, in viewing order or in no particular order at all. I realize that movies are not typically filmed in the order in which the viewer is meant to see them, and that order is often dictated by location, scheduling and daylight. But with a movie like this, where viewing isn’t meant to be chronological, and filming likely isn't chronological, how in the world did Christopher Nolan know in which order to splice the scenes for final cut?

Another interesting editing choice is the music. It’s often eerie when it need not be. It feels as if the director is trying to control the viewer’s perception by setting a mundane scene with sinister sounds. I suppose that’s part of his job: to shape the viewer’s experience and to coax the desired response. But in this case, I felt it. I felt the hand of the back office in the music. I felt that I was being told in what light to view the scenes and what my reactions to those scenes should be.

In a different style of movie, I might say that this detracts from the movie-viewing experience. When I’m being told how to perceive a scene or think about a character, I feel I am not able to immerse myself in the story. I’m not able to let the characters, scenery and sounds surround me and flow through me. However, in this case, it is so forced it feels intentional. It’s as if Nolan is speaking not only through the disorientation of the plot, but also through the heavy-handedness of the music. He’s overdone it so much that it becomes a character of its own. While it may not directly interact with the other characters, it certainly has a voice. And I have to think that was intentional. I have to.

I feel like I should watch this movie again, if only because I think I’ll catch more the second time around, now that I know the ending… or the middle… or… well, now that I've seen it once.

My takeaway: There is a fine line between voyeurism and obsession, just as there is a fine line between friend and enemy. And everyone has a box... and they want someone to see it.