Dream Scenario (2023)

Score: 4 / 5

The biggest shock of the year for me, Dream Scenario is also one of the most daring and thoughtful movies released cinemas in a long time. "Provocative" is a word that came to mind also, but not because it provokes audiences in ways like Saltburn or Priscilla are meant to instigate passionate discussions of hot topics. This film provokes us to rethink dreams and the waking world, yes, but more importantly it forces us to compare dreams to social media and the kind of meta-fame that comes with anonymous people suddenly becoming popular icons. This is a rare genre-defying blend of dark comedy, fantasy, horror, and social commentary-as-drama, not tonally or aesthetically dissimilar from works by Spike Jonze, Charlie Kaufman, or the magnificent 1979 film Being There.

Anyone who knows me knows I strongly dislike Nicolas Cage as a performer and actor, but that that doesn't stop me from liking some -- and, I must emphasize, only a select few -- of films in which he stars. Here, he's magnificent as a mild-mannered and eccentric biology professor, nondescript and fumbling Paul Matthews, whose own wife describes them as people nobody would notice and who prefer not to be noticed by anybody. His jokes aren't funny, and his interests are dispiritingly bland. His altered physical appearance and awkward movement work fabulously realize a character who needs basically no introduction or backstory because he is such an everyman. As his agitation and indignation grow, so too does his temper, and he's at his typical best (ooh, I'm cringing to even write that) when his gears grind to a halt and he explodes.

How does an everyman become a martyr? It starts when he spontaneously starts appearing in the dreams of others. There is no inciting incident, no cause, no rationale; there is also no pattern or correlation between dreamers who see Paul. His wife (a woefully underused Julianne Nicholson) doesn't dream of him, but his daughter does. Several of his students dream of him. Many strangers dream of him. They all do share, however, similar visions of him simply existing in the world of their dreams and being memorable, despite him doing nothing in the dream. He's just there, watching, much like he does in real life. He meekly strolls though, as we see, in his unflattering sweater and wide eyes, sometimes smiling in a passive but pleasant way. Though, of course, most people who dream of him don't even know that's his dominant character trait.

Norwegian director Kristoffer Borgli's first American film is a masterclass in balancing these seemingly disparate elements, and it's clear he feels passionately about it as both writer and director. Part of the film's beauty is that, while it does follow some familiar beats and raise predictable questions about its material, it actively resists categorization and feels endlessly believable. Dream sequences are almost never obvious, until of course they are. Unlike most dramatized dreams in bright white echo chambers or ethereal foggy soundstages, here the set/location, sound design, nor editing reveal that the scene is in fact a titular dream scenario. The cinematographer's use of film stock gives the proceedings a grainy reliability so that, when odd things do occasionally happen, you have to remind yourself that we're not seeing a fluke or fantasy. The dreams are also not predictably inserted, and so -- except for one darkly hilarious montage of dreams -- you're never quite ready for someone to float away or brutally kill another.

Because the point of the film, by its halfway point, is not why a nondescript man is appearing in the dreams of so many people, or even how sudden recognizability and fame without reason or purpose can affect someone's life. Rather, the point of the film is how fickle and dangerous that kind of fame (or infamy) actually is and how devastating it can be for those who can't handle it and don't understand it. Right around the time Paul is learning to embrace his popularity -- appearing on talk shows and publishing a book -- his presence in dreams suddenly turns violent. He is cruel and violent towards others, even sexually assaulting and murdering people; in real life, people are terrified of him to the point of group therapy and ostracizing Paul. Everything in his real life is jeopardized, from his car being vandalized to his daughter fearing him, his wife leaving him, his job being taken, his book being cancelled. Everything is gone, and he has done nothing to deserve any of it.

Dream Scenario may not make great insights or even solid statements about its subject matter, but its approach and convictions will haunt you. Cage -- being who he is -- is turned into a freak not because of his nature but because of everyone's perception of him, and it's the kind of role he excels in realizing (Adaptation comes to mind as the crucial counterpoint here). He has, especially recently, relished in metafictional roles that cater to him, but this is one of the first times his bizarre choices feel earnest and earned, and I often felt that he was supporting the film rather than the other way around. He plays the part as if it were a biopic about an innocent professor obsessed with ant evolution, so much so that his alarming presence in dream scenes feels a bit like a caricature or someone else entirely. Perhaps the emotional climax of the film occurs when, desperate for the prosecution to stop, Paul releases a video of himself weeping, begging for sympathy, and it's seen (as like most influencers) as a grab for yet more attention and weaponizing his own fame. It's telling, too, that Borgli cast Cage in a role that somewhat mirrors his own bizarre, meme-able fame that has little real basis in merited talent or skill yet increasingly perseveres in our virtual culture.

The things I dislike about the film, apart from Nicholson's dully written role, come from its screenplay, which feels at once thoughtfully inspired and tragically underbaked. Its grasp on concepts, especially the agony of being unable to control your own famous image, is strong. Its grasp on humans is less strong, and the presence of other famous names like Michael Cera, Dylan Gelula, and Dylan Baker comprise a cast of flat, unremarkable, and mostly hostile characters. Its grasp on horror is simple but effective (and, I should note, very little graphic violence), making the disturbing bits less horrifying and more horrified, as if the film itself doesn't want to perpetuate the scary stuff. Its grasp on humor is complex and less effective, taking frankly cheap shots at cancel culture, Fox News, capitalist influencers, and more while avoiding the admittedly difficult but more satisfying existential humor that the film could so easily harness. This satire is more about recognizing face-value references than about the Big Ideas those references should be, well, referencing. This makes the comedy element awkward and somewhat cringey. I'd have preferred a film that either goes in whole hog with its humor -- albeit in a fittingly complicated, absurdist way -- or with its horror, or one that at least threads those needles with more finesse from the writer's workshop.