Would you be hostile to your future self? I don’t get that. I can understand you being hostile to your past self. That’s just embarrassment. Hostility towards any number of non-you people who claim your best interests – politicians, priests, family, etc., sure. That’s ok. But hostility towards your future self? The one guy who is guaranteed to have your best interests at heart — that’s future you. Be nice to him or her. I mean it.
Looper takes place in a past-looking future … there are pre-1970s looking clothes, diners, slums, farmhouses. 2044 is really close to Superman’s Smallville, except for the occasional hoverbike. Oh, and the fact that random computers work. And printouts? What’s with printouts? Thirty years from now we still aren’t paperless. I’m not wild about where we’re going. In the future all time travel is illegal. Naturally, it’s owned by the mob and only used for the purposes of whacking guys. I suppose it makes sense, but that seems an awfully depressing use of technology. The hit specialists are called “Loopers.” Periodically, a hooded villain from a different time appears like magic in front of a corn field and then and then an emotionless brute blows him away. Imagine Field of Dreams taking a very different turn. “Wow, there’s Shoeless Joe Jackson!” *blam* Oh. “Hey, there’s Lifeless Joe Jackson.” Eventually, Loopers are called upon to hit their future selves. That’s messed up. But the 30-year metaphorical sand-timer comes with a big payday and a retirement party. Our narrator points out the profession ain’t exactly replete with guys who think far ahead.
Oh, by the way, if you didn’t get this already, Looper is quite a psychological stress test. It’s not for kids; it’s not for wives; it leaves you feeling like the end of Schindler’s List. Let me illustrate — Looper Seth (Paul Dano) refuses to shoot his future self. Future Paul Dano roams free. BTW, how creepy do you imagine future Paul Dano would be? Don’t answer that. Anyway, future Dano suddenly finds a message etched on his arm. The implication is obvious — they have the present Dano and have cut him. In the next camera shot, future Paul is missing a finger, then two, then three. By the time, the scene ends, he’s little more than a stump. In its way, this was as unsettling a series of moments as any I’ve seen since Sin City. Did I mention Looper‘s Terminator-like plot, or the part where a sane adult takes a gun to an innocent child?
Let me go back to the etching part, because this is how you give future you messages. Geez, couldn’t you just get a tattoo? This leads to the best and most intriguing scene 
in which everyday Joe Looper (Joseph Gordon-Levitt) confronts future Joe (Bruce Willis). Worth note there’s some excellent make-up work, especially in nose and eyebrow that make the younger a believable version of the elder. Young Joe feels little more than hostility — he has to kill his future self or bad things happen. That in itself is worth a novel — the ultimate choice of instant gratification vs. long-term happiness is here, right now, front and center. Elder Joe feels more a symbiotic relationship: he needs the kid to understand and thrive for his own betterment.
And both are holding guns at the time, of course.
Looper isn’t interested in time travel questions. Shame, because it presents so many. I mean, if your future self is in the present, but something permanent happens to you, doesn’t that affect everything future you has done? And, if so, how can future you remain in the same status? Bruno simply warns, “don’t think about it; you’ll get a headache.” Too late.
For a serious and disturbing film, Looper isn’t without humor. Like when Joe argues with his time-traveling boss about learning French:
“I want to go to France.”
“Go to China.”
“I want to go the France.”
“I’m from the future. Go to China.”
I don’t wanna to see the Looper future, but I probably will watch the movie again at some point … and try to pick out something more uplifting than libericide. In the mean time, I need to get a message to my future self; got a pen knife?
Welcome to the future/it sucks like the past.
Good luck spending the fortune/you might have amassed.
Out comes Bruce Willis/He’s old Joe Gordon-Levitt. Psych!
How does that work?/We white guys all look alike.
Rated R, 118 Minutes
D: Rian Johnson
W: Rian Johnson
Genre: Kill yourself now while you still might have a happy memory
Type of person most likely to enjoy this film: Fatalists
Type of person least likely to enjoy this film: Time travelers
