Inception begins at the end of the world, waves licking the sea-shore, as Cobb comes to consciousness in shallow surf, and sees—are they his?—two children, playing in the sand. We are on Neuromancer’s beach—the beach of death, the beach of endless bliss, the silver-polished sand, a family—not this, this restless, half-life, running, always one more job and one last job for green and uncut gems.
Cobb is a maker of labyrinth-dreams—elaborate picture-puzzles—the best there is—which means he's neglected his family, and is haunted by regret. In other words, he's Christopher Nolan: the way Oppenheimer is Nolan, the way Borden and Angier are Nolan: their technical accomplishments, their intricate illusions, their obsessive self-sacrifice.
The puzzle-pictures are a means of implanting ideas. The first hour is a filmmaking MFA seminar on suspended belief. The Big Bad is a monopolist media mogol.
