Still from Inception, dir. Christopher Nolan, 2010.
The Gibsonian Institute is interested as well in works inspired by Gibson’s—an inspiration that he, disarmingly, doesn’t necessarily see himself, at least initially. At his booksigning in Austin, he said that he’d assumed that Inception’s filmmakers had been influenced by the same things he had—J.G. Ballard, Giorgio de Chirico, and so on.
“Welcome to the Rue Jules Verne,” Molly said. “If you have trouble walking, just look at your feet. The perspective’s a bitch, if you’re not used to it.”
They were standing in a broad street that seemed to be the floor of a deep slot or canyon, its either end concealed by subtle angles in the shops and buildings that formed its walls. The light, here, was filtered through the fresh green masses of vegetation tumbling from overhanging tiers and balconies that rose above them. The sun…
There was a brilliant slash of white somewhere above them, too bright, and the recorded blue of a Cannes sky. He knew that sunlight was pumped in through a Lado-Acheson system whose two-millimeter armature ran the length of the spindle, that they generated a rotating library of sky effects around it, that if the sky were turned off, he’d stare up past the armature of light to the curves of lakes, rooftops of casinos, other streets… But it made no sense to his body.
“Jesus,” he said. “I like this less than SAS.”