“Some nights, you just don’t get it, do you?”
One of the core goals of this enterprise is to convince people that the films we discuss are worthy of being in a Film Lit course. And, I have to say: as much as is the case with any of the films we’ve discussed thus far (perhaps more so), rewatching and planning and writing about The Prestige has me thinking of ways to get it into the classroom.
After all, think of all the key elements we’re looking for: Full of reversals and surprises, it’s patently rewatchable, and offers many opportunities to show students things they didn’t notice the first time around. It features obsessed characters who are by turns precise and mistake-prone. It invites at least a few philosophical discussions. In addition, its ending allows for multiple interpretations, and multiple disparate major takeaways. And class discussions about multiple interpretations are often very fun.
As I write, I’m envisioning a unit that would be at least semi-inspired by one of my favorite courses in college: Victorian Science (and) Fiction. I’d frame the film as a cautionary tale about the dangers of using science to fuel ambitions rooted in obsession and ego. The original Jurassic Park would be a fun pairing. (Note to self: pitch Jurassic Park sooner than later.) And, if we’re going down this rabbit hole, it’d be really fun to read Frankenstein to form a trilogy of technological tragedies.
“Obsession is a young man’s game.”
Angier and Borden speak and live so many lies that it’s difficult for even the skeptical to keep up. That these lies and secret plans form the core of their rivalry would challenge students, I think, because they are notoriously credulous about the words that characters utter. And, to be fair, as I write that, I hear the voice of my favorite screenwriter, William Goldman, who would very likely claim that the screenplay has at least one weakness: there are too many damn reversals (especially in the last thirty minutes . . .).
Who am I to challenge the hypothetical critique of a Hollywood legend? But I suppose the best counter would be that the reversals and double-crosses and contingency plans speak to what the film tells us is necessary for success in a cut-throat business: “total devotion to one’s art, a lot of self-sacrifice.”
What gives the rivalry depth is that Angier knows that Borden is a natural. From the very beginning, when Borden is able to spot the fishbowl trick, Angier is envious. I love how Jackman conveys insecurity bordering on Imposter Syndrome next to the cocksure Borden. In that light, his words as he (thinks he) leaves Borden for the last time are instructive: “You always were the better magician. We both know that. But whatever your secret was, you have to agree: mine is better.” Without Borden’s acknowledgement of Angier’s superiority, his moment of triumph would be incomplete.
And that, of course, leads to one potentially very fruitful discussion thread: What does the film say about the line between devotion and obsession? What does the film say about the price of excellence? These types of questions get to some of the film’s key themes.
“Because exact science, Mr. Angier, is not an exact science.”
David Bowie as Tesla is awesome and enigmatic. And his subplot adds some important thematic elements. At bottom, one of the things the film tells us is that there is no real magic; everything we perceive as magic is actually science and willing self-delusion.
But it’s not clear that Tesla would agree. He knows there are scientific reasons for the results he sees, but is frank that he doesn’t always know what those reasons are, exactly. Yes, “[n]othing is impossible.” And it’s also true that “[t]hese things never quite work as you expect them to, Mr. Angier. That’s one of the principal beauties of science.”
He’s been to the edge, and he’s here to tell us that at that edge, there is not a reliably discernible difference between magic and science. And there are heavy costs to operating near that edge.
Of course, despite his fire and brimstone proclamations—which, incidentally, happen to be prescient—he’s still willing to build the machine for Angier. He still believes that “[m]an’s grasp exceeds his nerve.” Like Angier and Borden, he remains a creature of ego, and thus a worthy wizard to serve as a foil to our magicians.
“Now you’re looking for the secret. But you won’t find it, because, of course, you’re not really looking. You don’t really want to work it out. You want to be fooled.”
The ending gives us a chance to revisit one of my favorite principles of art appreciation: in cases of genuine ambiguity, when there is sufficient evidence to support multiple interpretations, you go with the interpretation that makes you prefer, the one that makes the work of art best for you.
Having said that, I’m here to tell you: Borden does not shoot and kill the real Angier.
I should explain first why that interpretation makes the movie better for me. Simply put, I don’t want Borden to walk away as the winner; I don’t think he deserves it. I’ll tell you: more than a few internet sources I’ve found justify Borden’s presumed victory by arguing that while both are obsessed, Borden is a true artist, and is obsessed with his craft; while Angier is obsessed with beating Borden. I don’t buy the whitewashing that take does for Borden.
Say it out loud: Borden’s obsession with his craft leads directly to his wife’s death. (I’ll pause here and point out that Sarah’s suicide is one of my least favorite elements in the story. It seems a bit clunky and cheap—or, at the very least, seems to take advantage of our suspension of disbelief. Nolan expects us to believe that Sarah’s sadness escalates with very convenient quickness. While I’m here, I’ll also add that I have the parallel concerns with Olivia’s arc. Nolan expects us to believe that it doesn’t take much for her to fall in love.)
His obsession with his craft prevents him from revealing his secret at his murder trial. Without getting too deep into the legal weeds of late nineteenth-century England, I have to imagine that the existence of an exact twin would make it at least a little bit harder to convict a man of capital murder. So his obsession with his craft gets his twin brother killed. Even if we consider Julia’s death an accident, there’s just too much blood on his hands for me to blithely sign on to a relatively happy ending, one that sees him get the best of Angier one more time, and—oh, by the way—reunite with his daughter.
All right, so let’s examine why it’s reasonable to believe that Borden does not shoot and kill the real Angier. Let’s assume that the usually amoral Cutter has finally taken a moral stance and has decided to aid and abet Borden’s murder conspiracy. (I don’t know that we have to, by the way. I think I could make the case that he’s actually working for Angier in the end, but I’ll skip that rabbit hole for now.) Cutter is able to be of service only because Angier wants it that way. It would have been easy enough to keep his identity secret. Put another way: Cutter knowing Caldlow is Angier is part of the plan.
There’s certainly a case that the man Borden shoots is a clone. If that’s your take, then his last pre-shooting line is chilling: “No one cares about the man in the box.” That’s the clone realizing that he’s been set up, that he’s about to be sacrificed in one last trick. The final image, then, of so many sacrificed clones, is a hint to the audience that Angier has covered his bases, and has made at least one extra.
On my most recent viewing, I’ve come to prefer the view that Borden shoots the real Angier, but Angier is wearing some kind of bullet-proof vest. Think about it: his last lines are unusually expository. Despite what he said at the prison about Borden’s secret, he still wants to know what it is, and baits Borden into giving it away, in the only conditions in which he would. And come on: a bullet-proof vest would go a long way in explaining why Angier takes so long to die.
Either way works for me. And I’ll close by saying: if you prefer to believe that Borden walks away a winner, I have no objection. As is often the case with art (Nolan films in particular), reasonable minds can disagree.
“Once you know, it’s actually very obvious.”
See you May 17th, when we’ll lay out The Film Lit Pitch’s summer and Phase II plans.
My read has always been that the real/original Angier died the first or second time he used the machine. Borden killing the final Angier clone was somewhat pointless, ultimately, except to put an end to the trick.
Have you ever tried reading the original book? It’s very different -- and worse.