Big Dreams and Little Dreams

This post is about dreams. I recently saw the movie Inception. Though many have pointed out that the story is not original (stealing secrets from dreams was part of the plot of an old Ducktales cartoon), and even the director Christopher Nolan admittedly borrowed from many sources in his filmmaking, at least it's no Avatar, which is literally the story of Pocahontas. Inception is very well done with a story that holds the viewer's attention with the exception of a few small lapses nearing the end. Dreams are spun within dreams, subconsciouses are delved, theories are held forth on the nature of dreams. Some of the movie is dull action sequence, while less is genuinely creepy, and Ellen Page as Ariadne did an excellent job lending an aura of unsteadiness to what could have been a simple heist movie. There are rules, and there are secrets. One scene especially stood out to me; when Ariadne visits Cobb (DiCaprio) in his own dream state. She takes a literal elevator down to his figurative memories and sees his lost wife's manifestation. The way Page whispers to Mal (Cotillard); it feels like her fear is palpable and thus shared with the audience. The scene feels like something we all do; bury things we don't want to think about.

Little dreams can leave impressions too, but it's more difficult to remember them sometimes. To illustrate, I recently dined at Piccolo Sogno (little dreams). I was unimpressed. The restaurant is nicely decorated in a sort of mismatched manner, chandeliers are strewn about closely to each other, there's a lot of white space and tables seem oddly grouped together. The real winner is the large patio with its high ivy-covered walls and more mismatched furniture. Dinner, for a place that has had so much buzz, was generally a letdown. Fried squash blossoms filled with fontina and drizzled with a sweet tomato sauce was the only dish to leave an impression. The peach salad with beets and goat cheese was fine, and the burrata with cullatelo was obviously enjoyable as it would be to anyone with taste buds. Branzino, presented whole then roasted and served with a nice citrus broth and cippolinis was well prepared but forgettable. A perfectly al dente pasta with veal ragu was better, a gnocchi with tomatoes wasn't. Though it's always nice to dine at an Italian restaurant in a predominately red sauce town that knows there's more to Italian cuisine than whatever parmesan or vesuvio (Club Lago, j'accuse), Piccolo Sogno simply didn't make the grade.