Stanley Kubrik – The Darkness of Modern Life
Many theories of modern history were built on the model that as
man works his way up from the animal world progress is made. That
progress is an interpretation of human history which would be
unmistakable if a historian based the interpretation on the work of
Stanley Kubrick, who explored the darkness of modern life. That
darkness—with regard to human frailty or something more sinister—
is consistent whether Kubrick is exploring the future (“2001: A Space
Odyssey,” 1968), the past (“Barry Lyndon,” 1975), or the present
(“Eyes Wide Shut,” 2000).
Although Kubrick made few films in a career that spanned
almost 50 years, each of those films has had an enduring impact.
Devalued in the Andrew Sarris hierarchy (see Sarris’ The American
Cinema: Strained Seriousness, University of Chicago Press, 1968,
pp. 195–196), Kubrick’s reputation among filmmakers and film
enthusiasts has grown to the point where he today occupies a kind
of exclusive, Olympian height reserved only for the gods of filmmaking,
whomever they may be. As I mentioned early in the book,
my goal is not so much to defend filmmakers as to try to understand
what makes their work compelling and influential for the new
generation of filmmakers.
In his career, Kubrick most often devoted himself to films about
war, such as “Paths of Glory” (1956), “Dr. Strangelove” (1964), and
“Full Metal Jacket” (1987); fables about human nature, such as
“Lolita” (1962), “A Clockwork Orange” (1972), and “Eyes Wide
Shut”; and genre films—crime films such as “The Killing” (1956),
horror films such as “The Shining” (1979), science fiction films
such as “2001: A Space Odyssey,” and epics such as “Spartacus”
(1960) and “Barry Lyndon.” What all these films have in common,
beyond their ambition, is a focus on the dark side of human nature.
To cope with that darkness Kubrick used humor. Irony infuses
“Dr. Strangelove,” “A Clockwork Orange,” “2001: A Space Odyssey,”
and “Lolita.” And what is certain is that a character will lose a
pound of flesh in the course of a Kubrick narrative. That pound of
flesh may be spiritual or it may be physical. What is certain is the loss.
In order to articulate this loss Kubrick tended to focus on a particular
human failing in each of his films. Before we examine those
failings, what needs to be said is that there are particular bold, filmic
qualities in Kubrick’s work that pay off in much the same way as
Sergei Eisenstein’s work. It might be useful to highlight these qualities
before we descend into the darkness that characterizes so much
of Kubrick’s work. His pay off can be categorized as the shot/scene
as a visual metaphor and the set piece as a technical challenge.
Perhaps there is no other Kubrick scene as famous as the ape
triumphantly throwing his bone weapon into the air, after which the
camera cuts to a space station in outer space, continuing the movement
albeit millions of years later. Almost as famous is Slim Pickens
riding a nuclear warhead toward its target in “Dr. Strangelove.”
Complete with cowboy hat, he is riding the bomb as if it is a bucking
bronco. A third example is the circular tracking shot of a master
sergeant inspecting and humiliating his raw recruits in “Full Metal
Jacket.” Yet another example is Alex’s beating of his male victim to the
melodic sound of “Singin’ in the Rain” in “A Clockwork Orange.”
What is striking in each case is the visual metaphor Kubrick
created, and in each case that metaphor drips with irony. In the victorious
toss of the bone in “2001: A Space Odyssey,” the metaphor is
all about technology and progress. The irony here relates to whether
the discovery of weaponry, with all its implications about proprietary
rights and the disenfranchisement of others, is really progress. In the
example from “Dr. Strangelove,” the irony of the metaphor is much
more apparent. A bomb that is about to kill hundreds of thousands
of people is not likely to generate quite the same excitement and
bravado of cowboy life. The third example, from “Full Metal
Jacket,” also deals with equating military values with societal values.
The master sergeant is in charge of creating killing machines.
This is his stated purpose, and in this scene he begins to find out
who will and who will not become killing machines. The last example,
from “A Clockwork Orange,” is as ironic as the shot from
“Dr. Strangelove.” The “Singin’ in the Rain” music suggests romance
and love; however, the visuals are all about aggression and hate.
The set pieces are as audacious in their goals as are the shots/
scenes; however, the goal is more complex. If the shots/scenes are
impressive metaphors, the set pieces are rather like a rollercoaster
ride where the viewer is in the hot seat. From thrills to nausea, the
goal of the set piece is to give the audience a sense of being there.
Because the sequences often pose a moral dilemma, the viewer will
tend to feel queasy and uneasy.
Examples of sequences that have served as set pieces would
include the execution of the three French soldiers for cowardice in
“Paths of Glory.” Here, the ritual of death is given a macabre dignity.
The knowledge that these men are not cowards but are scapegoats
for the failures of their commanding general makes the ritual and
the soldiers’ deaths painful beyond measure. A similar paradox
infuses the sniper attack in “Full Metal Jacket.” We will examine
that set piece in more detail later in the chapter.
In “2001: A Space Odyssey,” the single surviving astronaut’s trip
into deep outer space creates a sense that time and space are being
obliterated. Kubrick offered his interpretation of what it might be
like to approach the speed of light by shooting the passage as a light
show, with changes in speed indicated by the increasing diffusion
and refraction as the astronaut approaches his destination. Whether
hallucination or reality, the trip is quite unlike any other film journey
in nature or length. It is otherworldly.
Another set piece that is lengthy and almost unbearable to experience
is the duel between Barry Lyndon and his stepson. Kubrick
takes us into the inner emotional state of the hatred of the son and
the ambivalence of the father. The set piece ends with a life shattered,
that of Barry Lyndon, who has lost his leg and his status as a
result of living a life of slipping morals and degradation. Barry
Lyndon’s fate is a caution to us all: To lift yourself above your station
you must be able to pay the price.
We could include the attack on the ant hill in “Paths of Glory,”
the robbery in “The Killing,” the final battle in “Spartacus,” and
Torrance’s pursuit of his wife in “The Shining.” Using a mix of
camera motion and compositional acuity, each of these set pieces
powerfully contributes to the Kubrick mythology.
Text Interpretation
Kubrick’s director’s idea, the darkness of modern life, required
a scale of narrative ambition that is rare in filmmaking. Only
D.W. Griffith, Eisenstein, and Orson Welles have exhibited a similar
level of ambition. Kubrick was always attracted to themes of
scale. In some cases, the scale was so great as to defeat the project,
as in the case of his Napoleon film, but even early in his career
Kubrick was able to create epic narratives. In 1957, he made “Paths
of Glory” from the Humphrey Cobb novel. Even a director of the
stature of George Stevens had been unable to unlock studio support
for the production of the Cobb novel. Kubrick was able to do it by
securing one major star, Kirk Douglas. By making the film in
Europe at the Munich Studios and by using B actors for the other
roles, Kubrick was able to produce a film of enormous narrative
ambition. Within three years he was making “Spartacus,” a major
Hollywood epic, and although he lost control of the film to its
star/producer Kirk Douglas, the film remains one of the great epics
to be produced by Hollywood.
Kubrick’s narrative ambition grew exponentially. In 1962, he
produced “Lolita,” based on Nabokov’s verboten love classic.
He followed that film with his classic about nuclear holocaust,
“Dr. Strangelove,” and reached his pinnacle shortly thereafter with
“2001: A Space Odyssey,” a film about nothing less than all of
human history and our future. Five years later, “A Clockwork
Orange,” his translation of Burgess’ novel, seems less ambitious but
only in comparison to his own “2001: A Space Odyssey” film. The
film remains the ultimate parable about private aggression and public
or governmental control of that aggression. The film ended his
serious phase of films about adolescent angst. “Barry Lyndon” was
of course a return to a larger palate. The tale of Barry Lyndon, or
Redmond Barry, as he begins life is the basis for a more general narrative
about 18th-century European life, particularly with regard to
the role of money in the course of the life of the noble class.
Thackeray and his film translator Kubrick proposed that money—
its necessity, the means of acquiring it, and the means necessary to
hold on to it—altered man’s nature. It certainly did in the case of
Barry Lyndon. The life of the title character allowed Kubrick to
comment on the transitional period when romantic values were
transformed into something altogether more modern, more dark.
“The Shining,” “Full Metal Jacket,” and “Eyes Wide Shut,” all
set in the here and now, are each specific in character but general
in their implications of loss. Both “The Shining” and “Full Metal
Jacket” articulate a loss of innocence. A writer isolated by his work
as the custodian of a closed resort loses his mind in “The Shining.”
A writer, Joker, struggles to sustain his conscience and humanity in
the midst of soldiering in “Full Metal Jacket.” Finally, in “Eyes
Wide Shut,” it is the ample culture of narcissism that is under
attack. The Harfords’ life is materially rich—this is the specific.
The generality enters when the search for spiritual richness is misinterpreted
as the search for sexual gratification. No spiritual
rewards here, only death and disappointment. Again, the specific
was broadened into a generality as Kubrick looked for the large
themes of modern life.
Important in the creation of scale are two other features of
Kubrick’s text interpretation. The first is the centrality of ideas in his
narrative, and the second is his approach to character in his films.
In “2001: A Space Odyssey,” the narrative is remarkably ambitious,
but essentially it conveys the idea that, although progress has been
made, the arrogance produced by that progress has eroded man’s
capacity to be in the world. The erosion has made man nature’s
victim rather than its master. In “Full Metal Jacket,” the creation of
killing machines may seem necessary to further modern imperialism
but the consequent loss in humanity and empathy for others
more than offsets the gains. In “Eyes Wide Shut,” the modern material
world is a pretty empty, lonely place, instead of being a cornucopia
of joy and well-being. All of the characters in “Eyes Wide
Shut” are well off materially (except perhaps for the women in the
sex-for-sale business), but the characters come across as depressed
and spiritually flat.
In order to go from the specific to the general, a particular
approach to character is required. When I discussed George Stevens
and his approach to character in an earlier chapter, I noted the
importance of the audience identifying with the characters and all
that Stevens deployed to deepen that identification. The opposite is
at play with Kubrick. He invites simply watching a character rather
than empathizing with that character, and he tends to treat the character
as a stereotype rather than as a three-dimensional person.
Although we might admire Joker’s antiauthoritarian streak, we never
know enough about him to care more deeply in “Full Metal
Jacket.” When Cowboy dies, he is no more than Joker’s friend and
the platoon’s nervous recent leader. His death is the pointless death
of yet another soldier, the general case more than the specific.
Whether the character is unsympathetic, as is the short-tempered
Redmond Barry in “Barry Lyndon,” or arrogant, as is astronaut
Bowman in “2001: A Space Odyssey,” the result is the same. We
watch these characters rather than seeing ourselves in them. In this
way they too become the general rather than the specific.
Another technique of Kubrick’s was to position the main character
as his own antagonist. This point is clearest in “The Killing” and
“The Shining,” but it is also the case of Redmond Barry in “Barry
Lyndon.” His treatment of his wife and her son moves him from
protagonist to antagonist. In “2001: A Space Odyssey,” Bowman’s
treatment of Hal the computer also raises the question of who is
the protagonist and who is the antagonist. The computer seems
victimized by the human, so Bowman, who eventually disconnects
Hal because of his arrogance and his actions, is put in the position
of antagonist.
Another important feature of Kubrick’s interpretation was the
narrative, and in his narratives we can identify distinct choices he
made that promoted his director’s idea. Kubrick’s films have an
almost overabundant plot as compared to the character layer of the
film. One might suggest that people in Kubrick’s films are not as
important as the external events of the film. This was certainly
Raphael’s experience when he worked with Kubrick on the script of
“Eyes Wide Shut” (see his Eyes Wide Open). In “Full Metal Jacket,”
coping with external events, basic training, and the Battle of Hue
shaped the reactions of the characters, and in “Barry Lyndon,”
Redmond Barry is always reacting to external events—a duel, a war,
his actions to come up with clientele for a mentor, his cousin’s
efforts to marry well, his mother’s efforts to control his wife’s assets—
that all lead the character down the slippery slope that is his life.
A robbery and its course shape the reactions of the main character
and his colleagues in “The Killing.” In “Paths of Glory,” the attack
on the ant hill causes the general to deem his men cowards and to
designate three to die to restore the honor of the French army. Here,
the main character who led the charge on the ant hill is called upon
to defend the three men designated as cowards. Plot in each case is
powerful and has a formative effect on the main character. The
scale of the plot in each case overwhelms the main character.
Finally, in terms of tone, Kubrick deployed irony to distance us
from the character and to amplify the power of the plot. I have
already mentioned the scene of Slim Pickens riding a nuclear
weapon toward its destination as if it were a bucking bronco, the ape
discovering that a bone could be a weapon, the bravado of the platoon
being filmed by a television crew with each acting as a performer,
Alex dancing and beating his victim to the tune of “Singin’
in the Rain”—all of these actions and scenes deploy irony, but none
is on the level of Humbert Humbert in “Lolita” who marries the
girl’s mother to be nearer to the child. Kubrick brought the same
sense of irony to the suburban American values in “Lolita.” That
same irony is at play in “Eyes Wide Shut” but with urban material
values as its target. At times, the irony can be quite funny, particularly
when Kubrick used comic actors, such as he did with Peter
Sellers as Claire Quilty in “Lolita” and in such secondary roles as
Dr. Strangelove in “Dr. Strangelove.” It works less well when he
used literal actors such as Tom Cruise in “Eyes Wide Shut.”
Nevertheless, an ironic tone is very important in a Kubrick film. It
promotes distance from character and helps create a metaphorical
space for Kubrick’s views on progress, character, and modern life.
Directing the Actor
Kubrick relied a great deal on his casting decisions. Because he
was dealing with characters ranging from outright unlikable to
conflicted, his actors had to compensate by generating a certain
energy within their roles; for example, Malcolm McDowell in
“A Clockwork Orange” and Matthew Modine in “Full Metal Jacket”
were capable of expressing rage in their roles. Another type of casting
used by Kubrick was a “pretty boy” look that implied sexual
ambiguity or a reliance on sex as the first line of personal endeavor,
such as the casting of Ryan O’Neal in “Barry Lyndon” and Tom
Cruise in “Eyes Wide Shut.” In either case, the star persona fed
the casting choice. A third dimension of Kubrick’s casting was his
casting of the male predator, where a combination of aggression
and sexuality was necessary for the actor taking on such a role. Jack
Nicholson in “The Shining” and Sterling Hayden in “The Killing”
and “Dr. Strangelove” are representative of this aspect of Kubrick’s
casting. The look of the actor was another important dimension of
Kubrick’s films; for example, Keir Dullea looks perfect as the astronaut
in “2001: A Space Odyssey.”
Kubrick required his actors to operate within a very narrow range.
Dullea played an astronaut who was the modern product of technology,
so his emotional range was very limited. He seems to proceed
without feeling, almost automatically, as if he were a robot. This narrow
emotional range produces a lack of empathy or charm in his performance.
Each actor in a Kubrick film uses a single extreme
behavioral quality to drive the performance. Malcolm McDowell in
“A Clockwork Orange” is always operating with aggression. James
Mason in “Lolita” is always operating out of his desire. Ryan O’Neal
in “Barry Lyndon” is always operating out of a shallow narcissism, as
is Tom Cruise in “Eyes Wide Shut.” This narrowness worked well
with powerful actors such as James Mason and Peter Sellers in
“Lolita.” The strategy also worked well where the look of the actor
had to imply the shallowness of a character. All the more remarkable,
then, is the fact that the initial criticism of “Barry Lyndon”
focused in good part on the casting of Ryan O’Neal. Now, 30 years
later, “Barry Lyndon” is considered one of the great Kubrick films
and the casting of Ryan O’Neal is no longer a source of criticism.
Notable is that all the actors and casting choices I have mentioned
are men. This is because Kubrick’s films are focused on the
male characters and the male point of view. Although Shelley
Winters gave a significant performance in “Lolita,” as did Marie
Windsor in “The Killing,” Kubrick films are primarily about men,
and “Full Metal Jacket” and “Paths of Glory” (at least until the epilogue)
are exclusively about men.
Directing the Camera
Like Max Ophuls (“Lola Montes”), Orson Welles (“Citizen Kane”),
Carol Reed (“Odd Man Out”), and David Lean (“Oliver Twist”),
Kubrick was obsessed with what he could do with camera movement
as opposed to editing a series of shots. And, like these directors,
Kubrick was an aesthetic explorer into the possibilities and
impact of camera movement as much as he was a narrative director
telling a story. He chose to move the camera about the chateau in
the interior scenes in “Paths of Glory” as much for the joy of the
movement as for the benefit of the narrative. Kubrick also enjoyed
using pop music as reference points in his films, as well as such
technical challenges as using candle illumination for the interiors
in “Barry Lyndon.” These technical and aesthetic choices were the
equivalent of Kubrick telling a joke—all are amusing but they are
not the source of power in the Kubrick film.
In this section, we are looking for that mixture of a director’s idea
and camera choices that yields filmic power. Many such examples
can be found in Kubrick’s work. First, let’s look at an editing idea:
I need to transport the audience to a different time, so I am going to
use the idea of time and how it is experienced as my editing idea.
243
Stanley Kubrick: The Darkness of Modern Life
In “2001: A Space Odyssey,” the dawn of man sequence begins in
timelessness. This translates into extreme long shots that are static and
give little indication of a change in the time of day as we move from
one shot to the other. The next scene introduces the ape as a vegetarian.
The scene is shared with other animals, and the sequence ends
with the ape becoming food for the leopard. The pace throughout the
scene is even, with nothing to indicate a temporal shift. As we move
through the next scenes, primarily mid shots are used to introduce
new ideas, such as night implying danger. When we arrive at the
introduction of the monolith, the camera angles shift and we have a
shift in the power grid. Pace has entered, albeit modestly.
When we arrive at the discovery of the weapon much changes.
Close-ups emphasize the importance of the bone. A cutaway to
the monolith introduces a new idea—the power of the stone and the
potential power of the bone. Once the potential for a weapon has
been introduced as an idea, rapid cutting to the killing of animals and
the primacy of the ape follows. Close-ups tell us that the importance
of the discovery is understood. The rapid pace of the cutting indicates
that a different sense of time has been established. The sense of time
is totally changed from the opening scene at the dawn of time.
Turning to “Barry Lyndon,” the idea once again was to transport
the audience to a different time, to the different rhythms of the
18th century. To do so, Kubrick slowed down the pace of the introduction
to “Barry Lyndon.” He moved the camera physically but also
used a zoom lens in order to lengthen the shots. The result is that,
instead of shots lasting a few seconds, numerous shots last 30 to 60 seconds.
By the time this first sequence is concluded, we are on 18thcentery
time, or at least Kubrick’s version of it. He has via an editing
idea transported us into another sense of time—the dawn of man in
“2001: A Space Odyssey” and the 18th century in “Barry Lyndon.”
A second idea Kubrick employed and tried to capture with the
camera was the restlessness of the Harfords in “Eyes Wide Shut.” He
used the moving camera to represent that restlessness. When the film
opens, Bill and Alice are preparing for a party. They leave their spacious
Manhattan apartment to go to the museum-like residence of
Victor Ziegler. The camera roams before them, recording their restlessness.
At the party, when Bill is preoccupied by two beautiful
women, the camera again records them moving. Whether the restlessness
implied here equates movement with sexual desire or energy
244
The Director’s Idea: The Path to Great Directing
is open to interpretation. Once Alice begins to dance with the handsome
Hungarian, the camera again moves, left to right, right to left,
simulating the seductive movement of a dance. The movement also
seems to center them to the exclusion of others at the party (except
for Bill). The proximity of the camera to the dancing couple also
raises the seductive quality of their proximity to one another. Again,
the restlessness of the camera creates a feeling. In both of these
scenes, the movements have a self-absorbed quality and a sexual quality.
The camera movement furthers Kubrick’s ideas about the source
of the restlessness or the dissatisfaction of these characters. This restlessness,
of course, goes right to the heart of Kubrick’s director’s idea.
Finally let’s look at the sniper attack in “Full Metal Jacket.” It
exemplifies how Kubrick used point of view to convey the idea
that war is all about killing and fighting to retain one’s humanity.
The sequence has two phases—the sniper’s attack on the platoon
and the platoon’s attack on the sniper. In the first phase, Kubrick
applied cinéma vérité strategies, such as the hand-held camera, the
extensive use of camera movement, and the strategic use of closeups,
to give the audience a feeling of being under attack. During
this phase, three members of the platoon, including its leader,
Cowboy, are killed. The deaths are sudden and violent.
In the second phase of the attack, the attack on the sniper, the
pace slows down and many static shots replace the moving shots. In
this scene, only one person, the sniper, is killed. This scene has many
more close-ups than the scene that preceded it. In this scene, Joker’s
decision about killing the young female sniper who wants to be killed
is presented as intense and painful and in close-up. The aggression of
the rest of the platoon toward the enemy contrasts sharply with Joker’s
conflicted feelings about killing. When he does shoot her it is his
humane response to a suffering person rather than revenge against a
hated enemy who moments before had killed his only friend in the
platoon. By slowing down the scene and focusing on Joker’s dilemma,
Kubrick humanized the enemy and created a paradox for the viewer.
If my enemy is human can he remain my enemy? This is the consequence
of Kubrick’s director’s idea in “Full Metal Jacket.” Modern
war is the largest shadow cast over modern life. Killing is killing,
whether in its modern version or a more ancient form.
Few directors are more powerful than Stanley Kubrick when he
deployed the camera and the edit to his director’s idea.
From The Director’s Idea – Ken Dancyger (see KB)