• Time and Justice

    Email Print
    Share

    Hit-in-the-head
    movies are usually pathetic. Some guy takes a fall and learns
    to see the world a new way, which invariably involves becoming
    more politically correct and marrying a feminist or some such.
    "Memento" is not to be confused with one of these. It
    is surely one of the most brilliant and innovative films to come
    along in years.

    I
    can only compare my reaction to "Memento" to the first
    time I saw "Godfather": here is something completely
    new and unexpected, yet completely integrated and successful,
    that sheds all new light on the medium and the subject. That subject
    is time and how we perceive it. But it goes beyond that to touch
    even on the moral universe. This movie is so good, and so smart,
    that you want to watch the whole thing over again just as it ends.

    "Memento"
    is a thriller that tells the story of Leonard Shelby (played by
    Guy Pearce), who has the mission of finding and killing the survivor
    of two men who broke into his home raped and killed his wife.
    Leonard suffered a head injury in the attack, so now he has this
    "condition": he has no short-term memory. He knows who
    he is and where he is from. He knows that he was a happy husband
    and a claims investigator for a life-insurance company. But he
    cannot remember anything after the terrifying night when his wife
    was attacked. He does know that he has this memory problem and
    that he must seek vengeance.

    Despite
    this crippling problem, he is determined to carry on. Because
    he cannot form new memories, he must snap photos of things he
    wants to recall later on. He carries pictures of the hotel he
    is staying at, the car he drives, and people he meets. He must
    make judgements about the character of people and write them down,
    because he knows that the next time he sees them, he will not
    remember their name or face. Once something is written down on
    a photo, or tattooed to his body, it is fixed in place. If it
    is not written down, the information is lost.

    Each
    day he wakes up unsure about where he is and what he is supposed
    to do. He must reorient himself completely, not to remind himself
    of what he knows but to form a complete impression from scratch.
    He looks in the mirror to read that his purpose in life is to
    find the man or men who killed his wife. He finds notes, written
    the previous day, that tell him where to go and who to meet, and
    why he should meet them and whether he can trust him. His memory
    fades far more quickly than 24 hours, however. It appears to last
    about 10 to 15 minutes, so Leonard has to rush to keep himself
    on track, and so does the viewer of this film.

    Leonard
    explains that there are advantages to living this way. Memory
    is notoriously unreliable as a guide, he says. But we can trust
    facts, and he records facts about the attacker as he finds them.
    This, he says, puts him in the same position as a police investigator
    who must put emotional distance between himself and the crime.
    He discovers the facts and with the aid of the police report,
    he pieces together the mystery to find the person he is after.
    He seems to get closer and closer to solving the mystery.

    Leonard
    is once asked why he wants kill the attacker, since, after all,
    even if he finds the guy and kills him, Leonard is not likely
    to remember it. Leonard responds very intelligently. It's true,
    he says, that he may not remember. But vengeance is not a subjective
    state of mind but rather a fact of reality. So it doesn't actually
    matter whether he carries with him the subjective sense. What
    matters is that justice is done, period.

    We
    cheer. In fact, we admire him because, all in all, Leonard seems
    to manage very well with his condition. We follow him in hot pursuit
    of the bad guy through many very intense scenes, and in this respect
    the film is old-fashioned. In one very funny scene, he is fleeing
    a man who is trying to gun him down and suddenly his memory fades.
    He thinks to himself: "Okay, what are we doing here? I'm
    chasing this man….no, wait, he is chasing me!"

    Oh,
    but there's a bit more to it. You see, the film is cut up into
    some 30 or 40 separate pieces, and the viewer watches the film
    in backwards chronology, starting with the last scene first. At
    each scene, the viewer finds himself in a completely unfamiliar
    setting, which we then must back out of to discover how it is
    that we got there in the first place. As the action proceeds,
    or recedes, we know only what Leonard knows and only a fraction
    of what everybody else in the film knows about the same people
    and events.

    To
    keep the story line stitched together requires that the viewer
    juggle scenes and dates, remembering places and characters from
    previous scenes that are actually in the future. This technique
    places the viewer in something like the same psychological state
    of mind as Leonard: a radical disorientation of time and place.
    We struggle to orient ourselves at roughly the same pace as Leonard.
    To top it off, there is a parallel story line that runs underneath
    (shown in black and white) that moves in forward chronology, until
    the forward and backward stories meet in the end (which is the
    beginning of the story).

    The
    overall effect is spectacular. I know of no movie that is more
    flattering to the intelligence of the viewer. But I don't want
    to create an impression that this is some typical art-house psychodrama
    about the human condition. It's a corkscrew of a movie, but it
    truly works from top to bottom with not a hint of pseudo-profundity.
    You can't help but be intensely curious about every aspect of
    Leonard's life and how he handles it. You have to be, for if you
    turn your attention away even for a moment, you could miss some
    crucial piece of information.

    What
    do we gain from this film? We come away with an understanding
    of how central the passage of time, and the gathering of information,
    is for our subjective impressions of the world. The ability to
    do this differs from person to person, and our own personal sense
    of the passage of time has the most powerful effect on how we
    behave, on how we regard our place in the social and moral order.

    If
    that were all this movie was about, we might just dismiss the
    film as a typical lefty effort to say that the world is no more
    or less than what we make of it in our own minds. But no, this
    film doesn't stop there: it shows that no matter how we perceive
    time or events, there is an objective world, even an objective
    ethic, out there we must confront and cannot avoid. There is truth,
    whether we or not we see it and even if we choose not to see it–even
    if we cannot see it.

    There's
    a political dimension here too. We learn that artificially shortened
    time horizons (which is what Leonard had and what government imposes
    on society through, e.g., inflation and welfare) creates internal
    panic and external chaos. We come to understand the degree to
    which civilization depends on the ability to plan for the long-term,
    accumulate information, make sound judgements based on that information,
    learn from error, and reverse our course of action if the need
    presents itself.

    You
    sometimes hear of great movies that you must rush to see them
    on the big screen. It's probably not true with this one, so you
    can wait until the DVD comes out. It is a low-budget number Newmarket
    films, and has no special visual effects and no sex scenes and
    very little violence (but it is still rated R).

    But
    judging by its numbers, audiences have warmed to it right away.
    After 14 weeks, it has grossed $17 million and stayed in the top
    15. The number of theaters in which it is released broadens by
    the day. Writer/director Chris Nolan has done something spectacular
    here, and he deserves to be rewarded with commercial success.

    June
    20, 2001

    Jeffrey
    Tucker [send him mail]
    is vice president of the Mises Institute.

    Email Print
    Share