Memento was okay. It’s the artsy gimmicks that endear it to a crowd that like to think themselves very wordly in the area of “film”. Other favorites: Usual Suspects, Twelve Monkeys, LA Confidential. All good movies suddenly elevated to greaness by the mere fact that they have fewer than 10 copies in the local Blockbuster.
Leonard COULD form a memory of a sort: by repetition. That’s how he developed a system: he could form new habits, subconscious reactions in a way that Sammy Jenkins could not. The only implausible part about his condition was that he knew that he had it: many such patients do not. But it’s not impossible: sometimes that part of the brian is only MOSTLY damaged, and the ability to make new memories doesn’t fully fade away for a little while, allowing the person to know that they have a problem and that they will constantly have to figure out what they are up to.
But the whole point of the movie is that the twist isn’t a twist. You spend the whole movie wondering who killed his wife: what the twist is. And at the end, you find out that this isn’t really that sort of movie: it’s a character picture, not a mystery. It’s a shaggy dog story that explores the meaning of human motivation. Are you really responsible for something if you can’t remember that you set it in motion? Leonard spends the picture manipulating HIMSELF, without knowing it. He’s a complex man, with a cruel vengeful streak and an innocent passion. The movie asks you to consider what sort of a man he is: and whether there’s really a good answer to that question. And it’s fascinating because to some extent, we all have such disconnects between who we are moment to moment: we all face the situation of having done something bad but being unable to remember why, or have any control over it once it’s done.
If so, then I’m resurrecting THIS MEMENTO THREAD TOO! Wah ha ha ha ha ha!
(Ah, I remember that thread well. Or at least, I think I remember it.)