Yesterday, I saw one of the most puzzling, brilliant and exhilarating movies I've ever seen: "Memento." It stars Guy Pearce of "L. A. Confidential" and "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert" fame. He plays Leonard, who because of a brain injury sustained in an attack during the murder of his wife, can not form new long-term memories. He can function for periods of fifteen minutes of so, then everything fades. So he constantly spends his life trying to figure out what's happening. In an attempt to bring some type of order to his existence and to help him solve the murder of his wife, he tattoos himself with what he thinks are important clues. He also takes instance pictures and scribbles notes on them.

Obviously this makes for a complicated plot. But the director Christopher Nolan adds a couple of other touches. The story is told in segments corresponding to the memory span of Leonard. And the plot starts at the end and moves forward or backward depending on how you want to look at it.

Although I'd read about the movie and knew the overall scheme, I'm still not certain I followed the mechanics. A segement would start with Leonard, then the plot would reveal how he arrived at that point. But I don't think the technique was always the same. In some cases, he would backtrack. In others, the plot slid to the beginning of the segement and move to the end. Or at least I think this is what was happening.

You realize that the clues may or may not be meaningful. Or they may be entirely wrong. Or they may have an different meaning. Or they may be wrong at one point but right at another point.

This is a movie that works at so many levels it is dizzying. The ingenious story is awe inspiring. But then the way in which it is told is intoxicating. And then you begin to notice how your brain trys to grapple with the experience. You recognize that you're grasping at possiblities and disgarding options. And for periods you struggle to keep up. And during all this, you know you may be totally wrong. Not only in terms of what has happened but in the way in which you've tried to impose order.

How much of what we experience is "really" there? And how much of it is our attempt to form a pattern.

PAX!