Angier's ambition, we infer, is to transcend humanly created illusions by drawing on the powers of advanced science, and this takes us into the realms of science fiction and Frankensteinian hubris. The reserved, immaculately dressed Tesla is magisterially impersonated by David Bowie.
After a single viewing, I'm not sure I could describe the order of events in Nolan's film. Yet though one may be puzzled, just as one is by an illusionist, everything seems lucid and leads to a succession of revelations that left me stunned. I was still working out their implications long after leaving the cinema. The Prestige is a dazzling piece of work that left me eager to see it again and to read Priest's novel.
The film is immaculately assembled with magnificently stylised sets by production designer Nathan Crowley, acute editing by Lee Smith and wonderfully atmospheric but wholly unaffected photography by Wally Pfister. They've all previously collaborated with Nolan, in Pfister's case on all his pictures since Following, which Nolan himself photographed.
The performances of Bale and Jackman complement each other superbly and Caine brings a seriousness and dignity to Cutter, a role that combines the best aspects of his theatrical agent in Little Voice and his butler in Batman Begins. As in earlier Nolan films, the women's roles are unrewarding, though Rebecca Hall and Scarlett Johansson do well enough as Borden's naive wife and Angier's duplicitous stage assistant.
If I have given the impression that the film is unduly cerebral or opaque, let me say that in addition to the intellectual or philosophical excitement it engenders, The Prestige is gripping, suspenseful, mysterious, moving and often darkly funny.
-as reviewed by phillip french, the guardian.