Subject: Retrospective: 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

From: "Shane Burridge" <[email-masked]>
Date: 7 Jul 2001 03:49:54 GMT

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!"

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