(The Late) Inception

I have seen Inception ages ago, but as I was walking home after alighting a bus yesterday a thought captured me. 

A dream wove in a dream. Layers and layers of reverie stacked up, meant to rectify actuality. Confusion devours a person until he succumbed to make believe. A beautiful fantasy and a dangerous path if dictated by a wrong intention. A perfect plan for the wrong reasons.

There was an argument between my friend and I after watching it. The last scene was an open-ended scenario. His totem kept spinning, and the movie was closed in the middle of a perfect spin. The totem was supposed to be the key to reality or to the realm of a dream, and the director, as clever as he is, cut it while it was dancing gracefully.

They had a final project, a make or break for Dom Cobb. The bet was his life; his life before inception involving himself and his lovely wife. His wife may not be part of the life he so desperately longed for, yet he yearned for a normal continuity, for the sake of his kids. After delivering the last project successfully, the promise of returning his original life was initialised. His last memory of his kids, before his self-exile was effected, was without their faces. The last shot in the movie showed the kids' faces while playing in their garden, the perfect resemblance to his last memoir with a little alteration. This was where arguments started.

Their last project was inception, performed to a guy who never had any idea of it. This is the concept that raptured me as I was heading for my humble abode. It would not have been used as a title if it was just about a guy, a character of insignificance, and their last project. I was hoping for a heavier weight. Something that has got to do with the protagonist. The last scene with his kids being incepted, inception on the protagonist? A better possibility!

When one is trapped in the past and has failed to move forward, he will remain in the trance. He will start amending it to his liking, albeit unconsciously, rebuilding a castle of happy ending made of sand. A defense mechanism, yes. The mind is full of labyrinthine excuses.

So I rest my case.