At the onset of this grim and dreary film, Michael Caine gives us the definitions. Each magic trick has three acts: Act I is The Pledge -- the setup, in which something is presented that seems perfectly ordinary. Act II is The Turn, in which that ordinary item is made into something extraordinary. And Act III is The Prestige -- the payoff, in which everything is revealed except how it was done.

The three acts of this little drama are exemplified in a magician’s performance early in the film. Presented to the audience is a bird in a cage, as normal and dull as can be -- the Pledge. The magician puts his cape over the bird and pummels it. The cape is removed and the bird has disappeared. That’s The Turn -- a normal bird has been made remarkable by making it seem to vanish. Then the magician pulls the bird out of his coat, and it flies off. This is the Prestige, and everyone applauds like crazy. Unfortunately, we’re shown exactly how this trick is done. I won’t spoil your surprise except to note that many birds are killed. All of the action takes place in London in the late 19th century, making The Prestige the second cat-and-mouse drama about magicians this year to be set in that period. The first, The Illusionist, is by far the better film.

The Prestige begins with two magician’s assistants, Rupert Angier (Hugh Jackman) and Alfred Borden (Christian Bale), who, along with Angier’s wife, aid their boss in preparing tricks. One night, Borden ties a knot that causes Angier’s wife to drown. Angier blames Borden for his loss, and when the two begin to work on their own they become bitter rivals, attempting to outdo each other on and off stage.

The key to ultimate revenge is getting the secret to an act called "The Transported Man," in which the magician seems to disappear from one place and instantly appear at another. Angier happens on the inventor and scientist Nikola Tesla (David Bowie) and persuades him to construct an electronic machine to accomplish this trick. (The historical Tesla is credited with inventing, among other things, the radio and alternating current.)

Until this point, The Prestige has been about magic tricks -- stage events that can be explained, even if all is not revealed in this film. With Tesla onscreen, the plot takes a most uncomfortable turn to science fiction. The audience is asked to suspend disbelief on too many levels, and the plot becomes confusing even as it telegraphs its outcome. The Prestige is constructed like a magic act, but its own Prestige flops.

The Prestige is so cold, heartless, and unnecessarily complicated that it makes one wonder why director-coproducer Christopher Nolan and the screenwriter, his brother Jonathan Nolan, bothered to make it. One cannot like any character in it except Cutter, the builder of magic-trick devices, played with whimsy and burbling enthusiasm by Michael Caine. There’s nothing wrong with the rest of the acting -- Jackman and Bale are right on target -- and Nathan Crowley’s production design, Wally Pfister’s cinematography, and David Julyan’s music are all first-rate. But without being able to like either leading protagonist, I wondered what the point was.

With a plot so convoluted and a story so cold at heart, The Prestige is not for everyone, though you might want to see it once just to marvel at Michael Caine’s brilliance -- or at Scarlet Johansson’s beauty in her throwaway role as Olivia Wenscombe, a bartered love interest. But for a true Prestige in a film with heart, see The Illusionist.

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