"In Dreams" Movie Review

              As far as horror movies go, Neil Jordan’s “In Dreams” is a bit hard to classify. In basic terms, it’s a psychological slasher flick, a category which nowadays seems to be dwindling quickly. Most slasher flicks have completely disregarded the aspect of mental instability or deterioration that was once so characteristic of serial killers (excluding Freddy Krueger, to a degree).

                The film opens with some dramatic, dark-shadowed shots of a drowning town which the audience is introduced to in stark white block-lettered captions: “In 1965 the town of Northfield was evacuated to create the Northfield Reservoir. Two billion gallons of water flooded the empty streets, obliterating all memory of the lives once lived there, leaving a drowned ghost town.” The block letters are quickly replaced by a credit font resembling the chalkboard scribbles of a child, accompanied by some striking underwater images of scuba divers probing what one supposes to have previously been the town of Northfield.  Resurfacing in the midst of a lake near police boats, the atmosphere of discomfort is palpable, but the reasoning is unclear. From here the camera pans out to the angelic Rebecca Cooper, the embodiment of innocence, wandering with her mother Claire (Annette Bening). Within the next 1:51 minutes, the plot becomes apparent: Claire suffers from clairvoyance (no pun intended). Measured by Aidan Quinn’s carefully uncomfortable expression, her complaint of dreams is nothing new to her husband Paul. What would be a simple case of missing child quickly falls along the lines of the show “Medium” as Claire proffers to use her gift to locate a missing child from town, who is clearly not going to return. Whether or not Claire’s decision to assist is rooted in a desire to escape the discomforts of such a chimera, or because of the all-too-noticeable resemblance between the young child and Claire’s own daughter, is a choice which the viewer must make, as Jordan doesn’t adequately answer such a question. 
             She frequently bemoans the misfortune of her visions, feeling the unbridled skepticism from both her husband and Detective Jack Kay (Paul Guilfoyle, reminiscent of his CSI character Jim Brass, sans-sarcasm). Claire’s perception of such an inconvenience quickly shifts when she realizes that the connection she seems to hold with the serial killer may be manipulated, if she can manage to interpret the images dominating her mind. 
               What I will commend Jordan on is his unrelenting imagery. The obvious symbolic meaning of the color red, throughout the movie, can in no way be lost on any audience member, however they should interpret it: passion, life, vulnerability, love, danger, take your pick. Jordan’s costume choice for Bening in several scenes, a flowing red chiffon gown, is absolutely essential, giving physical vent to Claire’s unwavering passion. 
                Yet another powerful aspect that Jordan engages in is the use of parallels, an element whose presence seems rare in such films nowadays. Perhaps the most constant is that of Snow White, the best explanation for the inescapable presence of the radiant red apples throughout the movie. The indisputable innocence of the abducted children clearly mirrors that of fictional Snow White, while the “evil stepmother” is rather redefined in the character of the killer. Yet another example, that of Claire’s mental institution breakout, is beautifully paralleled in a series of flashback scenes to the serial killer’s own childhood escape from the same hospital: same room in fact, a coincidence which would be laughable if not for Bening’s ability to exude a sense of mental instability. 
                While it is necessary to reveal the killer’s identity in order to truly review this movie, it is my sincere belief that such knowledge in no way detracts from the enjoyment of this movie.  Robert Downey Jr. is phenomenal as Vivian Thompson, the emotionally volatile killer with an obviously disturbed childhood. Downey is perfect at projecting the childlike innocence of a man who was never groomed for adulthood, yet has always had the misfortune to know violence. The combination of script contents and line delivery is absolutely chilling: “I am so so sorry sorry sorry Claire. All I wanted was a family.” The soft, lulling tone with which he says “family” would render any heart broken, should his vicious tendencies remain unknown. The simplicity of his sentences and the desperation with which he craves Claire’s approval are irrefutably reminiscent of a child. One wants so deeply to believe that Claire is truthful when she promises Vivian to love him “like Momma loves Dad.”
                It quickly becomes clear through the abducted child Ruby’s childlike obliviousness, however, that Vivian’s psychological deficiencies are profound: he has been known to dress like his mother and modify his voice to fit the role. Freud would have a field day with such a character as Vivian.

                While “In Dreams” is far from a gem of a movie, it is reasonably enjoyable, and on a deeper level, somewhat thought-provoking. Whether or not Jordan is making some form of commentary on fate versus choice, if one were to analyze Vivian and Claire and their subsequent actions, is a question which will never grace the world with a proper answer. Perhaps that is for the best: it is uncertainty which makes the mind yearn with even more passion.

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"solamen miseris socios habuisse doloris"

   "Misery loves company." That was the direct translation given to me by my version of Milton's "Paradise Lost" when I was a fledgling freshman, dabbling in studies of British literature. Personally I believe it to be a fitting phrase for one who so frequently indulges in introspection. One eighteenth cenutry newspaper, The Female Spectator, reported on the dangers of  lives devoted solely to socializing or solely to self-reflection. According to the author of this piece, proper maintenance of the two allows one a healthier disposition. Such musings touch upon the most base of psychological traits, introversion and extraversion. While these words have drawn distinct lines in the minds of those who hear them, is it truly fair to argue that the two are indistinguishable? As Jung pointed out, in order for one to exist, the other must as well, believing that the body would contain both (such as the idea of one who is consciously feminine must be unconsciously masculine, or one who is consciously masculine must be unconsciously feminine:  the animus and the anima).
   Not to worry, constant reader, this is merely a musing to accustom myself to the mechanics of a blog. That, and a little late night cogitation never harmed a soul.