Why is it Called Primer Again? [Primer, Carruth, 2004)

In the Guardian's words, Primer is a "giant achievement" because it tells you that a time machine has been invented and you as the audience do not laugh out aloud. Perhaps it's the low-budge-high-authenticity, or the accurately cautious protagonists, or the sheer complexity of plot - something in Primer makes us take it seriously and attempt to be the intelligent viewers it challenges us to be.

The initial minutes of the film is challenging. On first pass, it's easy to tune out to the technical jargon, complete with incomplete sentences, the inventors exchange around the dinner table (while their spouse cleans in the background). It doesn't get "better" when they crowd around a whiteboard/poster and search between magnetism and temperature (I'm no expert, but the two concepts I don't think are connected in conventional physics). Primer asks a lot of the audience if it expects us to attempt to follow the scenes; after-all, in the age of commercial cinema we've been taught that every line uttered has a purpose in plot development or relationship dramatization. Primer's dialogue, however, stays true to the search for content/direction so many of our deliberations are. That discrepancy may be jarring at first - "what was that supposed to mean????" - but that extra effort surprisingly makes us more engaged. In a sense, like this blog post, Primer's dialogue are essays being written that are hoping to find a thesis by the conclusion, and the reader, albeit frustrated, is curious how it would all come together (I have no clue).

When Abe and Aaron "discover" the time travel machine, they proceed with such cautious steps that the audience too becomes sold on the concept. It is convenient plot structuring that Abe has to go through the process of convincing Aaron. By the time Abe disclaims that (paraphrased) "what I'm going to show you is not a prank", the movie is almost speaking to audience: "look, I know timetravel is ridiculous, but this isn't one of those films". Because of how confused the characters are - "that's how cell phones work right?" - we are willing to lend stakes to their conflict. The discovery didn't come in a string of blatantly coincidental montage; it came out of nowhere, and suddenly figuring out how to react is something both the audience and characters are doing. And that cautious confusion extends to the entire plot. From Granger to March Madness, we are not spoon-fed the story because the characters themselves have no idea what the arc is like.

By the time we get to the rapid motions of the third act, little on the fly makes sense. Primer has lost our comprehension, but interestingly, not our attention. It is evoking in us an intellectual curiosity mainstream cinema has long thought unnecessary. It reminds us that, gosh, it's a lot of fun trying to figure something out. Films like Primer (and others, not just those logically compelling, but also philosophically, socially, formally, and emotionally churning) and those of Marvel and Hollywood slapstick are kind of locked in an ideological struggle about the capacity of the viewer. Like elite socialists and capitalists, the fight is about what the "people" truly wants. Mainstream Hollywood has cast its vote behind entertainment and parables, a duo acknowledgement between the people's sometimes unenlightened desires and the responsibility of cinema to lead and shine light. Primer asserts that critical thinking and moral deliberation is something the audience already possesses, so now let's them working. 

[Note to self: Yes pretty locations, but watch for location sound situation]

(I'm trying to get better at writing premises and such, so here's an attempt:)
[PRIMER: Two stock-broker-slash-part-time-inventor accidentally creates a time machine, and devise a way to use it to travel back in time and benefit their stock trade. However, one of the inventors grows increasingly concerned with the recklessness the other uses the machine, and when they discover a coworker had unknowingly accessed it, decides to travel back and stop the machine's invention. After a series of exchange during which the two inventors try "out-travel" one another, they break apart, with one staying to ensure the machine's never invented, and the other, leaving to exploit it elsewhere far away.]