An Appreciation of Memento

WARNING: SPOILERS FOLLOW

Have you ever heard of a movie that plays backwards? Chances are you might have run across this already with at least two unique movies. One is Gaspar Noé's Irréversible, which is hardly a pleasant experience. The other: Christopher Nolan's Memento, and it's a dang good film.

Show me your tats.

I had first heard about Memento via word-of-mouth around 2002. It just came up in a casual conversation while I attended college class--a girl and a few other dudes were talking about weird, mind-bending movies they liked, and me being a film fan, I mentally took note of them and saw them all in my own good time (this was also where I first heard about 12 Monkeys and perhaps a few other flicks). I can't remember exactly when I actually first saw Memento, but I'm pretty sure it was between 2006 and 2007, when I had a fairly beefy DVD collection. I had blind-bought the two-disc special edition that came in a notebook-style package--this and the notebook-style edition of Se7en made a pretty mean double-feature. Once I saw the movie on my parents' plasma TV, I was thoroughly enamored by the film's style, and more importantly, its narrative. It's remains an essential part of my collection ever since, and in 2010, I've gone on to upgrade it with the 10th anniversary Blu-Ray.

Remember Sammy Jankis

Memento begins at the story's end, with Leonard murdering Teddy. At this point, we don't even know who either of these people are, why the murder happened, or how it was justified. It takes the course of the whole movie to answer all these questions, and it does so by showing the previous scene, then the previous scene, then the previous scene, all the way to the beginning. At that point, Teddy himself lays out all the answers in a very straightforward manner, and it suggests that Leonard's story really begins far beyond the immediate scope of the movie--those aspects are actually shown with additional flashbacks and tangents.

It may seem like a convoluted mess, but the film never feels messy, illogical, or incomplete by its end. Every story question is answered, and often in ways that are not what one would expect. A number of small details connect to the events and show consistency, despite the fact that the events are shown in reverse. What ultimately happens is that the movie dumps a bunch of puzzle pieces on the frame, and they're methodically put together by the end--it's not only a fascinating (and perhaps troubling) story, but it's also immensely satisfying to see how it all connects.

The bigger reason why this movie works is because there's clear attention to the chronological events of the story (which, according to Russian formalism, is the fabula, and in the movie this aspect is reversed) and the timing of how those events are shown in the narrative (the syuzhet, which plays forward in the movie). The syuzhet by nature requires certain things to happen in a typical three-act structure--characters, conflict, story all need to be introduced in a way that's clear to us. Even though Memento begins at its end, it still manages to achieve these goals. Additionally, the first few scenes also succeed in establishing key information (Leonard's "condition," what he believes his backstory is) and establishing the first line of questions that lead to deeper connections in the events of the past (how did Leonard get Teddy in this position, who was Teddy anyway, who's Natalie, etc). Through these basic set-ups, the rest of the syuzhet continues and succeeds in answering vital story questions, even though the events are mixed-up. The fact that this all works is something I find awe-inspiring.

To help keep things straight, some segments of the movie are shown in black-and-white. These include segments in which Leonard talks to somebody on the phone (whose identity comes into question later on, creating some short-lived tension in a space where tension is otherwise dry. Not to mention, this is another story question that is eventually answered). Scenes involving Sammy Jankis are also in black-and-white. Done this way, it's easy to interpret which scenes are part of the main narrative and which ones are mere asides. Curiously though, flashbacks showing Leonard's wife and the night they were attacked are all in color--I suspect all the color scenes in the film are meant to reflect everything that feels the most real to Leonard, while all the black-and-white scenes represent memories that have faded.

At the very least, we can take most of the color scenes as the objective reality of the movie--we see for ourselves how truths shift in between the moments in which Leonard's memory lapses. One minute, Natalie seems like a compassionate ally--when we see what happens fifteen minutes earlier, we find out she's really manipulative, scheming, and spiteful. For long stretches of time, we speculate on Teddy's identity, believing he could be a criminal or a snitch with ties to Jimmy Grantz, but we eventually learn he's really a cop who helped Leonard for over a year. As for Leonard, we see for ourselves that he's a tragic figure stuck on a perpetual quest to take revenge on a man who may not even exist, for a death that was ultimately Leonard's fault and nobody else's.

What makes all the truth so fickle is that the flashbacks and black-and-white scenes are subjective. As flashes of Leonard's memory, they are prone to mistakes and failure. The biggest lapse is how Leonard conflates himself with Sammy Jankis--a detail that Teddy, standing in as an objective third party, confirms for the audience. Up to that moment, however, our perception of Sammy's story is thrown into question a few times when the film makes it a point to mirror Leonard's and Sammy's use of the insulin syringe. There is also one point in the film (about 90 minutes in) where Sammy is shown sitting in an institution, but for a few frames we actually see Leonard instead (and here's the screenshot to prove it).

Sammy Jankis, I presume?

The narrative itself assumes its twisty, unpredictable form because many aspects are unreliable by nature, and they all come into play in Leonard's story.

• The written word--notes can be fabricated, censored, and burned.
• Incomplete information--John G could be anybody, including Teddy.
• Trust in people--once Leonard's condition is known, Natalie, Teddy, and the guy at the hotel all take advantage of it in their own ways.
• Perception--there is one point where Leonard holds a note upside-down and mistakes a 9 for a 6, and he busts down the wrong hotel room door.

Not even Leonard's tattoos are 100% reliable, even though they supposedly contain the core information he needs to find vengeance, and are thus made permanent. His tats are ultimately derived from notes on index cards, and those cards can be fabricated and changed just as easily as any other note (and we see this happen when Leonard decides to tattoo Teddy's license plate on himself).

The only reliable sources of truth stem from the following aspects:

• Knowledge of oneself--Leonard can see through certain deception as he recognizes his own handwriting.
• Human behavior--Leonard points out in one monologue that he can tell when people are lying. His work as an insurance investigator gifted him with an ability to read people (it's also worth noting that, as an insurance guy, he's not so much interested in truth as he is in constructing narratives to justify withholding payment--therefore, he spends the movie looking for reasons, not truth).
  
• Physical evidence--Leonard had certain things that belonged to his wife, and we see them all in use in the flashbacks. On top of that, when things happen (such as the shoot-out with Dodd), there is evidence left over (the Jaguar's window shatters, which is something Teddy notices towards the film's beginning).

The film's last lines is a voice-over in which Leonard talks about believing in an objective reality beyond his own mind. However, I can't help but to reflect on how ironic, if not hypocritical, this is coming from a guy who willingly set Teddy up to be killed by his own faulty memory, guided by just a few key notes. Just a moment earlier, Leonard even said "We all lie to ourselves to be happy."

Leonard's Life In Ruins

Most of the film takes place in an undefined American town somewhere in the west (this was filmed in Los Angeles). Leonard spends his whole time living and working from his hotel room. He had a home at one point, but we don't know what became of it. We can only assume that while he's on the hunt for his wife's killer, his residence is temporary. And yet, this could describe his state of being as well--as his memory fades every fifteen minutes, every moment becomes temporary. In this respect, the setting becomes symbolic of the character--things are always transient, on-the-move, and never permanent.

When Leonard kills Jimmy Grantz, and later Teddy, he does so in a crummy, ruined house amidst some kind of industrial zone (this was all filmed near an oil refinery). This is also where he burns the last few things that belonged to his dead wife. It seems as though any time somebody is killed or something is destroyed, it happens here--in a place of decay and desolation. Aside from adding grit and atmosphere to these scenes, it is an apt reflection of the damage that Leonard causes.

A literal Blue Ruin.

Mirror Games

Mirrors occur in movies all the time, usually to represent themes of self-reflection, or duality. In Kubrick's The Shining, mirrors appear in just about any scene where Jack Nicholson encounters the supernatural--it was a subtle way to suggest that the ghosts he saw might have all been in his own head.

In Memento, there are no actual ghosts, but Leonard remains haunted by his own past, and he spends an ample amount of screen time staring into mirrors. He does so alone, he does so with Natalie, and even during the flashback scenes, it's shown that his head is bashed into a mirror. What I take away from all of this is that there are two sides to Leonard, and every time he faces a mirror, he's facing his own dark history, and he's forced to face his own dark self.

Leonard split himself up in a few different ways. On one hand, there is the confusion between himself and Sammy Jankis. Although Sammy is probably a real client he had, his case and the way he murdered his wife is Leonard's story--all pieces of the past he had forgotten because of his condition, but even when the truth is revealed he refuses to accept it.

There is dialogue scattered around the movie, largely from Teddy, which commands Leonard to face himself and see the person he had become--thus, it is explicitly suggested that Leonard has multiple sides. In fact, he seems to embody any persona he wants. When he kills Jimmy Grantz, he literally becomes a new person by taking Jimmy's clothes and car (and some attention is drawn to these aspects, becoming story questions that are eventually answered). The man is like a shapeshifter, and part of the "puzzle" of the film is seeing all the different sides of him in so many different forms. I tend to think that the moment his head hit the mirror in the bathroom is the moment his self was shattered--it not only made his memory faulty, it literally shattered his persona and changed him.

Other characters have multiple sides too. Teddy is a cop, but he often exploits Leonard's memory lapses to change his identity depending on the situation (he presents himself as a snitch to Jimmy Grantz in one scene, but Leonard sees through it). The fact that he has two names--Teddy, or John G--further suggests that he's shifty. But even though the film makes it clear that Leonard doesn't trust him, he winds up becoming the most trustworthy character, since he's helped Leonard out of numerous jams and is the only one who slams the truth in Leonard's face. Natalie most blatantly shows her dual-nature thanks to the way the film shows her deception with back-to-back scenes--just when it looks like she helps Leonard out of mere kindness, we see shortly afterwards that she actually insults Leonard until he punches her, waits until his memory lapses, then spins a new story that sics him on Dodd.

Even the way scenes are presented have a mirroring effect. Most major sequences in the main plot are shown back-to-back, with one scene that presents a story question or some kind of information, then the next showing the basis or cause of such effects (and it's often a cause we can't predict, thus changing our perception of the story as it unfolds). When we first see Natalie, it's in two parts. When Leonard is in her house, it's also in two parts. When he meets her in the bar, that's two parts. The sequence with Leonard and the prostitute is split in two parts. And so on.

One Bare Spot

Look ma, no heart.

At a few points in the film, attention is drawn to one part of Leonard's body that's devoid of tattoos. It's his left breast, where his heart would be. First, when Natalie sees his tattoos in front of a mirror, she makes it a point to stroke that area. Later on, when Teddy shows off the year-old photo of Leonard actually achieving his revenge, it's a picture of Leonard pointing to that same spot on his chest, and he's smiling.

Towards the end of the film we also see very brief flashes of Leonard and his wife together--she's stroking that spot where his heart is, but now there is a tattoo there (and though it's obscured somewhat, it appears to say "...I've done"). This can't be a flashback, because there is no point in which Leonard and his wife were together when he had tattoos--this can only be taken as an artistic representation of what's going on in his mind and heart. Especially since he has that extra tattoo on his chest that didn't exist before. It seems to suggest a state of mind in which he is done killing and can find peace with his dearly departed spouse. On the other hand, this could also be taken as she's always on his mind, and this image will stick with him even if his vengeance never ends.

The fact that Leonard's bare spot is showcased can also suggest that there's literally nothing on his heart, or that his heart is empty.

Don't Believe His Lies

Leonard is as unreliable of a narrator as they come, and it takes all of the methods listed above to show what the truth actually is and how far displaced his beliefs are from it. What makes Leonard exceptionally slimy, perhaps even villainous, is that he willingly sabotages himself so that his quest for vengeance may never end. And yet, the film still paints him as a tragic figure, showcasing his trauma that fuels his rage and makes it impossible for him to let go. Though the techniques of Memento are impressive on many levels, it's the simple payoff of reaching the core of a character's heart that makes this experience worthwhile and thought-provoking.

Chances are that there are other aspects to the film that I'm neglecting or skimping out on. Every time I see the film, it seems much more nuanced and complicated than I first believed. Of the film's many qualities, these are the other things I admire, which cements this as a personal favorite:

• This film is not exactly a low-budget affair, but it's not overblown or over-the-top either. It amounts to simply a handful of characters in common, unassuming places. And yet, all the cast and crew needed was the script to make this movie as strong as it is.
  
• Just about all of the performances are top-notch. This might be my favorite performance from Guy Pierce. Carrie-Anne Moss and Joe Pantoliano are no slouches either (it's also no coincidence that both also co-starred in The Matrix, Nolan had seen Moss in that movie and cast her based on that performance--Pantoliano came onboard with Moss' recommendation). I also love that Stephen Tobolowsky and Jorja Fox are given small roles, and they're both standouts (and since I was a CSI fan at the time, I was happy to see Fox in a film).
  
• The film's photography doesn't exactly beat you over the head with style, but it still manages to stand out with the way it frames characters, the use of close-ups, and the way light, shadow, and textures are captured. It stands out in an understated way. As a film noir, all of this helps to add atmosphere and symbolism to the story.
• Regardless of how the photography is, it's the editing that makes the film even more punchy. Flashbacks and visual images are spliced into the film in very short, punchy bursts, which will either reinforce what's seen or said on-screen, or reveal new information. At times, it seems to replicate the shattered nature of Leonard's memories or thoughts. But even with mundane scenes, the snappy way scenes begin and end make them continuously interesting.
• Despite the detached nature of Nolan's films, Memento struck me as showing more personality than I remembered. Even though the film does resort to some straightfroward exposition at key points, the actors (especially Pierce and Pantoliano) find ways to relay their dialogue with levity and attitude. It not only matches the cool, hard-boiled nature of the neo-noir genre, it also keeps the film from becoming too stiff or droll. I could probably listen to Leonard narrating his life forever (and it's worth noting that this is one of the very few films where the voice-over actually works).
• David Julyan's music score is pretty nice. He had wanted to capture a sense of yearning and loss for certain parts of the movie, and I feel it's aptly felt in the melancholic way the synths and strings drone and subtly rise.
  

Memento is an interesting, puzzling, gut-wrenching story pieced together with nuanced editing and a polished, detailed script. Even after all these years, its twists and insight on the character remain on my mind, reminding me that a good story is built from a fundamental focus on details, points-of-view, mysteries, and characterization. I am still in awe over how meticulous and well-crafted the whole film is. Thanks to the care put into it, I may always remember Sammy Jankis.

I see he also remembers 10-and-2.