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A
mind-bending sci-fi symphony, Stanley Kubrick's landmark 1968 epic pushed
the limits of narrative and special effects toward a meditation on technology
and humanity. Based on Arthur C. Clarke's story "The Sentinel",
Kubrick's and Clarke's screenplay is structured in four movements. At
the Dawn of Man, a group of hominids encounters a mysterious black monolith
alien to their surroundings. To the strains of Strauss' "Thus Spoke
Zarathustra," a hominid discovers the first weapon, using a bone
to kill prey. As the hominid tosses the bone in the air, Kubrick cuts
to a 21st- century space craft hovering over the earth, skipping ahead
millions of years in technological development only to imply that man
hasn't advanced very far at all psychologically. U.S. scientist Dr. Heywood
Floyd (William Sylvester) travels to the moon to check out the discovery
of a strange object on the moon's surface: a black monolith. As Floyd
touches the mass, however, a piercing sound emitted by the object stops
his fellow investigators in their path. Cutting ahead 18 months, impassive
astronauts David Bowman (Keir Dullea) and Frank Poole (Gary Lockwood)
head towards Jupiter on the space ship Discovery, their only company three
hibernating astronauts and the vocal, man-made HAL 9000 computer running
the entire ship. When the all-too-human HAL malfunctions, however, he
tries to murder the astronauts to cover his error, forcing Bowman to defend
himself the only way he can. Free of HAL, and finally informed of the
voyage's purpose by a recording from Floyd, Bowman journeys to "Jupiter
and Beyond the Infinite," through the psychedelic slit-scan Star-Gate
to an 18th century room, and the completion of the monolith's evolutionary
mission. With assistance from special effects expert Douglas Trumbull,
Kubrick spent over two years meticulously creating the most "realistic"
depictions of outer space ever seen, greatly advancing cinematic technology
for a story expressing grave doubts about technology itself. Despite some
initial critical reservations that it was too long and too dull, 2001
became one of the most popular films of 1968, underlining the generation
gap between young moviegoers who wanted to see something new and challenging
and oldsters who "didn't get it." Provocatively billed as "the
ultimate trip," 2001 quickly caught on with a counterculture youth
audience open to a contemplative, i.e. chemically enhanced, viewing experience
of a film suggesting that the way to enlightenment was to free one's mind
of the U.S. military-industrial-technological complex. ~ Lucia Bozzola,
All Movie Guide
STEVEN SNYDER'S
REVIEW
2002's Best Film: 2001
May 31 through June 6, the Times Cinema
(414-453-2436) on the outskirts of Milwaukee will be showing a remastered
print of Stanley Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey." It is an
event not to be missed. To paraphrase Roger Ebert, seeing "2001"
on a television is the equivalent of the Grand Canyon on a postcard.
By Steven Snyder
With each passing year, "2001: A Space Odyssey" (1968) seems
like a greater, and more daring work of art. It lost most of its audiences
in the late '60's, and still perplexes viewers even now. Some were taken
aback by its visual effects that, while stunning, seemed too slow and
stilted. Its minimalist dialogue, that stranded many literal viewers,
leaves "2001" with the feel of a silent film.
Yet, those who love it as passionately as I do realize this film is about
more than dialogue, plot, or space ships. Its uniqueness permits it to
transcend the ordinary, becoming a movie not about one human but the entire
human species and an experience that strives to enlighten the mind more
than the just the ears or eyes.
Why then are some still timid of engaging Stanley Kubrick's masterpiece?
Those skeptical of modern science fiction may believe its title and its
sci-fi subject matter imply a routine, star-based fantasy. The reality
couldn't be further from the truth. This is not a western among the stars,
as "Star Wars" is, nor a futuristic venue to debate the problems
of today, as "Star Trek" is considered.
"2001: A Space Odyssey," rather, is an epic unto itself, examining
both the progression of human evolution and the first manned expedition
to Jupiter. Its inspiration, however, transcends anything that might be
found in a script. This is a film that asks us to think; asks us to meditate
about the human species and human existence. It is this unapologetic scope
that sets "2001" apart.
Within its first thirty minutes, Kubrick details a flash-forward spanning
four million years, comparing early apes to modern man, now surrounded
by science and technology but still without answers to the same basic
questions. This is cerebral filmmaking at its best and perhaps it is appropriate
that even in "2001's" final destination, its characters do not
find a conventional conclusion but a new beginning.
Its purpose is clear from the first flicker of light on the screen. The
MGM logo fades to stars, the now-classic Richard Strauss composition builds
in majestic waves, and Kubrick focuses on the moon, the sun, and a galactic
sunrise so simple yet so surreal. This opening title sequence, which most
films use merely as filler, invites the viewer to behold both the mystery
and the beauty of the unknown before the narrative has even begun.
"2001's" remaining segments are equally enlightening to some
and elusive to others. The opening twenty minutes progress without dialogue
at the primitive dawn of human evolution. The later space sequences, dissecting
a discovery on the moon and the Jupiter mission, are often told in silence
or accompanied by a removed, distant classical score. The final third
is as ambiguously inviting and frustrating as any moment in the hotly
debated "Mulholland Drive."
Yet, for true lovers of film, this is the grandest science fiction film
ever made. In a time of unsophisticated special effects, it remains one
of most ambitious projects ever, boldly questioning something as basic
yet monumental as the origins and the future of the human race.
In addressing such issues, Kubrick wisely does not presume to offer all
the answers. Note the lack of explanations or answers to the film's many
questions. Note the lack of a conventional climax. Pieces of the puzzle
instead are presented with trust that the intelligent filmgoer will see
the bigger picture. "2001" is told in moments, some about man's
simultaneous dependency on and vulnerability to technology, others about
man's conflict with his environment and his passionate resolve to understand.
These moments though exist only as needed tools to construct a much quieter
and grander hypothesis.
This is "2001's" gift to the film world. It requires, no, demands
active participation and an unbridled imagination to fully appreciate
its depths. It is no surprise that modern critics speak of it as one of
their favorite childhood films, when they were still open to dreams and
fantastic possibilities. Its pictures speak louder than words ever could.
And still, after decades, its controversial and hotly debated climax is
one of cinema's few moments that elevate a viewer's mind to an entirely
new plateau of possibilities-a fitting end to an odyssey not through space
but of the mind.
   (out
of 4) |

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