Michael Caine's Cutter opens "The Prestige" by explicating the three stages of a magician's trick. First, "the pledge" consists of simply displaying an object or a person for the audience. "The turn" typically involves causing that something to disappear. Finally, it concludes with "the prestige," when the vanished reappears or, in general, the climax occurs. The sheer enjoyment of this performance, Cutter adds, stems from not knowing what mysterious stratagems cause the trick to succeed. In this case, an onlooker's ignorance is bliss.
Director and co-screenwriter Christopher Nolan should have more closely heeded this adage in his adaptation of Christopher Priest's period novel. "The Prestige" thrives as a labyrinthine, non-linear narrative of showmanship and deceit. But it swells into a web of convolution and comes to hinge too tightly on its all-encompassing revelation. The great climax unfolds as a protracted muddle of whispers and unconvincing flashbacks. Admittedly, the film's name suggests the third act's central importance. But, as Nolan certainly knows, great cinematic mazes — especially in film noir — emphasize the thrills of buildup and stake less on the ostensible payoff. Once the magic is revealed, one's bliss quickly grows thin.
Set in turn-of-the-century London, "The Prestige" vividly evokes the moody atmosphere of that period. Its canvas is full of grays and shadows that seem to cloak a lurking menace at every turn. Within this context emerges the obsessive rivalry between Rupert Angier (Hugh Jackman) and Alfred Borden (Christian Bale), both aspiring magicians under the tutelage of Cutter (comic aficionados should rejoice — Wolverine battling Batman). Tragedy befalls their professional rapport and spurs on a murderous sport of one-upmanship, sabotage and vengeance that fuels the films' narrative.
The unhinged competition between Angier and Borden would appear to point to a classic clash of character types. But, similar to Michael Mann's "Heat," the two leads are, effectively, doppelgangers of one another, imprecise in areas but still driven by the same unwieldy compulsion. They need each other but, as the narrative spells out, Angier's fixation is on a higher obsession.
Despite warnings from Cutter, he sets out to the distant United States, Colorado specifically, in search of Borden's puzzling secrets. Here he encounters the elusive Nikola Tesla (played in a stately manner and without a shred of irony by David Bowie), whose experimentation with electricity has earned him accolades but also scorn from the professional community. It is through Tesla's innovations that Angier re-secures his eminence as a magician.
The flashback stretch of "The Prestige" is particularly entrancing. The moody disquiet hanging over the foggy peaks of Colorado Springs cultivated a sense of isolation that only heightened Angier's obsession. He had come into possession of Borden's journal and there, in his mountain hotel, poured over the intricacies of his rival's methods. These scenes were inter-cut by ones from the present which depicted a jailed Borden reading the alleged journal of Angier.
This was the superlative trick of "The Prestige," detailing the lonely ruminations of these scheming minds at distant locations and during different time spans but still making it so immediate. It amounted to a sort of heady interaction between the two, despite the impossibility. The plot does eventually coil back on itself, but never with the intense psychological titillation scattered throughout the first and second acts.
The cast delivers admirably on its potential, but the script, co-written by Nolan and his brother Jonathan, especially confines the two leads to single notes of emotion and disposition. Both Jackman and Bale offer contained performances, meant to underscore the volatile obsession that plagues them internally. With few exceptions though, the emotion on display is a sleight of hand, a mere continuation of their vocation. It is once incisively remarked of Borden, "He lives his act."
It's almost not worth noting the casual grace of Michael Caine's performance because he's such an unfailingly dignified and skilled actor. As Cutter, he channels the paternal nature of his Alfred character from "Batman Begins" but isn't removed enough to disregard the increasing amorality of the rivalry between his former protégés.
Although she's afforded a substantial billing, Scarlett Johansson's presence is wholly perfunctory. Her prominent, well-endowed upper half seems to have been the clinching asset of her qualifications. Her actual performance is truncated and almost non-existent.
Michael Caine's prophetic words again provide insight regarding "The Prestige's" bungled third act. He says, "The secret impresses no one. The trick you use it for is everything." Herein lays the bane of "The Prestige." Some of Hollywood's finest films involved similarly booby-trapped machinations but created such stirring plot flows that the ending payoff became of lesser significance. It doesn't drastically matter who the true killer was in "Laura," what explanation existed for the murder in "Blow Up," or how the femme fatale of "Body Heat" got away with her schemes. Of course it's fun to know or have a notion of it, but it shouldn't dictate one's enjoyment of a film.
"The Prestige" makes this calculation and ends up going badly astray in its thorough revelation. Once in the open, the seemingly multi-layered structure of its plot fabric unravels and leaves one with a case of simple chicanery. It should have been much better. "The Prestige" is a passable thriller in its own right but easily is the least successful entry of Nolan's still evolving career.
Rating: 2.5 out of 5
