The Directing Elite - Stanley Kubrick

This is the beginning of a series where I will be paying homage to some of my favorite directors.

Stanley Kubrick is a somewhat interesting inclusion into this category, as I didn't really grow up with his movies in the traditional sense. 

(My favorite Kubrick film was released the year of my birth.  My second favorite hit theatres four years prior.)

Many I had to go back and watch on video and/or DVD.  Some I was able to watch on the big screen, thanks to special event screenings.  I truly savored those experiences.  His films, quite frankly, are meant to be seen on the big screen, and it's sad that today's moviegoers will likely miss out on the opportunity.

What follows are my five favorite Stanley Kubrick movies.  All deal in one form or another with the theme of disconnect, whether it be from another person, a horrific situation, or even reality itself.

# 5 - "Full Metal Jacket"

The first half of this movie is more powerful than the second half, and possesses a disconnect that is twofold. First, we have gunnery sergeant Hartman (R. Lee Ermey) grilling his new batch of recruits with the most colorful of insults. His berating manner, common in Marine recruit training, is necessary. He must strip the men of everything they have taken solace in and prepare them for horrors the likes of which they've never experienced. The most notable psychological "teaching tool" if you will, involves the recruits having to give their rifles a girl's name, and recite a curious creed of both love and blood lust. ("This is my rifle. There are many like it but this one is mine...")  The second disconnect belongs to private Leonard Lawrence (Vincent D'Onofrio), nicknamed Gomer Pyle by Hartman because of his limitless incompetence. After constant abuse at the hands of his superior, he finally snaps and unleashes a salvo of vengeful savagery in the barracks' head.

# 4 - "A Clockwork Orange"
 

The narrative disconnect in "A Clockwork Orange" takes on the form of a giant pendulum, swinging from one extreme to the other. The central character is Alex Delarge (Malcolm MacDowell), a serial rapist and murderer. He is soon caught, imprisoned, and "deprogrammed" by the British government into absolute docility, only for the powers-that-be to realize that victimization doesn't exist in a personal vacuum. 

The "animal kingdom" rules of victimizing the weak is embedded so deep into basic human psychology... it simply isn't limited to criminal behavior. The reformation experiment doesn't work, and Alex leaves the movie as he started.

I've heard many complaints that the film justifies his vicious acts. On a surface level, I understand that criticism. But when you consider it a little more fully, I think the opposite is being stated. If anything, this is a pretty solid argument in favor of the death penalty. Opponents of it often recite Ghandi's "an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind." A fine sentiment... the problem lies in its assumption that anyone in favor of capital punishment is solely out for blood. The truth is a bit more complicated, as examined here. If criminal reformation is indeed not possible, how much are we prepared to forgive?

# 3 - "The Shining"

"The Shining" is a stark dissection of one man's full-on disconnect from reality as his wife and son grapple with this untenable nightmare. The family, having agreed to watch over a magnificently creepy resort hotel in the winter off-season deep in the wilderness, is now cut off from the outside world by a monstrous blizzard. Help isn't coming from anywhere. The patriarch (Jack Nicholson) is a writer, making him already one step closer to madness than the average person. His wife loves him, has come to accept his mood swings. But the isolation takes its toll, thrusting him into a centrifuge of paranoid delusions.

My favorite scene is when his wife, Wendy (Shelly Duvall), after being viciously chastised for interrupting him while he writes, waits until he's outside, then sneaks into the giant study--bat in hand--to see his progress, only to find "all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy" typed over and over on page after page. He is no longer dialed into reality at this point. He confronts her, stalks her as she feebly swings the bat to keep him at bay. The combination of Jack's antics and Wendy's timidity gets a laugh, yet the film is remarkably true to the psychology of the scene. If the movie were remade today, she'd have no qualms about breaking his knee caps to get away. Kubrick is wiser and less cynical than that. A wife struggling to comprehend the growing madness in a husband she's loved for years would react exactly as she does. It's interesting how Kubrick works in certain genres, yet never feels boxed in by the confines of those genres. He presents the narrative in a raw manner, leaving the audience to extrapolate their own reactions (be it fear, laughter, anger, etc.) from the experience.


# 2 - "Dr. Strangelove, Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb"

Humor is raw. It cannot be processed. Attempts at humor are processed... how else can one try to evoke laughs from another? But what someone finds funny is a personal entity that cannot be adjusted. We either laugh at something or we don't. The reason I bring this up is to highlight a criticism that Kubrick has faced throughout his career... that he makes light of situations that don't encourage it, whether it be the humorous insults spewed by gunnery sergeant Hartman in "Full Metal Jacket" or Jack's delirium-induced antics in "The Shining." Yes, I laughed at various points in both movies and didn't always feel good about it. But to blame that on Kubrick is lazy. It's all about the rawness of humor. He gets it. What's presented on screen are situations in their most fundamental form. Our reactions are our own. Especially humor. He forces us to own our personal responses to his work. I think that's what separates those who love Kubrick from those who don't. If we laugh at something we feel we shouldn't, ought we to, at least, take a look at ourselves rather than blame the target of our laughter? (As entertaining as Charlie Sheen is right now, what if he really is descending into madness?)

But I digress. "Dr. Strangelove..." is Kubrick's most biting satire, and it's a movie where we're much more comfortable in what we laugh at, as grasping the inherent lunacy of war mongers in this here "nuke-u-lar" age is a little more digestible. Yet its approach to humor is quite similar to the above examples. Like any great satire, what makes it funny is that the characters take themselves completely seriously. In a movie with so many memorable scenes, I think perhaps the most indelible image is of Slim Pickens waving his hat, screaming "YEEE-HAWW" as he rides bareback atop a nuclear missile toward its target. Both because of the scene's gleeful ludicrousness and the realization that somewhere, someone watching is actually galvanized by such an image.


# 1 - "2001: A Space Odyssey"

Science fiction movies today have become faster-paced, perhaps more adventurous, definitely louder... but much less daring. My single favorite Kubrick film is "2001: A Space Odyssey." It's also my favorite in the sci-fi genre. Yeah, I know I'm going to be bombarded with verbal assaults that point toward the film's deliberate, methodical pace and bizarre narrative bookends. "Boring" is what most people say. Okay. Fine. You should remember, however, that the movie was released in 1968, before manned space exploration truly became a reality with Apollo 11. The movie is filled with wonder... the idea of space travel is treated with glorious intrigue. (Kubrick's dancing camera work to the "Blue Danube" waltz poetically sets the tone for this odyssey of evolution.) There was a time eons ago when the mere sight of a brilliant night sky filled with stars was considered so enthralling it would drive men mad. Now we look up, pick out the Big Dipper, then seek out the nearest fast food restaurant.

 

"2001" bursts through the confines of typical narrative storytelling. No director working today is willing to think as far outside the box as Kubrick did. The closest contemporary director, I think, who might measure up would be Alex Proyas ("Dark City," "Knowing"). Of course, Christopher Nolan has demonstrated a willingness to bend narrative storytelling as well. (And dear reader, don't even think of introducing M. Night Shamalayan into this discussion. He's a gimmick artist at best.)

The disconnect here is one that's been examined in great length in the "Terminator" movies (although I think John Badham's "War Games" dissects the theme in a more comprehensive manner.) It's the lack of consideration with regards to the dangers inherent in creating machines that can think independently. Watson may be a blast to watch on "Jeopardy," but I wouldn't want it making decisions itself deems to be in my best interest. The HAL 9000 computer in "2001" has been masterfully designed to weigh risks and calculate outcomes, but to program it to take tangible actions with regards to the ship's mainframe was a huge human misstep. HAL's ability to process data is indeed unparalleled... it computes the danger, sizes up the risks, shifts into computer survival mode, and commits acts it deems necessary but ultimately endanger the crew. And yet HAL always remains an error of human origins. We're reminded of this in the scene where remaining astronaut Dave Bowman disconnects the rogue machine as it calmly pleads for mercy... ("Please, Dave. Don't do that. Please. Don't.")

Stanley Kubrick died on March 7, 1999, ending a magnificent career that has altered the way I watch movies. His work has left an imprint of which the movie lover in me is forever grateful. Thank you, sir.