2001: A Space Odyssey
**You can hear me discuss the soundtrack for “2001: A Space Odyssey” on the Untitled Cinema Gals Project here.
I’ve seen Stanley Kubrick’s “2001: A Space Odyssey” perhaps a dozen or two times since watching it in its’ entirety for the first time in 1997. And yet watching the film in its’ digitally restored, 70mm glory at the Fabulous Fox Theatre in downtown Atlanta on Monday night (my first viewing on the big screen, and my first full viewing in widescreen of the film), it felt like I was seeing more within Kubrick’s seminal futurist epic- more detail specifically (especially during the “Dawn of Man” opening)- than ever before. I envy anyone who was there watching the film for the very first time. Part of it was undoubtedly the viewing of “2001” in the original aspect ratio, but a lot of it had to be this- for the first time, I had no where else to look. No computer to distract me, no critters to move past me, no kitchen to go to get something to eat or drink at. Nothing but me, a theatre full of movie fans (a shockingly low turnout compared to June’s jam-packed “Fellowship of the Ring’s” Fox bow, but no matter), and the movie, the finest- and most visionary- the Sci-Fi genre has produced, the pinnacle of Kubrick’s storied career, the timeless peak of visual effects-driven cinema, arguably the finest example of film direction in the 100-plus year history of the medium, and one of those rare films that merits consideration as a true “work of art.”
So what is this masterpiece about? Well, you can’t surf the web on movies without coming across someone’s personal interpretation of the film (and that’s what any opinion you’ll ever read on “2001” is, an interpretation), co-written by Kubrick and the legendary Arthur C. Clarke, inspired by Clarke’s fascinating short story “The Sentinel.” Many web sites and essays on the film exist in cyberspace (one of particular interest is located at http://www.underview.com/2001.html), as well as Roger Ebert’s review of the film in his Great Movies series (located http://www.suntimes.com/ebert/greatmovies.html). Well, here’s one more for you to contemplate. Admittedly, it’s not the most original interpretation you’ll read on the movie, but I think it merits at least some attention. And don’t try to explain everything; like Clarke once said, “If you understand ‘2001’ completely, we failed.” The unknown and philosophical mysteries are at the heart of the film; as far as I’m concerned, that’s the way it should stay.
“OK, we get that this is an interpretation. We figured as much before you started this. So what’s the film about already?”
Well, put simply, “2001” is about the evolution of human intelligence and technology. The film begins- somewhat pretentiously- at the “Dawn of Man” over four million years ago, in a desert wasteland occupied by apes, leopards, and other beasts of pray. We see how life is, how the different species feed off each other, and two groups of apes fight for possession of a water hole. One morning, one of the ape groups are confronted by a mysterious monolith; baffled and scared, the apes are thrown into hysterics. But in one of the apes, the monolith triggers something. Perhaps a concept that something, somehow made this slab. When confronted with a bone, the ape learns- through a type of trial and error- how it can be used as a tool, or more specifically, a weapon. Before long, the group is ready to take back control of its’ water hole. Using bones from the skeleton of one of its’ meals, the apes beat a rival into submission. The leader- as far as one can be identified- throws the bone into the air in a sign of victory…
…but the bone never hits the ground. In one of the most famous jump cuts in cinematic history, the bone is turned into another, more advanced tool- a spaceship. The year is now 1999 (though it’s never specified exactly, the conclusion can easily be drawn), and a scientist- Dr. Heywood Floyd (William Sylvester)- sleeps as his transport docks at a circular space station, the “layover” spot (one might say) on the trip to the Moon Dr. Floyd is making. The circular strains of Johann Strauss’ “Blue Danube” waltz set the pace for the ship’s arrival and docking at the station, as Kubrick edits the sequence to the flow of the music, solidifying how the rest of the film’s pace will be determined. In a departure from traditional sci-fi cliche (before and since “2001”), no ship will speed towards its’ destination, no ship will activate “hyperdrive” and no sounds- from engine, landing gear, or any repairs which may be needed- will be heard. The depiction of space travel- and the landing (and geography) on the Moon- doesn’t predate the start of space exploration (or the Apollo missions), but it does predate our landing on the moon, and like the most visionary futurist fiction, Kubrick’s film is surprisingly accurate on both accounts. Space travel is slow, methodical, exact, and very delicate- the slightest mistake can be disastrous, and Kubrick takes great pains- at the expense of fast-pacing, turning the sequence into a test of patience for the audience- to be realistic, not thrilling. And yet few sequences- not from this film- have been so wondrous to behold. The conviction of Kubrick’s vision and execution make it one for the ages.
The choice of music (more on that later) is without fault, and even more impressive given how mundane the piece actually is when separated from the film. But then again, it’s implied that in the late 20th Century, space travel has in fact become something mundane anyhow. It’s nothing to marvel at or have awe in like it was back in ’68 when the film was released. Space travel- for someone like Dr. Floyd- is an everyday part of life. But this is no routine trip. Something has been excavated on the Moon, appearing to have been deliberately buried over four million years ago. In a cryptic conversation with other scientists on the space station, it is revealed that the base around the site is rumored to be in danger of an epidemic of some sort, but we’ll already have guessed otherwise by the way Dr. Floyd acts during the discussion, how he answers questions posed to him. When he finally arrives at the site with a team of fellow scientists, another monolith is revealed. In “The Sentinel,” it was the initial discovery of this monolith that was the focus of the story conceived by Clarke; this is never seen in the movie, just mentioned. But unlike with the apes, when the scientists go to touch it, a high-pitched signal is emanated, the direction of which- we learn later- is Jupiter.
Cut to 18 months later. A team of five scientists- three of whom are put into hibernation prior to launch- are aboard Discovery One (which oddly resembles a spaceship, and was the obvious inspiration for Spaceballs One in Mel Brooks’ underrated “Star Wars” parody) headed for the fifth planet of the sun. The two whom are awake during the flight- Frank Poole (Gary Lockwood) and Dave Bowman (Keir Dullea)- go through the daily routines of resting, exercise, sketching, and playing games of chess with the ship’s onboard computer, an advanced form of artificial intelligence known as HAL 9000, or HAL for short (voiced chillingly monotonous by Douglas Rain). But it’s not long before Frank and Dave begin to question decisions made by HAL, leading to his rebellion, cold acts of violence, and his eventual demise at the hands of Dave, leading to the most poignant of Kubrickian moments, as HAL- in an act of desperation (or- more likely- simple programming logic, given the circumstances) sings “Daisy,” and asks Dave’s forgiveness and renewal of trust in his judgement.
I’ve walked a fine line the past few paragraphs so as to not give away all significant moments or revelations in the film, so that those whom have yet to see the film will not have the whole experience of seeing the film for yourself ruined for you. The fact of the matter is though, even a brief summary of the “story” for “2001”- like the one presented above- can’t possibly prepare you for the questions you’ll be posed with after seeing it for the first time. And you will have questions…trust me. If you don’t have questions, either one of two explanations suffice. 1) You’re Stanley Kubrick or Arthur C. Clarke themselves. (Not likely; I know all of you well enough I think to know otherwise.) Or 2) You weren’t paying attention. But don’t be frightened by the questions- everybody has them after seeing “2001.” Not necessarily the same questions I’m sure, but it’s a very good bet you’ll be perplexed by something in the film. The “Dawn of Man” sequence. The monolith. The significance of the bone thrown in the air. The significance of the next shot being a spaceship. The origin of the monolith. The mission to Jupiter. The behavior of HAL. Dave and Frank’s reactions to his inconsistencies, which he attributes, to “human error.” The space warp/laser light show at the end. The alignment of the planets. The final minutes in the elegant bedroom. That damn Star Child.
Most of these- wait, ALL of these- were puzzling me after I first saw the film. But like the finest cinematic mind-benders (Lynch’s “Mulholland Drive,” Fellini’s “8 1/2,” and Fincher’s “Fight Club” rate high on the mindf*$& o-meter), the more times you watch, the more the underlying meaning and form of Kubrick’s film reveals itself. Don’t try to get everything on one viewing; it’s not possible. And like the best Kubrick, not everything can be explained in simple black-and-white terms. He forces you to have a subjective reaction and personal opinion or theory with each film, which was never more true than with “2001.” Love it or hate it (each opinion is valid with Kubrick), Kubrick nonetheless made you think about it. It’s this sort of gut reaction that I think troubled so many people about “A.I.”. With Spielberg, unless the film is a weighty historical epic, you just aren’t used to being asked to contemplate what has taken place on-screen- question the characters motives, debate the morality of that which drives the story, feel somewhat ambiguous about the protagonists and their actions. None of these are very prevalent in Spielberg’s early landmarks; they’re easy entertainments. Kubrick was never much of an entertainer, at least in the Spielbergian sense. His films stimulated the mind more than the senses. It’s something he was damn good at, and if you get nothing else out of “2001,” it’s that some of the greatest cinema feeds the mind, and the soul, more than the “need for speed.” It’s not inappropriate to consider “2001” a spiritual epic; I’ll go over why later.
But whether you see it as a spiritual epic or pretentious bore, “2001” IS a landmark of special effects and sound design (one particularly interesting essay places the film at the forefront of the Ambient media revolution of the past 30 years). The film was produced in secret by Kubrick and Clarke for four years, with the visual effects being designed by a team headed by Douglas Trumbull (who would later go on to provide effects for Spielberg’s “Close Encounters of the Third Kind”). Trumbull’s work was ground zero for just about every science-fiction film to follow, from “Star Wars” to “Alien” to “Contact” to “Independence Day” to even the true-to-life “Apollo 13.” But none has surpassed it. The visual effects- from the depiction of space to the detail in the spaceships to the makeup of the apes at the start to the justly famous “acid trip” light show when Bowman goes to “Jupiter and Beyond the Infinite”- haven’t aged a day in 34 years (remarkable when you consider the advancements that have taken place since), to say nothing of how they achieve a degree of realism, wonder, and originality top effects houses such as George Lucas’ Industrial Light & Magic, James Cameron’s Digital Domain, and now Peter Jackson’s WETA have been chasing ever since. That “2001” is generally hailed the most visionary of science-fiction cinema should be no surprise; it was made to last, to 2001 and beyond. Not even HAL could stop that from happening.
It’s no secret Kubrick was as demanding a perfectionist as you’ll find in cinema; his attention to every detail of every frame of every movie from “Lolita”- which was his first film made in England- on (with the possible exception of “Eyes Wide Shut,” which he never really got to complete) is unsurpassed. Like Spielberg for “Minority Report,” Kubrick gathered renowned futurists and scientists to discuss what life and technology might be like at the dawn of the 21st Century. What’s remarkable is how much they in fact have gotten right…or close to at least. We can’t live and work on the Moon yet (though one hopes that might be the case by “Futurama’s” year 3000), and space travel has not become quite as routine as it appears in “2001” (though with the “Space Tourist” idea taking off- sorry- we aren’t as far as we were just a few years ago from having to read the instructions on a “Zero Gravity Toilet”), but videophones- such as the one Heywood Floyd talks to his daughter on- are a part of some businesses (though the idea of a $1.70 long distance call from space- or anywhere for that matter- seems like it’ll always be a pipe-dream), playing chess- or any game- with a computer opponent has been around since the early days of video games in the ’70s, in-flight meals are as unappealing as they ever were (and dehydrated food is not far off of the Discovery crew’s squares of indistinguishable glob), in-flight movies have been the butt of jokes for years (you see Floyd during the first docking sequence asleep as a film of some kind plays on the monitor), and it seems like artificial intelligence- though not up to HAL-like brilliance- is taking strides with the passing of time. Are we up to Kubrick’s imagination of the 21st Century? Not yet, and if he were alive, he’d surely let us know his disappointment. But you have to admit, we’re getting closer all the time.
If the visual effects are essential to “2001’s” success, so is the soundtrack. Dialogue is not a large part of “2001”; only in the middle section of the movie- after the “Dawn of Man,” before the “star gate” sequence- where the film is more “plot-driven” is dialogue used. The human voice only occupies roughly 40 minutes of the soundtrack, and in all honesty, it’s not that interesting to listen to (as Roger Ebert said in his “Great Movies” review of “2001,” “There are few conversations that could not be handled with title cards”). The deliveries are non-distinct to the point of almost being monotonous from all of the main characters, and it isn’t until the end of this section, and HAL’s still-poignant demise, that a character elicits any sort of emotional reaction from the audience. It’s that humanization of technology that probably inspired Kubrick to pursue “A.I.” when he first read Aldiss’ short story, further justifying the view of “A.I.” as a companion piece to “2001.”
More important than dialogue to the soundtrack of “2001” are sound design. Watching the movie at the Fox- with it’s remastered sound- pointed that fact up more than video- even DVD- ever has. It isn’t an aspect that “shows off” creatively; all the sound effects are very naturalistic and simply achieved, more involved in depicting what everything would really sound like than creating new sounds. And granted, there are times when only hearing the breathing of the astronauts in they’re spacesuits can be trying on the patience (an interesting note- the Fox screening was the first time the movie really felt long; at 2 hours, 19, it’s no “Gone With the Wind,” but it’s hardly a short film). But for me- the anticipation, the waiting for something more to introduce itself to the soundtrack- be it dialogue or music- created by those very simple sound effects exerts a hold very few films can lay claim to. But then again, it’s something not generally aimed for by filmmakers in the past 30 years- sound and fury is more the norm over silence and contemplation. In the most visionary films of the sound era, the latter is more strived for. And as I’ve said before, it doesn’t get more visionary than this.
If dialogue is least important to “2001’s” success, and sound effects are #2 on that list, that just leaves music. This isn’t musical bias on my part; ask any 10 film critics and historians, and more than half would probably say the same thing. Alongside Quentin Tarantino, Steven Spielberg, Martin Scorsese, and Cameron Crowe, Kubrick had a brilliant ear for the music to accompany each frame of his films, and no more is that the case than with “2001.” There’s not much one can say about the soundtrack that hasn’t already been said. The triumphant fanfare of Richard Strauss’ “Also Sprach Zarathustra” (no, it’s NOT called “Theme to ‘2001’”); the mundane motion of “The Blue Danube”; the frightening vocal dissonance of Ligeti’s “Requiem for Soprano, Mezzo Soprano, Two Mixed Choirs & Orchestra” (used in the monolith’s presence); the mysterious tonal landscapes of Ligeti’s “Atmospheres” (heard in the Overture and Intermission for the film, as well as during the “Beyond the Infinite” sequence) and “Adventures” (during the final scene in the bedroom, which some have interpreted as being a laboratory or zoo (I opt for the former) for the race of beings- or maybe a single being- to study their specimen, which is man); despite the varying styles of each of these pieces- and the others not mentioned- used by Kubrick, they create an unforgettable symphony- full of powerful leitmotivs (or themes for a specific person or action) no one will ever forget- with the power to grab any listener, and make them drop their jaw in awe of what Kubrick has put onscreen. It’s probably the greatest musical soundtrack ever compiled for a film. Initially, Kubrick was obliged to commission a traditional film score for the movie, and Alex North- who had scored Kubrick’s “Spartacus”- was tapped for the job. But along the way, Kubrick fell in love with the temp pieces he was editing the film to, and at a certain point, North was notified that he wasn’t needed to write any more music. By the time the movie premiered, not a note of his score was left on the soundtrack. Only one recording (a cassette tape made for North at the scoring sessions) was ever made of the music, and that one was lost not long after the disappointment was revealed to North (he was never told his score would go unused before the premiere). However, courtesy of maestro Jerry Goldsmith- himself the finest of all film composers, the National Philharmonic Orchestra, and Robert Townson of the film score distribution label Varese Sarabande, North’s score was re-recorded and released as “Alex North’s 2001” in 1993, which is still available on CD for the curious among you. Though I would have to side with Kubrick’s decision to scrap it in favor of the known soundtrack, it’s still one of the greatest, most distinctly spellbinding musical works I’ve ever heard written for a movie (John Williams’ “A.I.” belongs to this list too, and hearing North’s score again, it can be said Williams was obviously inspired by what he heard when writing for “A.I.”).
Short of seeing it in theaters (in 70mm, as I was most fortunate to do last Monday), the ideal place to experience “2001” for the first time is on DVD. No doubt about it, the big screen is the place to see it first (just remember to get up and stretch during the intermission, as I foolishly forgot to do last Monday), but DVD- or laserdisc even- is a more than acceptable alternative. The 2001 reissue by Warner Bros. features the superb (though not flawless) restoration Kubrick himself supervised, reportedly in the early ’90s, in glorious anamorphic widescreen; it’s the same print that was shown at the Fox last week. (Extras include just the trailer for the film; a previous feature- a Q&A with Arthur C. Clarke- was dropped from the new edition, though I kept my previous DVD purchase of “2001” with the interview on it so as to have it.) And if you haven’t seen the movie, and want to, I’ll do everything in my power to make sure you don’t get away with seeing it on pan-and-scan VHS (if that’s the only medium you have available). I put mine in while watching the newly restored DVD; the picture is such an injustice to Kubrick’s vision. The color was so dark and off in general that I couldn’t stand to look at it any further (granted, this was probably due to the number of times I’d watch the film on VHS also). Avoid it at all costs. But don’t avoid the movie. If you’re interested in the least with science-fiction cinema, it’s one of the pillars of the genre. And hey, it even inspired a sequel; Peter Hyams’ less-wonderous- but still interesting- 1984’s “2010: The Year We Make Contact” (B+), based on the first of three sequel stories written by Clarke (which also include “2061: Odyssey Three” and “3001: The Final Odyssey”), which explains some of the mystery posed by Kubrick’s film, but lacks the film’s bravura storytelling and awe. It also inspired Matt “The Simpsons” Groening’s wickedly funny animated science-fiction comedy “Futurama,” with it’s doofus hero Fry inadvertently ending up in the year 3000, where Earth is now run over with Kubrickian futurist details (suicide booths, alcoholic robots, scientific paradoxes). Some of the funniest episodes have contained hilarious parodies to “2001” which Kubrick- had he lived- would have surely loved, no more so than a trip to Jupiter when the characters bypass a floating monolith which reads “Out of Order,” implying that in the end, the higher race attempting to elevate our intelligence and knowledge, were simply forced to give up. It’s classic Groening subversiveness, and a classic Kubrickian distrust in our ability to evolve.
