Christopher Nolan once described himself: “I am Christopher Nolan, a typical Englishman. Like my predecessor Alfred Hitchcock, I am not just a director, but someone gifted with a wild imagination.” The pursuit of stylistic precision — merging content and form seamlessly — has become a trademark of British directors like him. Even in Following, his debut, we see his fascination with dissolving themes and emotions into the fabric of logic and structure. Although this approach may invite speculation and even misinterpretation, there’s no denying that the film’s ingenious formal language continually forces us to ponder human nature's complexity and depth.

Themes and Emotions

There’s an adage that a director’s life is spent making the same film over and over again. Once a filmmaker’s debut is released, all subsequent works are just variations on the same theme — albeit presented in different ways. Few directors, if any, break from this rule. Even the stylistically diverse Ang Lee has, throughout his career, grappled with the unresolvable tension between parental pressure and personal desire. Yet I favor another perspective: the films we love most carry the echoes of our childhood. The experiences that shape us early on continue to influence us throughout our lives, demanding answers so we might finally find peace.

Viewed in this light, it’s not hard to imagine that Christopher Nolan’s childhood bore similarities to those of Hitchcock or even Edgar Allan Poe. Otherwise, why would his films brim with such poetic unease?

When loneliness creeps in, we sometimes find ourselves tailing strangers. In a sea of people, those being followed swell in significance. Their desires and decadence, like prey, draw you in — offering the tantalizing promise of truth. In Following, the protagonist wanders through damp, dim city streets, aimlessly trailing hurried figures. Destitute and lacking any particular skills, he clings to this act of proximity for a fleeting sense of fulfillment. Until one day, his voyeurism catches the eye of someone who sees through him, and he is unwittingly lured into a meticulously planned trap.

Nolan’s work exudes a natural detachment — a blend of skepticism and passion toward human nature and society. This ambivalence leaves his characters lost amid the crowd. Even the brightest minds and most intricate theories cannot secure them a winning position in a game of layers and deception; they remain vulnerable, mere pawns in someone else’s plan. Nothing is certain — not even one’s own identity. We are all too easily misled, and seduced by lies crafted for selfish gain. Love, too, might be an illusion; the person you cherish could very well be an accomplice in a darker scheme. A staunch belief is nothing more than a cog in another’s machinery. And by the time the truth emerges, it’s too late — leaving us to stand, empty-handed, watching as the significance of knowledge dwindles, its revelation feeling more like a reluctant concession. Perhaps this is Nolan’s world: at once resolute and fragile, where deep-seated insecurity fuels a strangely romantic sensibility.

Logic and Structure

In Following, Nolan employs two distinct modes of narrative logic: natural time and narrative time. Natural time unfolds events in their actual chronological order. Although these scenes are few, they provide the film’s skeletal structure. Narrative time, however, is filtered through the protagonist’s subjective experience — fragmented, filled with flashbacks, digressions, and associative leaps. This mirrors the messy, sometimes disordered, flow of human thought, yet it captures even the minutest psychological detail. Their interplay creates a mesmerizing effect.

The film begins and ends with the protagonist turning himself into the police. These bookend scenes, tightly linked in time, establish the primary natural timeline: a man confesses, recounting the events that led him there. Nearly everything in between is a flashback — a detailed unraveling of that confession.

Initially, the protagonist outlines his concept of “following.” While seemingly trivial, these scenes are arranged in strict chronological order, with each moment corresponding precisely to a following event. This sequence forms a secondary layer of natural time, onto which later scenes can be mapped, creating a cohesive timeline.

Once the voiceover fades, his memories shift to focus on a mysterious figure known as Cobb — a narrative pivot that mirrors how we naturally recount stories. We begin with the most significant detail, then allow our thoughts to branch out and fill in the gaps. For example, after the protagonist’s call to Cobb about self-defense, the next shot shows Cobb smashing the glass with a hammer. In recounting these details, new sub-timelines emerge, each one reinforcing the overarching chronology. The deeper the narrative dives, the more intricate it becomes, yet the viewer can always trace these details back to the primary timeline. This layered, almost compressed narrative injects a relentless momentum into the film — sometimes making it feel as if the story is driving itself, rather than Nolan merely telling it.

Another clever device appears at the film’s opening, where alternating images of the well-dressed protagonist and Cobb blur their identities. Only later do we realize that this visual confusion is central to Cobb’s carefully orchestrated scheme. A momentary lapse in attention forces the viewer to rewind and question: Who is following whom? And when the film later reveals that Cobb was also tracking the protagonist, the significance of these shots deepens even further.

Each flashback can be seen as establishing its mini timeline — reflecting the inherent order in our otherwise chaotic memories. Even in disarray, every recollected fragment retains a linear progression.

So, are natural time and narrative time truly the same?

I would argue they are not. Later in the film, several intimate scenes featuring Cobb and the blonde woman appear. These moments aren’t part of the protagonist’s recollection but are instead the backbone of the film’s narrative structure. In Nolan’s universe, deception isn’t born from outright lies but from omissions — both the audience and the characters are misled simply because they don’t see the complete picture.

The viewer is only shown intermittent slices of time, making both natural and narrative time equally capable of deception. Yet natural time belongs to the director — the keeper of the ultimate truth. Narrative time belongs to the characters, who are as much in the dark as we are. Once the audience pieces together the full natural timeline, the mystery begins to unravel. In essence, narrative time weaves the illusion, while natural time reveals the truth. This is why both the protagonist and the blonde woman find themselves trapped, while only the director’s chosen figure — Cobb — remains free.

Final Thoughts

Stepping back from Nolan’s intricate narrative web, it becomes clear that our emotional interpretation of Following may evolve with time and experience, but its logical and formal brilliance remains undeniable. Watching this film demanded that I engage both my intuition and analytical mind, constantly reconciling emotion with reason through its dialogue and plot.
In the end, I am profoundly grateful to director Nolan for his groundbreaking vision — and to my friend Anya for recommending this impressive cinematic experience.

◼️ View this article in Medium —>