2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) 148m.
I'm going to break a rule with this one. I'm going to use personal pronouns. Look, there's two already. In discussing this film I'm going to drop the mantle of 'reviewer' or 'critic' and reveal myself for all I really am: a guy who loves going to the movies. And it all started here. I was introduced to Stanley Kubrick's landmark of science-fiction cinema at the age of 14 by a friend and immediately saw it a second time with two other friends in tow. Thus was established the pattern: no matter where or when I saw it, I would take an uninitiated companion along for the ride, the better that I might vicariously relive my own first-time viewing. I have seen 2001 in 70mm on a Cinerama screen; I have seen it in a lecture theater in high school (and then by request of the teacher delivered a lesson about it to my 16-year old peers); I have seen it double-billed with BARBARELLA, of all things; I have seen it with the original overture and intermission in a small Australian cinema with no air-conditioning; I have seen it on a hill in the middle of nowhere as part of a three-day rock festival, projected on a big screen against a backdrop of real stars at 2 in the morning.
But I have never, never seen it on video. Because if there was one thing that 2001 taught me about films, for which I am eternally grateful, it is that no matter how sophisticated a home entertainment center may be, there is simply no substitute for the cinema experience. 2001 should not be seen in a theater merely as some kind of preferable alternative to video, because it is not a film that is 'watched' so much as it is 'experienced' (my usual remark to friends immediately after the end credits is "So: can you imagine seeing *that* on television?" ).
Why did I take so long to review this, my favorite of all films? In truth, there is little to say that is new, and I can't imagine that I would have anything further to contribute to the many books, articles and critical papers that have been devoted to analysis and appreciation of 2001. Every angle has been explored and exhausted, leaving only the most desperately ridiculous of extrapolations untouched. It's unimaginative of me to fall back on a schtick as obvious as reviewing the film in the year it was set but at this late stage it's the only window of opportunity I have, and I'm not going to let it pass me by. Rather than rehash the film's plot, themes or interpretation I have decided to provide observations, each paragraphed separately, on what I feel makes the film either a different or similar experience to its first appearance 33 years ago:
FORECASTING: It was obviously a bold move in 1968 to predict giant space stations and passenger spacecraft, none of which have come true in the dimensions that the film presents them (although 2001 was the year that saw the first civilian paying for a trip into space and the retirement of the Mir space station) but ironically it is the smaller details that now appear the most dated. For example, there is no longer any Bell Telephone Company; BBC television has not expanded to the extent that it has 12 channels; a telephone call from space would certainly not cost a paltry $1.75; and the suit worn by that photographer in the conference room is just plain awful (we didn't suddenly lose our fashion sense after the 20th century). However, it is the size of HAL, the supercomputer in charge of running the spaceship 'Discovery', that a number of viewers find the most dated element of the film. I've never understood the basis of this criticism, though I imagine that our familiarity with microprocessors, PCs and laptops have convinced us that large computer databanks are obsolete. I don't disagree with the fact that storage alone takes considerably less space in the actual year 2001, but a computer system the size of a room isn't entirely unbelievable - just look at the amount of hardware packed around a special effects studio, for instance. To say nothing of the amount that might be required for an interplanetary space voyager.
CLICHES: One thing that makes me nervous about going to 21st-century screenings of 2001 is the potentially risible reaction of audiences to scenes which have become so well-known that they have been imitated, paid homage to, and parodied beyond count. I usually forewarn any friends seeing the film that they may think "Oh, not this corny music" within its opening ten seconds, but to also bear in mind that 2001 was the film that established this, and many other science-fiction film conventions, when it was first released. I'm relieved that audiences are usually sophisticated enough nowadays to recognize 2001 as being the point of origin for many of these motifs (although it could be that, like me, they are mostly made of repeat viewers). Elements of the film that have become a standard part of much SF cinema include its prologue set in prehistoric times, the presentation of an alien intelligence as a godlike being, the soft-spoken computer that can't be trusted, the trippy special effects blowout in the film's final act, and even the image of a large spaceship traveling across the frame of the film until we become awed at the size of it.
SILENCE: 2001 is just as visually astonishing as when it first appeared, but for a different reason. Among a barrage of contemporary films which manage to look impressive through use of computer imagery, tricks, stunts, kinetic camerawork and wild editing, 2001 is possibly more unique now than back in 1968. There is no other film that sustains so many diverse silent, or at least wordless passages throughout its running time. In my experience, audiences too become silent which make the events on screen even more compelling or meditative. It also portrays space in a way that I've never seen before or since (one critic of the time stated that 2001 wasn't about space travel, but *was* space travel). More than any other SF film it presents space as a vacuum - a cold, vast, dark, silent, airless eternity. Seeing men reduced to tiny specks in their spacecraft, journeying beyond the comparative safety of the mothership, makes the universe appear a lonely and frightening place indeed.
SPECIAL EFFECTS: The quality of 2001's effects - one of the primary reasons for its enormous cult - has not diminished any over the years. I still consider Douglas Trumbull's innovative FX work superior to that of STAR WARS, released 9 years later. It's interesting that while Kubrick was confident enough to burn all his props and blueprints (stating that his finished film was indeed the definitive final word on the matter), George Lucas felt the need to refine and update the visuals in his 'Star Wars' trilogy before delivering the newest film of the series in 1999.
ICONOGRAPHY: Watching the film today there is almost a delight in recognizing or revisiting images that have become indelibly stamped into our cultural psyche. To see HAL's red eye, Moonwatcher raising his bone aloft like a weapon, the giant space wheel spinning above the moon, the featureless black monolith, the distinctive designs of the space vehicles, the Star Child staring enigmatically at the Earth, the jump cut from the Dawn of Man to the Space Age, or the brilliant psychedelic colors of the journey through the Star Gate (you owe it to yourself to see the best quality print you can), is to witness truly classic moments in cinema. Watching it now is almost like witnessing some grand historical document in motion.
2001's appeal is not purely about the look of the film. Its storyline, which abandons any notions of a central character, and has no time for contrived plot colorings such as romance or heroism, still remains unique; and because it is unique it still looks 'new'. 2001's matter-of-fact handling of its narrative, its audacious concept, precise delivery, multitude of themes, enquiring philosophy and Zen-like sensibility make this one of the masterpieces of cinema. But you don't have to read my enthusiastic account on the film on to be convinced - a friend of mine summed it up more succinctly and just as effectively when we saw 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY earlier in the week. The end title appeared after two and a half hours of absorbed viewing, and I heard her first word. "Wow!"
sburridge@hotmail.com
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