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The clever Mr. Nolan first boggled us with his amnesiac thriller Memento, in which Guy Pearce hunts down his wife’s killers with the aid of Polaroids and Post-Its. (Ever watch the DVD backwards? I mean chapter 20, then 19, then 18…Everything fits.) His fourth, The Prestige, asks similar questions: What do you know? What do you think you know? What do you know they know you know? Who the hell are you anyway? The protagonists are dueling 19th century illusionists: Hugh Jackman, very dapper, and my darling Christian Bale, who must maintain several wardrobes because his body mass changes with each role (From skeletal in The Machinist to unbelievably buff in Batman Begins. Here he’s tubby. I like the Equilibrium version). With Michael Caine, the fabulous Scarlett Johansson, the real magician Ricky Jay, and David Bowie as that tragically under-recognized genius Nikola Tesla. I’ll watch any movie that involves Tesla. Andy Serkis (Precioussss!) appears as Tesla’s assistant. Pay very close attention because you could easily lose the thread of the story, and if I hear you discussing it in the cinema and getting it wrong, I’m going to hit you with a rolled-up magazine. (Wait that would only make you happy you masochistic freaks. I should start charging for pain.) Obsession and revenge,  feints within feints within feints, doppelgangers and a bit of mad science—an excellent diversion.