‘Inside’ Can't Break Free From Its Mundanity

Inside is a thriller that features an actor who tries his best to excel beyond the flawed narrative but can't do so. The premise is interesting. An art thief named Nemo (Willem Dafoe) breaks into a penthouse to steal its paintings. Over the radio, Number 3 (Andrew Blumenthal) gives Nemo the security code to disable the alarm. But it's the wrong code triggering the alarms to ring and doors to shut themselves tight. Nemo is trapped in the penthouse, turning a place of luxury into a cage. 

When the alarms trigger, it takes Nemo about five minutes of screen time (possibly less) to disable them. At that time, how were the authorities not alerted? Furthermore, how did the homeowners not get a notification that someone had broken in? Thirdly, how did none of the staff in the penthouse building not hear the alarm? This glaring plothole comes back time and time again as Willem Dafoe trashes the penthouse, growing increasingly insane, not caring if he gets arrested as long as he can get out of that penthouse.

Logically the movie doesn't make a lot of sense. That may be director Vasilis Katsoupis' intention. To leave logic outside the door and let the movie break reality to provide a grander message. But it's difficult to decipher what the movie's trying to say, so what's the point of the narrative? 

The film is an exhausting experience. It plays as a series of moments that grow increasingly bombastic as Nemo's sanity slips almost instantaneously. The sense of time in Inside is confusing. From the moment Number 3 ditches Nemo when the stuff hits the fan, it seems Nemo's slip from sanity comes randomly early.

Within his first night in the Penthouse, Nemo kicks his shoes off and lies in bed like it's his own home rather than staying alert for the police. In the next scene, Nemo is building a pyramid of chairs toward the ceiling, hoping he can climb out from there. The ceiling in the penthouse reaches towards an absurdly high windowed rooftop. With bulletproof glass and metal casing doors shut tight, the window ceiling is Nemo's only way out. 

Inside is like Cast Away if it were set in a penthouse instead of an island. Like Tom Hanks on the island, Nemo has to use whatever tools are available to do what is necessary to survive. Nemo's handy switchblade becomes the main appliance he can use at this disposal. Unfortunately, it's insufficient. Past the film's first thirty minutes, Inside is repetitive. Throughout the picture, Nemo tries to break free from the rooftop windowsill but finds no success. Nemo uses stacks of cabinets, cut rope from lawn chairs, and whatever other appliances he can collect to reach for freedom.

The sight of the table pyramid is one that would make Homer Simpson's discombobulated grill proud. As Nemo puts it, "there is no art without destruction." And destroy every inch of that penthouse Nemo does. When not attempting to gain fresh air, the audience is treated to multiple extreme close-ups of Willem Dafoe consuming food.  

What could save the film from repetition is to examine who Nemo is. There's some insight into Nemo's world in the beginning. The film opens with a voice-over where Nemo explains, "when I was a kid, my teacher asked what I would save if my house were to catch fire. I answered my sketchbook, my ACDC album, and my cat Groucho. I didn't mention my parent or my sisters. Does that make me a bad person?" That insight is interesting but disappointingly examined on a minuscule level.

Director Vasilis Katsoupis is trying to say something about art building character and how its destruction can lead to our collapse. Beyond that summation, it's difficult to interpret what Vasilis is trying to say. Films that are open to interpretation are often a fun challenge. Yet that's only when the challenge makes for dynamic cinema. Inside feels hollow in its messaging.

Nemo isn't the most interesting character to follow. Watching a man screaming and eating for an hour and a half loses its thrill after a short while. When Inside ended, I almost audibly said, "that's it?" There isn't much beyond the surface that makes Inside a memorable thriller. It's mediocre at best, and tiresome at worst. There's some impressive cinematography from Steve Annis playing with cool and warm color temperatures as it reverts to what Nemo feels at any given moment. Neither artsy nor thrilling, Inside is a middling survival film that lacks believability, insight, or excitement. This piece can be left in the gallery.