Fifty years ago, Stanley Kubrick released one of his most
famous pictures—one that greatly impacted the world of science fiction cinema,
provoked debates and discussion that continue to this day, and overjoyed
hippies of the late sixties who really needed an excuse to trip out in the
movie theater.
I myself watched 2001: A Space Odyssey at a young age, and
though you might think the film isn’t really the sort for sugar-addled tykes, I
found it transfixing in many ways—it helped that I basically grew up on old-school
sci-fi, models on wires and all. A lot of it proved indelible in my memory—and
it introduced me to the masterful way in which Kubrick prints his films into
your mind, be it through innovative techniques, sound, or just having Jack
Nicholson pull faces in front of the camera.
Recently, I watched a restored 70mm print of the film, allowing
me to appreciate even more the model work, landscapes, and photography. Now, of
course, despite all this, there’s still the somewhat divisive nature of the film—that
to many, it might as well be a slideshow of 1960s space concept art.
And in some ways, they’re right. It’s certainly not a
character piece—the closest to a developed one is of course HAL 9000, there in
some ways to question and contrast the humanity of the astronauts themselves.
Then again, it’s not really meant to be—Kubrick was a misantrophic
motherfucker, and the film serves more like a commentary on the evolution of
man, from bashing skulls in with bones, to letting that technology take over, and
then finally being rebirthed. Rebirthed, of course, in a godsend to LSD
connoisseurs of the 60s and 70s—you’re not going to know what the hell you’re
looking at unless you’ve read the simultaneously produced Arthur C. Clarke
novel, but then again, as a kid, that was another thing that got me hooked.
For those wanting a more character-driven version, there was
the eventual sequel, 2010: The Year we make Contact. I thought it was
decent—though much like the original it’s very rooted in its time of 1980s Cold
War. That being said, it has it’s own memorable visual moments and lines, even
if oddly the effects don’t really match up to what Kubrick did a decade or two
before. Still, if you wanted closure on Bowman and Dr. Floyd, I say check it
out.
Clarke produced more instalments in novel form, although to
be honest, though he may have been a master of the genre, they got
progressively worse and obvious cash-ins, culminating in one where he went
‘screw it’ and ripped off Independence Day. I shit you not. In that regard, I’m
thankful that the film counterpart got relatively lucky in terms of unnecessary
sequels. Kubrick never really returned to science fiction, other than working
on most of the script to AI: Artificial Intelligence. Spielberg finished off
that one, and I consider that one a flawed, but earnest piece that was the work
of two friends trying to match one another.
Still—at the end of the day, like it or hate it, 2001
remains a landmark piece, and even if you find it boring—and you’re entitled to
that—nobody can deny the audio and visual moments that have remained memorable
for decades. You can still hear the strange wailing leitmotif of the Monolith,
the steady breathing and calm computer voice of the HAL shutdown, or the Blue
Danube as a shuttle comes in to dock. And for me, the scale and shots do wonders
for expressing both the wonders and terrifying black void of outer space.
And if nothing else? It sure gave us a funny spoof moment on
the Simpsons. So take some potato chips to munch along with the music, and take
the ultimate trip…
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