INCEPTION director Christopher Nolan was last night accused of invading people’s dreams and implanting the sub-conscious perception that his new film isn’t just a lot of toss.
Dozens of film critics and movie-goers have come forward to say they have a fuzzy recollection of meeting the director in a Parisian café after seeing the film and agreeing with him that it was a masterpiece before the café turned inside out and a herd of 90ft-high Morris dancers clambered out the back of their dad’s 1978 Ford Cortina which was being driven by their girlfriend from school.
Professor Henry Brubaker, of the Institute for Studies, said: “Our initial research suggests that Nolan didn’t necessarily implant the idea that it’s a good film, he implanted the idea that if you say it’s a bad film you’ll look like a fanny.
“Meanwhile only four percent of the people who are tweeting about how good Inception is have actually seen it. The rest of them have been implanted with a dream that they’ve seen it, or a dream that they haven’t seen it but they know that dream really was a dream which therefore means they must have seen it.”
He added: “Or did I dream that? Or did you dream it? Or did he dream it – in my dream?
“Anybody fancy watching Carry On Up the Khyber?”
Julian Cook, film taster for the Guardian, said: “I was not a fan of Mr Nolan’s previous work because I believe that Batman should be portrayed by an actor who is keenly aware that he is dressed as a sort of bat.
“But Inception is daring and ingenious. It is The Matrix for people who drink wine.”
And Wayne Hayes, from the Independent, said: “Ingenious and daring. I love the fact that most of the film takes place upside down. Or inside its own chutney funnel.”
Members of the public have also accused Nolan of trying to implant sub-conscious opinions in their heads by sneaking into their bedrooms in the middle of night and sleeping next to them like some pervert stalker.
Tom Logan, from Finsbury Park, said: “I woke up at 2am to find Mr Nolan curled up at the foot of my bed wearing a tinfoil skull cap with a six foot length of copper wire coming out of the top which, I subsequently realised, was attached to the end of my nose with a bulldog clip.
“I screamed and shouted ‘who the hell are you and why is my nose wired up to your hat?’ but he just threw some glitter in my face, ran down the stairs, jumped into his car and roared off.
“He has a batmobile.”
