“An illusion has three stages.”

– Cutter (Michael Caine)

And so begins a film constructed from the very fabric of illusionary materials, never allowing its secrets to be divined by the audience until the very last second, Angier’s blind stagehands, always on the backfoot, kept in the dark awaiting the inevitable prestige. This ability is in part due to the narrative finesse and control that has since become a trademark of Nolan’s work, that would be exploited to a greater degree, but not as effectively, in Inception, exhibited here in a devilishly tight and yet somewhat intense script, penned with fellow Nolan, Johnathon, a team carried over from his earlier sophomore work, the fantastic Memento that cemented the pair as forces to be reckoned with in Hollywood from the late 1990s. While at times relaxed, the film is never slow, nor loses sight of the ultimate end goal, threading the audience through a web of the cuttingly perverse, littered with the blackest of humour, as we are enticed to relish in the slow degradation of two friends who metamorphose from relatable individuals to obsessive maniacs, losing their identity in the process.

 But it is not that they go insane. No, such would allow the audience to breathe, to take that vital step back and assume a barrier between the stage world, the illusion they are confronted with and their own world; instead, these men are forcibly grounded, allowing their increasingly antagonistic acts, and the ultimate culmination of such, to have the greatest possible impact upon the viewer. This is in part achieved through the aforementioned comedic breaks but is more centrally driven by the favouring of two specific choices: the broken narrative flow, alternating between the retrospective and present perspectives, and the sheer audacity of Nolan’s confidence in genre-bending – and quite frankly, his ability to pull it off. On paper, such a move seems ill-conceived and shlocky, yet when committed to film it just works. Perhaps such would only have been capable with such a talented and charged cast, with the likes of Bale and Jackman’s third act performances, alongside that of Hall as the estranged Sarah, allowing us to enter into this illusion – arguably we are only shaken out of its hold in only a few transient instances usually at the hands of Johannson’s shaky attempts at a British accent, yet, on the whole, the host of performances are first-rate affording a truly riveting and thought-provoking experience.

In playing on and exaggerating the fears and excitement of the technological advancements made during the ‘War of Currents’, and the audience’s own sensibilities in the shocking third act reveal, Nolan’s The Prestige challenges conventions – from morality to practicality – to achieve the impossible. In a way, the greatest magician is neither men but Nolan himself.  

Where do you want to take the shot? In the hand or in the foot?

– Zé Pequeno (Lil’ Zé)

This review contains some spoilers but are marked in the paragraph in italics.

After first watching this film, in the early hours of the morning, surrounded by darkness apart from the soft glow of the credits that flowed from the screen, the only response that I could formulate was that this was unlike anything I had ever seen before. It hit like a punch to the gut, giving no apologies, with scene after scene building on the depravity and brutality that encapsulates the aura of the piece. Perhaps it was the executions performed by mere children or equally their own deaths at the hands of others, maybe it was the visceral cinematography of César Charlone with the use of hand-held cameras to accelerate the pace, while increasingly distancing the audience emotionally through the sheer range of events occurring simultaneously, so that the death of a child is able to become commonplace and expected. But no, it was the nature of the narrative that clenches you in it’s fist and refuses to let go, through the move away from the traditional focussed and basic protagonist/antagonist formulae, and in the understanding that this boy’s (‘Rocket’) life is not so much his own but a product of others; as inferred at the beginning of the film, to tell one’s story first you must tell those correspondent.

It is in this capacity that Lins, Mantovani and Meirelles excel (from the adapted material of “Cidade de Deus” by Lins), reconstructing the crime genre from somewhat repetitive to a genuinely moving piece of cinema, that not only informs us on an individual’s own journey but allows us to gain a better understanding of our own cultural identities as a result; it places an emphasis not on the selfish concerns of the individual but of all equally in the small community presented, no matter how small a role. Over the course of the film relationships are built and destroyed as we are led through the jungle of not only human experience but of the group experience all to the backdrop of the sun-drenched vibrancy of Rio in all it’s glory, a striking metaphorical representation of this imbalance and constant turbulence in such a community, that is effortlessly detailed through the passing of time, the development of Rocket and as a result the setting Rocket lives in to mimic this change.

While never existential, being firmly grounded in solidarity and hope in spite of events, the narrative still imprints upon the audience the issues of societal differences and the futility of war in resolution to these; through the cyclical series of events it feels as if nothing has been achieved, that the cycle has been fuelled again by death, ironically giving growth to the next generation of gangs. In this manner the final, lingering shot of the Runts (aforementioned street kids) moving off down the streets of modern Rio, is perhaps the most physically effecting, leaving the audience with little hope, that had been carried throughout, that the understanding gained in viewing was shared equally – in their ignorance all violence has been once more rendered futile.

It is this balance between futility and fragility that is so carefully mastered throughout by Meirelles, ensuring that no side becomes too excessive and falls out of such a balance. This insignificance of human life that is portrayed from the outset is further perfected through the use of “non-actors”, the casting call and subsequent auditions were for those living in Rio at the time, those who were largely unknown to audiences at the time of release and so allowed for full immersion for the individual. Just as the violence increases and the body count with it, we lose track of morality while for the perpetrators, we have no prior attachment or expectations and so come to believe their status, power and aims; we view them not as actors but as the characters they portray, and in doing so bring us one step closer to reality.

This, however, is no mere flirtation with the truth but a representation of the historical events which preceded it; at once powerful, emotionally affecting and stylistically brutal, this truly is a breathtaking example of modern crime that has and will continue to transcend time as a testament to suffering, war, love, passion and vice, painting a most accurate picture of humanity in the process.