The Artifice of Artificial Intelligence

For a director like Steven Spielberg, the release of A.I. Artificial Intelligence proved a strange choice upon its initial release. It was poorly received at the Box Office, with critics bashing the film for various reasons. Much of that arguably had to do with the film's strange history. It originated as a project by Stanley Kubrick, who was interested in the question of whether it is possible for a machine to become essentially human. He had already explored these ideas through the HAL 9000 computer in 2001: A Space Odyssey, but was interested in going deeper into the psychology of artificial intelligence.

Over the course of his career, Kubrick began trying to find a way to explore this concept. He eventually found a narrative in the short story Super Toys Last All Summer Long and began planning it. Kubrick was also close friends with Steven Spielberg, and suggested a collaboration between the two. Ultimately, Spielberg turned this down. Kubrick still worked extensively on developing his vision of the film. He wrote storyboards, some early drafts of the script, and even tried to find ways to capture the robot child protagonist. His first idea was to have David played by an animatronic, allowing for him to display an uncanny appearance.

When this proved costly, he considered CGI after seeing it used to make dinosaurs in Jurassic Park. Eventually, it became clear that David would have to be played by a child actor. This in turn was also one of the main reasons Kubrick turned to Spielberg. In the amount of time it took Kubrick to make a film, the child cast as David could age enough that he looks noticeably different from when the film started production. Spielberg, being credited as the man responsible for the modern blockbuster, was much faster. He could cast an actor and film the movie in a much shorter period of time.

The collaboration was later revisited, with Kubrick enticing Spielberg with an opening credit: "Stanley Kubrick presents a Steven Spielberg film." Kubrick planned to start working on the film after he finished Eyes Wide Shut, but he died before production could begin. Spielberg was now left alone, and after being encouraged by Kubrick's family, decided to continue the project. It was a very daring move on his part. Spielberg had to take everything his friend had designed and somehow make a film out of it. After writing a draft of the screenplay based on Kubrick's notes, Spielberg began production.

This has inevitably resulted in a notable controversy. Is AI Artificial Intelligence a Spielberg or a Kubrick film. One could argue either way. It is true that Spielberg was the one who completed the film, but it was based in large part on the vision Kubrick had spent years developing. This dual authorship is alluded to in the opening credits, which identify the movie as "An Amblin/Stanley Kubrick Production." (Amblin is Spielberg's production company, named after one of his first projects). While Spielberg wrote the final draft of the script, the story was designed by Kubrick. Even the often-despised final act where David is found buried in the ice, was based on ideas designed by Kubrick.

Now it would be improper to say that AI Artificial Intelligence lacks the trademarks of a Spielberg film. Even the use of a repetitive title calls to mind the similarly-named E.T. The Extraterrestrial. However, the themes and ideas explored are very much those of Stanley Kubrick. It presents the final chapter in a long series of films that bring out the very simple question of what it means to be human. Throughout Kubrick's career, he explores themes of humanity, both in questioning its nature and in its loss. In his first feature Fear and Desire, a group of soldiers struggle to control their own feelings while under stress. Paths of Glory forces the viewer to question just what it means to be brave, while also showing the human lives wasted in fighting a pointless war. Spartacus sees an army of slaves trying to find an identity for themselves. 2001: A Space Odyssey asks just how advanced a machine can become before it is considered essentially human. In A Clockwork Orange, Kubrick showed how forcing a person to change their nature destroys them. Full Metal Jacket shows a group of ordinary people gradually losing themselves as they are turned into killing machines. Finally, Eyes Wide Shut brings the nature of love into question, and shows how people are driven by their sexual urges. Had he lived to begin production, AI Artificial Intelligence would have simply been the latest incarnation of a theme that had fascinated Kubrick from the beginning.

The plot of AI Artificial Intelligence revolves around robotics. During the film's opening, an unseen narrator (who is not revealed until the final act) explains that in the near future the polar ice caps have melted, flooding much of the world. The government is enforcing birth control regulations, and thousands of people have been displaced by the flooding. As a result of all the social problems occurring, robots have become an essential part of the economy and the workforce.This is hardly an optimistic moment. Already, we realize things are bad enough for the human characters in the film, to say nothing of what will be faced by the robot who will guide us through this world.

The press conference that begins the film's story sets the tone for much of the rest of the film. We meet a scientist named "Dr. Hobby" (William Hurt) who shows the progress that has been made in the robotics industry. He does this, fittingly enough, with a female android. At first she blends in with the others at the meeting, facing away from the camera. It is only when Dr. Hobby begins to show his control over her that she becomes apparent. He orders her to undress, and she has no choice but to follow his orders. For all intents and purposes, she is his slave. Much like how Spartacus was bought and trained to follow orders, this android was built and programmed to do as Hobby asks.

The slave metaphor goes even further when David encounters an old scrapyard. He witnesses a truck dumping a pile of old mechanical parts into a ditch. These old pieces are presumably left over from robots were were found to no longer be useful and subsequently destroyed. Humans see machines as lesser beings only to be kept around as long as they are useful. What is shown is essentially a robot mass grave, not unlike those used by the Nazis to dispose Holocaust victims. David is not alone in this scene, either. He also encounters a group of old worn-down robots who, like dumpster divers, desperately search the remains for spare parts. The fact that many of these robots are in such poor condition that they have to resort to grave robbing just to survive shows humanity's disregard to their well-being as soon as they stop being useful.

Finally, these robots, who are minding their own business, are the victims of slavery by way of the "Flesh Fair," a carnival-like event with an emphasis on the destruction of old robots. In order to find participants, ringmaster Lord Johnson-Johnson (Brendan Gleeson) sweeps the surrounding area in an airship, using a large net and a group of motorcyclists to round up any robots he finds and bring them in. In other words, robots are taken against their will for no other reason than because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. At the carnival, Johnson-Johnson also states that the event is designed to embrace the imagined superiority of humans, emphasizing further the bigotry going on. This idea of promoting human superiority by destroying robots is really not much different from a lynching at a Klu Klux Klan rally to emphasize the alleged dangers of racial integration.

It is strange and ironic then that what Dr. Hobby proposes is the idea of a robot who is capable of loving. He wants to design a robot that is programmed with "everlasting love" and bases its appearance on his own dead son. Hobby appears to believe that the emotions shown by his android slave are nothing more than imitations, and wants to go what he believes is a step further by creating a machine capable of real emotions. Hobby only seems to be interested in seeing if such a creation is possible. When a woman at the conference questions whether the fact that they can build such a machine automatically means they should, Hobby dodges the question.

This calls back to the HAL 9000 computer in 2001. During a BBC broadcast of the Discovery mission, the question comes up if HAL really thinks and feels or if he merely acts like he does. David Bowman (Keir Dullea) points out that this is a question nobody can really answer, but he feels as though HAL is a sixth member of the crew. Likewise, the audience is also left to think about this on a philosophical level. However, the film does seem to support the idea that HAL does think and feel on at least some level.  While HAL speaks in a consistently monotone voice (famously delivered by Douglas Rain), he does show that he appears to have a consciousness.

HAL is also interviewed in the BBC broadcast and speaks fondly of the Discovery's crew. Later, we also see him casually greeting Dr. Bowman and complimenting his sketches. Bowman also has no issue with this, agreeing to show HAL his sketches and even moving them closer so that he can get a better view. This early moment is conveying a sense of camaraderie between man and machine. Bowman treats HAL as he would a human crew member; exactly the opposite of the humans depicted in AI Artificial Intelligence. It is shown that HAL is capable of feeling (being able to recognize Bowman's artistic talents as well as express concerns about the mission), and that he is capable of developing relationships.

It is true that HAL goes on to begin murdering the crew of Discovery, but on some level this makes him all the more human. While the film does not explicitly state the reason for HAL's malfunction, it is given in both the novelization and the sequels: he was given a series of conflicting orders (providing accurate and reliable information while also keeping details of the mission secret) and finds himself confused about how to reconcile them. When Bowman speaks privately with his second-in-command Dr. Poole (Gary Lockwood) in the EVA pod, HAL reads their lips and becomes afraid of deactivation. Bowman and Poole both speak of HAL like a medical patient in critical condition, unsure of whether he will recover and how to proceed if the worst happens.

HAL sees disconnection as equivalent to death; he subsequently panics and commits what is essentially a crime of passion in self-defense. What becomes more interesting is when Bowman finds himself the only remaining crew member. He dons a spacesuit and enters HAL's memory core while the computer is desperately pleading for his life. It is somewhat ambiguous, but HAL appears to be displaying signs of guilt over his actions. If indeed his murders were a crime of passion committed while he was not thinking clearly, he is now starting to come to his senses and recognize what has happened. In any case, HAL remains scared of his own fate, but the danger he has already posed leaves Bowman no choice but to dispose of him.

Bowman's relationship to HAL actually bears a surprising resemblance to that of David and Monica (Frances O'Connor). Like HAL, David is a machine who becomes part of a family. He is initially constructed as an experimented, and tested as a substitute for Monica's son (who has been put into stasis for an indefinite time due to his life-threatening disease). Monica is, like the audience, unsure about David at first. His strange robotic mannerisms and ability to move around the house undetected makes her uncomfortable. Despite this, Monica comes to accept David as her own child, even giving him a friend in the form of a robot Teddy (Jack Angel). Even after Martin returns home, she is the one person who tries to accept David as part of the family. It is the distrust of his father Henry (Sam Robards) and Martin's refusal to accept his "brother" that lead to her having to lose David.

In both cases, it is the person closest to the machine who must ultimately destroy it. Bowman is shown to have an emotional connection with HAL, and he displays noticeable fear when disconnecting him. This is not unjustified, as he is presumably experiencing a mix of emotions. There is the obvious fear of being alone and the shock of losing his crewmates, but there is also his previous relationship with HAL. Making matters worse is that technically Dave is unable to kill HAL so much as lobotomize him. He has to cut off his own friend's higher brain functions while he slowly pleads for his life. All Dave can do is stay focused while trying not to make things worse. The only comfort that can come is when HAL relates his "birth" and offers a distraction for both by singing a song he was taught by his programmer.

Similarly, it is Monica who takes the responsibility for removing David. Henry might have been very cold and casual about taking David to the factory where he was made, and Martin might even have enjoyed it. However, even here Monica displays some compassion for David. She tries to make it easier for him, setting up the trip as a one-on-one family outing. Just as Bowman had trouble disconnecting HAL, Monica has trouble losing David. Unlike Bowman, she ultimately cannot go through with destroying something she loves, and instead chooses to abandon him. Even this is not easy, though. David is shown desperately pleading for his mother to keep him much like HAL pleading not to be disconnected. In both cases, the machines show their humanity through fear.

Monica does try to make it easier for David, calmly explaining to him what is happening and letting him keep Teddy; as well as leaving him money and trying to advise him on how to look after himself. Just like Hal's singing of "Daisy" these provide only a small amount of comfort. Hal's singing is able to calm Bowman enough to finish his job, and keeps him distracted, but it does little to ease the tension of the lone survivor being forced to lobotomize his only remaining friend. Likewise, Monica's attempts to give David the means to start a new life also do little to change his emotional state. It is through such a moment that the machine is able to show its humanity.

It is also through an act of human error that the machine becomes dangerous. Both HAL and David are victims of their own programming. David is programmed with the ability to love, but it works too well. Because of his programming, David is unable to understand anything other than earning his mother's love. HAL was given conflicting orders, and believed he needed to defend himself when he thought the Discovery crew were going to disconnect him. Just like HAL, David is also provoked by humans. Martin is responsible for psychologically tormenting him by convincing Monica to read them Pinocchio, giving David the idea that the Blue Fairy can turn him into a "real live boy." Martin's friends are also responsible for scaring David and his near-drowning, the final act that leads to his being cast out of the family.

This conflict between humanity and artificial intelligence is one that has become a common theme in science fiction. John Carpenter would later borrow it in his 1974 comedy Dark Star. This time around, the artificial intelligence emerged in the form of talking bombs. In this case, the inability of humans to co-exist with machines becomes a source of humor. Unlike HAL, Bomb 20 (Adam Beckenbaugh) is designed to explode making its emotions far more dangerous and yet still human. Like HAL or even David, the bomb is shown to have feelings. It shows excitement upon being deployed, and expresses frustration whenever the computer orders it to return to the ship.

The most famous moment, of course, comes when Lt. Doolittle (Brian Narelle) must face the bomb at the end. In keeping with the themes of human error, this machine has gone unnoticed by the crew until now. The bomb has a very clear desire to explode, to the point where it has no regard for the safety of the crew. This is likely a flaw in programming, but it is also here that the bomb strangely becomes human. Lt. Doolittle approaches the bomb, and begins teaching it the fundamentals of rationalist thinking. Bomb 20 shows its humanity by being able to engage in a philosophical discussion (even if it does not fully understand what its discussing), at one point quoting Descartes: "I think therefore I am." The bomb is capable of independent thought, and is in fact smarter than it appears. Of course, in a humorous twist, this ends up backfiring on the crew when the bomb's interest in rationalism leads it to conclude that they are "false data" before detonating inside the ship.

This idea of a machine acting human becomes a major theme in both the second and third acts of AI Artificial Intelligence. In the second act, the viewer is introduced to Gigolo Joe (Jude Law) a robot prostitute who despite the allegations of Dr. Hobby (who maintained that robots made before David cannot actually feel) does act remarkably human. He is shown enthusiastically engaging with clients, and apparently does such a good job he has to deal with multiple women across different locations in one night. He has a pager which lets him know when there is work to be done, marches through the streets, and even stops to casually greet his female counterpart Gigolo Jane (Ashley Scott). This exchange is brief, but the enthusiasm the two show suggests a friendship between colleagues. Finally, when Joe discovers that his latest client has been murdered, he is genuinely panicked.

It only makes sense that a character like Joe should become a father figure for David. While it is true that he is a very eccentric individual and not even that intelligent (he does after all believe David's claim that "the Blue Fairy" can turn him into a real boy) he develops a close bond with him. When David voices his desire to become a "real live boy" Joe immediately agrees to assist him. These two machines, supposedly unable to think, are forming a close friendship. Joe could have left David and tried to continue his work as a prostitute, but instead he becomes interested in assisting another person like himself. While his solution of asking a program called "Dr. Know" (Robin Williams) might not be the most practical choice, he is showing a newfound loyalty to his friend which might not have been in his original programming. While speaking to Dr. Know, Gigolo Joe and David both have to work together to find the right questions.

When Joe and David go to the flooded ruins of Manhattan, there is a reveal that challenges David's understanding of the world around him. He arrives at the office where he was created, and discovers an identical robot, who is quickly destroyed. David is faced with the possibility that, contrary to what he has been told, he is not special or unique. However, this may not be entirely true. David is showing his humanity at this moment, as for the first time showing that he is capable of anger, but more interesting is the behavior of his double. The two Davids are exact opposites of each other. The David encountered at the office proves to be friendly, enjoys reading, and has no issue with seeing a copy of himself. The David the viewer has followed is much more impulsive, refuses to accept another copy of himself and eventually resorts to murder. Even though these two may look the same, they have shown very different personalities, suggesting that David is more unique than he appears.

However, the true extent of how far these ideas can go is not made evident until the third and final act of the film. At this point, David has managed to find a statue of the Blue Fairy, but becomes trapped underwater for two thousand years, during which time he continues to ask the Blue Fairy to transform him until he runs out of power and shuts down. The movie then jumps ahead to a distant future where humanity has become extinct and a new ice age is underway. With their creators gone, the robots have taken over. Two thousand years later, the descendants of these robots have evolved into an advanced race of beings (who were often mistaken for aliens by the film's initial audience).

An expedition manages to uncover David and Teddy, as well as reactivate both. Their initial motivation is pure scientific interest. The fact that David resembles a human, and would have had memories of being around humans proves to be a remarkable discovery for these robots, who have been studying their creators. However, they do not simply exploit David and discard him when they are finished. Instead, they try to assist him. To do this, they create a virtual replica of David's home. Much like David Bowman before him, this functions as a means to ease his transition into a new world, and eventually to motivate a transformation. The robots initially refrain from speaking to David in person, instead communicating through a projection of the Blue Fairy (Meryl Streep) who eventually "agrees" to briefly resurrect Monica.

The robots depicted here deliver the most compassion David is able to experience in the entire film. Only one is given any major focus, an official voiced by Ben Kingsley (who has also served as the film's narrator, creating the impression that the entire film has been him looking back on the past). This particular individual becomes a new parental substitute for David, being the one member of his race to directly confront him and doing what he can to improve his well-being. He is the one who ultimately decides to clone David's mother (though not without first making sure he understands she can only live for one day) and letting him have the happiest moment of his life.

Throughout the film, David has understood little more than the love for his mother, but now he begins to show that his feelings are much more complex. He is seen playing with a toy spaceship and finds it reminds him of the amphibicopter Joe used to take him to Manhattan. When he spends the day with his mother, the narrator mentions that he was not allowed to tell her what was happening, but he still draws inspiration from his journey. He is shown painting pictures of Joe, as well as other encounters he has experienced over the course of the film. As the day comes to an end, David is able to experience a moment that was forbidden by the society into which he was born: his mother expressing her love for him.

This is what he has always wanted, and it sets up the narrator's final lines: "So David went to sleep too, and for the first time in his life, he entered that place where dreams are made." It is a strange line, often interpreted as meaning his death, but it is something else. David has finally managed to find closure. The narrator refers to "dreams," as in other than being loved. This experience has finally allowed David to move on. He has wanted to become a real boy, and in a manner of speaking, the robots have allowed him to do so. He cannot be literally transformed, but they have allowed him to move past love, allowing him to grow up (although being a robot he will still retain the outward appearance of a child). In that sense, he is finally learning to think beyond his programming, and may even be able to live a good in this future life just as Monica wanted.

This is not unlike the ending of 2001: A Space Odyssey, when David Bowman finds himself carried through the "Star Gate" and brought to a hotel room, likewise meant to assist him with a transformation. This room, presumably constructed by the aliens, serves to make it easier for him to make contact. It is also in this room that Bowman metaphorically "grows up" on a larger scale. In this case, his grown involves experiencing a rapid evolution, where he alone learns what is in store for humanity's future (represented by his transformation into a fetus). It is not clear exactly what this entails, but a new world has opened up for Bowman, just as later would for David.

AI Artificial Intelligence depicts this same journey. What 2001: A Space Odyssey did for humans, AI Artificial Intelligence does the same for robots. The final product may have been directed by Spielberg, but it is very much a Kubrick film. The themes of human nature and just what it means to be human presented here are the ultimate extent of a lifetime of movies on the subject. From Fear and Desire to Eyes Wide Shut Kubrick has studied human nature, and AI Artificial Intelligence is no exception. He shows human nature, both the positive and negative, but also how in the end there is no reason to assume machines cannot think or feel. If anything, Kubrick is more worried about how humanity would treat artificially intelligent machines if they were to be made than how they would treat their creators.

War Movie Week: Paths of Glory (World War I)

Stanley Kubrick has something of a reputation for his criticisms of war. Across his entire body of work, the themes of war's dehumanization and its pointlessness recur. These included his very first feature film Fear and Desire, as well as his later dark comedy Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb and his Vietnam War movie Full Metal Jacket, but nowhere is that more clear than the film that first established Kubrick as an auteur, Paths of Glory.

While Kubrick criticized war in many of his films, none were quite so direct nor so bleak as his simple but effective vision of World War I, which highlights the pointlessness and futility of war. In its own day, Paths of Glory sparked a huge controversy upon release. It was banned in France due to its negative treatment of the French military, and Germany to maintain positive relations with France. Even several decades after its initial release, Paths of Glory is often considered one of the most effective anti-war film.

It is fitting that Kubrick should explore such themes by choosing one of the most pointless conflicts to have ever occurred in human history. World War I was the unfortunate end of over a decade of political tensions and imperialist desires that only needed a final spark to be put into action. That came in the form of the assassination of Austro-Hungarian Archduke Franz Ferdinand, which provoked a war with Syria and caused a chain reaction that led to half of Europe being engulfed in the conflict.

This was a war like no human being had ever seen, especially with the then-radical weapons it produced such as tanks. It also marked the first time air planes were used in combat. When it first broke out, there was an optimistic attitude among the public. Men were pressured to enlist or else be labelled as "cowards" by their peers. In 1914, they were promised a glorious battle that would end before Christmas. In reality those who were not killed within moments of their first exposure to combat would have to endure four harsh years living in the miserable conditions of their trenches while the generals remained safe behind the lines.

Many of these generals were not accostomed to this new kind of warfare. They had their roots in the very different world of the Victorian Era, and were attempting to adapt tactics that had become long obsolete. While they tried to plan for their own gain, men were fighting and dying on the front lines for small patches of land. The lucky ones were those who could live miserably in trenches. The less fortunate Canadians who fought at the Battle of Passchendale lacked even the cover of trenches, and had no choice but to fight in and risk drowning in deep mud.

To add insult to injury, there was also the Treaty of Versailles which ended the war. This "treaty" consisted of delegates from England, France, and Russia (all of whom were on the same side) meeting and deciding that someone had to be blamed for the war, and it was decided that Germany was responsible. This subsequently led to a series of decisions that would bankrupt the German economy, a factor that twenty years later would unwittingly contribute to setting the stage for World War II.

Paths of Glory is hardly subtle about its bleak view of the war. Right from the beginning there is an obvious divide between the generals who give the orders, and the men who carry them out. The opening scene sees two generals discussing a plan to take "The Anthill" (a heavily fortified German position). General Mireau (George Macready) initially claims to care about his soldiers, but as he speaks with General Broulard (Adolphe Menjou) the two of them quickly become interested in taking the Anthill at all costs.

Mireau continues to maintain the illusion of concern by visiting the trench. When Mireau addresses the soldiers, he identifies several as "good" men before approaching one man who is irresponsive (Fred Bell). The man in question is suffering from a psychological condition that has long affected soldiers in combat. There are documented cases of this particular condition happening at least as early as the American Civil War, but it was not until World War I that it was given a name: "Shell shock." Today the same condition is understood as post-traumatic stress disorder. It often affects survivors of traumatic or life-threatening experiences, often but not always associated with returning soldiers.

Unfortunately, during World War I, such an understanding was not in place. Psychology was still in its earliest stages, dominated largely by Sigmund Freud's original concept of psychoanalysis (which, while not completely obsolete, is far more complicated than he realized). PTSD, or "shell-shock" as it was still known, was seen as nothing short of a sign of cowardice. This is brought up in the film when Mireau encounters one such case, denies that "shell shock" exists, and then orders a sergeant to have "this baby" transferred from the unit. He and another officer go on to discuss the potential danger of soldiers with PSTD "contaminating" the rest of the unit.

It is here that he meets Colonel Dax (Kirk Douglas) and briefs him on the mission. The two of them feign respect, but there is already a clear split. Mireau's bright and shiny uniform serves as a sharp contrast to the dirty fatigues worn by the soldiers in the trench. The earlier confrontations have already established that the respect these two men share is nothing more than an illusions. The General is merely interested in the possibility of a promotion, while Dax actually understands the reality of the war.

It is worth noting that little is shown of the Anthill. The viewer only catches a brief glimpse from a distance, during which only the basic structure is seen. The film refrains from showing a single enemy soldier. This seems like a curious choice, but it is also quite fitting. By showing so little of the Anthill, it becomes much harder to see why the Generals are so obsessed with it. This therefore puts the viewer in the shoes of the soldiers, who will soon be ordered to attack it without any real understanding of what will be accomplished by doing so.

Even Mireau barely seems to think much of the Anthill. He discusses it as little more than a property to be obtained. When briefing Dax, he goes on to casually recite percentages of how many soldiers he thinks will die as though he were merely calculating prices for real estate. It is obvious that he does not care as much about his soldiers as he would like them to think. He envisions them as being brave warriors, with one of his officers even claiming that his visits to the trench improve morale. The reality is exactly the opposite, the soldiers are human beings who are afraid of being killed in action. In 1916, after the high casualties of  conflicts like Vimy Ridge and Passchendale, this would hardly an unjustified feeling.

There are two major sequences that depict No Man's Land, the barren wasteland that divides the two sides of World War I, both of which continue to highlight problems within the military. In the first of these two, a group of three soldiers embark on a reconnaissance mission. They are led by Lieutenant Roget, who makes no secret of the fact that he has been drinking. This mission is a disaster. Their efforts results in Roget throwing a grenade and accidentally killing one of his own men. When the other surviving soldier, Corporal Paris (Ralph Meeker) calls Roget out on this, the latter pulls rank in order to press the former into keeping quiet, and he even goes as far as to falsify a report to deny any mistakes.

Roget may be a man on the battlefield, but he is still an officer, and already he is foreshadowing the very same attitudes the viewer will soon come to recognize in the generals. Roget has no concern for the war, he is merely looking out for himself. Instead of taking responsibility for the accidental death of a fellow scout, he opts to cover up any trace that the incident happened at all. Roget is merely trying to protect his own image by falsifying his report and denying his incompetence, much as Mireau will do on a larger scale later in the film. In other words, he is a coward.

The second of these two sequences is the actual battle. This particular sequence was very daring for its time, and was likely an inspiration for many later iconic battle sequences such as the famous Omaha Beach sequence that opens Saving Private Ryan. The sequence begins with Dax marching through the trenches before he climbs a ladder and blows a whistle, a signal for the soldiers to move. Unfortunately, the battle quickly descends into total chaos. The focus is purely on Dax, making it hard to tell precisely what is going on in the overall battle.

Even Dax himself quickly gets lost. When he finds himself back in the trenches, he makes a desperate attempt to lead the soldiers out, but this proves impossible due to the enemy's heavy fire. Dax is doing as he is instructed, giving his best effort, and still General Mireau is furious. Mireau becomes increasingly desperate. From the safety of his bunker, Mireau watches the battle and complains that several of his men are still in the trenches (because the enemy's guns are making it impossible to leave).  The general is desperate to avoid failure, he even goes as far as to order artillery Captain Rousseau (John Stein) to fire on his soldiers in an effort to force them out of the trenches. When Rousseau refuses, Mireau threatens him with execution by firing squad.

He then demands that 100 soldiers be court-martialed for "cowardice in the face of the enemy." Ironically, this reluctance to admit to his mistake confirms that Mireau himself is indeed a coward who do anything to protect his reputation. At this point, the trenches are left behind and the rest of the film becomes about the court-martial. Generals Mireau and Broulard casually discuss the situation over dinner with Dax present. Both generals seem to maintain that "cowardice" was shown by the soldiers and that someone has got to pay the price. Broulard has no concern about the fact that someone is to face execution so much as he is about making sure that they execute just the right amount of people to have their intended effect. The two generals show a complete lack of understanding of what has actually been happening on the battlefield with their desire to "maintain discipline."

It is also obvious that the court martial is rigged. The outcome is clearly decided in advance. It was only a formality that Dax was even permitted to make an attempt to defend the three soldiers who are finally selected as the accused. None of these men have done anything to warrant execution by firing squad. It is implied that Paris was selected by Roget to prevent him from testifying about the latter's actions during the scouting mission. Arnaud (Joe Turkel) is chosen by lottery, and any effort to point out he has been commended twice for bravery is ignored by the court. The last man, Ferol (Timothy Carey), is only chosen by his commanding officer because he is a "social undesirable."

When the "trial" begins, it becomes clear that the prosecution is ready to do anything to find the defendants guilty. The three men relate their experiences in the taking of the Anthill, all of which are distorted to make them sound like cowards. Dax is quick to question each of them and note that this was not in fact the case. Of the three men, one only turned back because he was alone and had no chance of taking the Anthill, one only managed to get part of the way out of the trench before he was forced back in, and one was knocked unconscious after another soldier was shot and fell on top of him.

All of these accounts are dismissed by the judge (Peter Capell) with Dax as the only one who is able to call them out on the pointlessness of this trial. It is obvious that this is a hopeless case, and that the officers overseeing it are merely acting under Mireau's orders. Atticus Finch of To Kill a Mockingbird had a better chance of convincing the jury than Dax has with all his years of legal experience. The men are subsequently sentenced to firing squad, a sentence that remains even after one of them is injured and fractures their skull.

Amidst the hopelessness, Dax is able to get one small emotional victory against the selfish officers. He does this by confronting Roget, whose actions he now knows thanks to Paris. Instead of directly accusing Roget, Dax feigns ignorance and instead gives him a special responsibility: putting him in charge of the firing squad. This may seem counter-intuitive to his goals, but there is a good reason for Dax to make this choice. Immediately upon being given this responsibility, Roget tries to get out of it. In other words, he does not care about the fact that one of his men is being executed to preserve his image, he just doesn't want to be the one to kill him. Placing Roget in charge is Dax's small way of exposing the hypocrisy of the generals, and his way of confirming that his officer is indeed a coward. Being forced to face the task of shooting one of his own is the price Roget must pay to escape the consequences of his actions.

There is a small grain of hope that emerges once Dax learns that Mireau ordered the artillery to fire on his soldiers. This was a detail that Mireau had largely aimed to suppress, even dismissing Rousseau's earlier attempt to testify and covering it up as a "shell shortage." Dax is able to get statements and brings them to General Broulard, hoping that exposing Mireau will free his men. Unfortunately, the desired last-minute reprieve fails to arrive. This small glimmer of hope fails to prevent the execution, and instead becomes a final means of exposing the generals as hypocritical cowards.

Broulard had the ability to stop the execution. He had the proof that Mireau had ordered his artillery to fire on his own soldiers, and could have saved the lives of the three soldiers, but does not take it. Instead, Dax finds Mireau and Broulard eating a large dinner and talking about how well the execution went. Mireau boasts that the men "died well" to Dax's irritation. It is only now that Broulard decides to use Dax's information against Mireau, but his only concern is the one specific action. Broulard shows little concern for the people who have just been killed.

It is in this conversation that the hypocrisy of the generals is finally exposed. Mireau accuses Broulard of betraying him, declaring himself "the only innocent man in this entire affair," as well as trying to deny his actions on the battlefield, this coming from the man who is let three innocent people die to preserve his reputation. Broulard is hardly better, missing the point of what Dax has been trying to do by cheerfully offering to let him replace Mireau. It then becomes clear that Broulard sees Dax no differently than Mireau; a wealthy officer looking to advance his status. Dax finally takes this moment to call out Broulard, who goes on to ask what he has done wrong.

This final question quickly catches the attention of both Dax and the audience. Broulard acts as though nothing has happened. This man could have easily saved the lives of three innocent men, and apparently never even considered it. This insane obliviousness is pointed out by Dax upon hearing the general ask what he did wrong: "If you don't know the answer to that question, than I pity you." Everything that has happened has been pointless. Nothing of any value has been accomplished by anyone, just as the entirety of World War I itself, and war in general, often proves to be nothing more than people forced to kill each other for nothing.

This in turn leads to the movie's final scene, which presents the closest thing the viewer will see to an enemy soldier. During these famous last moments, a group of soldiers are gathered in a small tavern where a performer brings out a German (Christiane Harlan, Kubrick's future wife),  for them to see. She is not a soldier of any kind, merely a frightened civilian caught up in the war against her will. It is obvious that she does not want to be here, yet the men express great joy and excitement upon seeing her. She is pressed into singing, and performs a song in German. This is not a glamorous performance. She is obviously scared as she sings, and performs alone, with no musical accompaniment.

Instead, music is created by the humming of the soldiers as they listen to her performance. One by one, their tone changes, and some of them begin crying. This brief but memorable sequence shows definitively that the nation that has been labelled the enemy is made up of human beings, no different from any of the soldiers present, who are all regular people stuck in a war they do not understand. This final scene shows just how pointless the whole war is, even giving the men present a moment of self-realization as they come to recognize themselves as not being much different from the frightened young woman in front of them.

There is a reason Paths of Glory has gained such a reputation as an anti-war film. It is a movie whose messages of the futility of war still hold up effectively today. World War I may be over, but these same messages are still relevant to the numerous other conflicts that have continued over the years. In the end, war is pointless. It involves innocent people being forced to kill each other for reasons they do not understand, and in the end nothing is accomplished.

Blindspot: The Killing (1956)

I've made no secret on my blog of the fact that Stanley Kubrick is one of my all-time favorite directors, but until very recently there were still two of his movies that had eluded me. These were his second and third films: Killer's Kiss and The Killing. Both naturally seemed like logical choices for the 2015 Blindspot Challenge, but ultimately it was The Killing that made it onto the final list. I saw Killer's Kiss last week, so this was the last Kubrick film I had not already seen, at least out of his feature films (I still need to see his early documentary work), and now I can say I've seen them all. So far, the only other director for whom I could make the same claim is David Lynch, who I might know better than Kubrick now as I've not only seen all of his features but also most of his shorts, a large portion of his television work, his paintings, and his various bizarre web shows like Dumbland and Rabbits that sometimes get even weirder than his movies.

The Killing was Kubrick's third feature, after presenting an unusual war story in Fear and Desire and somehow getting away with quite a few violations of the Production Code in Killer's Kiss. Johnny Clay (Sterling Hayden, who would later work with Kubrick again in Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb) is a criminal mastermind who has planned a brilliant heist on a local racetrack. He has assembled a crew of tough men, including corrupt cop Randy Kennan (Ted De Corsia). He has an in-depth understanding of how the race track works and has figured out every angle necessary to steal a large amount of money, with every person having a role to play. However, one of the participants, George Peatty (Elisha Cook Jr.) accidentally mentions it to his wife Sherry, who much to his frustration refuses to be submit to him and be a typical 1950's housewife. What George doesn't know is that Sherry is having an affair with another criminal named Val (Vince Edwards), who she informs about the planned heist. The job goes off perfectly, but afterwards complications turn what would have been a successful heist into a bloodbath (and a pretty gory one for 1956).

So how did I feel about seeing this film? I'm not entirely sure. This post has actually proven to be very hard to write since I don't really have a lot of specific comments related to the film. It's okay, but Kubrick would go on to do far better (2001: A Space Odyssey being a standout example). Personally I would say I enjoyed Killer's Kiss a lot more. Sterling Hayden delivers a reasonable performance that makes his character interesting enough, and Sherry makes for a decent femme fatale antagonist. However, the rest of the cast isn't really all that memorable. For one thing, I didn't feel like Marvin's role in the whole operation was very well explained; he was apparently supposed to be financing the heist somehow... but they were planning to steal money so spending money to steal money seems a bit redundant, and I'm not sure why he was helping them either since he seemed to be doing okay for himself.

The actual heist was still fairly well-executed. Kubrick really defied the Studio System this time around by presenting a narrative that jumps back and forth through time (though a voice-over narration helps to establish when everything happens in relation to each other). Taking this approach, he is able to spend time focusing on each individual involved with the crime and illustrate their role in the heist. Once it's done, it makes sense why each person was involved and what they contributed (except Marvin, who I still feel they could have explained better). It also gives time to focus on developing each of the individual characters, and in some cases the problems they encountered (one guy ends up in the awkward situation of having to pretend to be racist to get a parking attendant to leave him alone; this strategy also ends up backfiring in an unexpected way). Still, as interesting as all this was, I can't say I ever felt emotionally invested with anyone in particular.

In addition to that, I think the ending may have been a little contrived. They set up a plot thread with Val, but he only shows up in two scenes. He appears near the beginning when he finds out about the heist and decides to get involved, and then they forget about him until he suddenly shows up again at the very end and there's a shootout that somehow ends up killing everyone. It didn't seem clear from the editing so when everyone suddenly turned up dead it was a bit confusing. There is a bit of comedic value to how Johnny Clay is eventually caught, but even that seemed a little contrived. I get why it ended this way: it wasn't unusual for noir films of the time, especially those centering on criminals, to have a "crime doesn't pay" message at the end (usually involving the deaths of said criminals), I just wonder if there might have been a better way to do it.

The Killing is an interesting experience, and I'm glad I saw it, but I don't think this really strikes me as Kubrick's finest work. Of course, even a great director has to start somewhere, and Kubrick seems to be doing his best with the source material and working under the Production Code, but this is probably a very good example of Kubrick's biggest difficulty in his early career: he always needed complete control over everything, and he probably did not get that here. Still, The Killing does have its merits and it isn't that long a film so I'd say it is still worth looking at if you get the chance.

Love is a Killer

Every director has his or her own unique style. This is where the whole concept of auteur theory, first pioneered by French critics such as Francois Truffaut and, somewhat unfortunately, Jean-Luc Godard, originates. While it is debatable whether the director should in fact be considered the "author" of a film (one could make a good case for why that label should instead go to the screenwriter), there are patterns to be observed among a director's work. No two directors are the same (though often they may influence each other), and once you know their style it becomes easy to recognize.

In the case of these early critics, they learned to see patterns in the films of Hollywood directors like John Ford, Howard Hawks, and Alfred Hitchcock. Today, anyone well versed in their films could easily distinguish a John Carpenter film from a movie by David Lynch or Quentin Tarantino. What those patterns are will vary. It may be in terms of the content of their films, such as Tarantino's use of gore. It could be in the environment such as Carpenter's love for claustrophobic environments. It could be in terms of narrative, such as Tarantino's trademark of non-linear storytelling. It could be in terms of themes, such as Lynch's habit of making films about seemingly ideal communities that turn out to have a hidden darker side. It might even be as simple as the director having certain actors they routinely cast, such as Tarantino and Harvey Keitel or Lynch and Laura Dern.

However, for every director, their style has to develop. For this reason, it is often interesting to look back at their earlier films and compare it to their later work. In some cases it is more obvious than others. Reservoir Dogs is more clearly a Tarantino film than Dark Star is a Carpenter film. Still, there is one director who has eluded such easy categorization: Stanley Kubrick. Kubrick was such as versatile director that his style is almost impossible to clearly define. He had ideas that occasionally popped up, certain forms of iconography that would become trademarks, such as the use of long and narrow spaces and the famous "Kubrick stare". However, this does not start to appear until fairly late in his career.

Killer's Kiss was Kubrick's second feature film. Prior to this one, Kubrick's only feature film had been the independently-produced Fear and Desire (a film he would later try to disown to the point where it would not see a legal DVD release until over a decade after his death). Killer's Kiss is a bit more straight forward compared to Fear and Desire, and was made with better production values. It might not be Kubrick's strongest film, but it was the movie responsible for bringing him into the mainstream and launch a directorial career that would last for 44 years.

Davy Gordon (Jamie Smith) is a washed-up boxer trying to figure out what he wants to do with himself. He still takes parts in fights from time to time (leading to what would have been a very daring fight scene for the era). He is thinking about going home to see his parents on their ranch, but then he hears his neighbor Gloria Price (Irene Kane) screaming after an encounter with her boss Vincent Raphello (Frank Silvera), who is basically committing sexual harassment (at a time when that sort of behavior was easier to get away with). Davy finds himself sympathizing with Gloria, who has had a difficult life, and decides to help after quickly falling in love. However, Vincent does not take kindly to this development, and tries to pull them apart, even going as far as to frame Davy for murder.

It is definitely hard to spot any of Kubrick's early trademarks here. It certainly does not look like a film by the man who would go on to direct films like 2001: A Space Odyssey, Barry Lyndon, and Eyes Wide Shut. There isn't much of the narrow corridors, the bathroom scenes, or even the famed "Kubrick Stare" that would become associated with his later films. There is, however, one thing about Killer's Kiss that does resemble Kubrick's other films, if a very general aspect: it demonstrates his constant refusal to conform to standard filmmaking practices. In that sense, this film is actually quite impressive.

Fear and Desire was first released in 1953, with Killer's Kiss following two years later. At the time Kubrick was getting started, the Hollywood Studio System was still in full effect. It would not be for much longer; the Production Code had already been relaxed with America's entry World War II and a series of legal cases over the following years would bring it to an end, but when Killer's Kiss first premiered the rules were still in place. Hollywood had very specific rules about how to structure a film, this being the "Classical Model" that is still dominant today (story comes first). The Motion Picture Production Code might not have been as strictly enforced as it was during 1934, but there were still rules about what could and could not be depicted. There was more lenience towards violence, but not so much regarding sex.

Kubrick was never the kind of man who liked to stick to rules. While he would have had to work within the rules of Hollywood filmmaking, he also liked to take chances. Beginning in the 1960's, there was more room for him to do his own thing, but in the 1950's, he had to follow the rules. Killer's Kiss can certainly be considered a classical film, but for 1953 it would have actually been quite daring. The one scene in which Davy is shown boxing is very intense for the era in which it was made (and it wouldn't be far-fetched to assume Martin Scorsese took some inspiration from it in Raging Bull). There is also the fact that the plot is basically about a female dancer being sexually harassed by her boss (even if the words "sexual harassment" are never used), at a time when sex of any kind was forbidden (the Production Code included a long list about how filmmakers were not allowed to address "illicit sex"). The fact that said boss is cast as the villain because of his actions could also be seen as fairly progressive for the era. Then there are other odd stylistic choices, such as juxtaposing shots of a ballet performance over Gloria's narration of her troubled childhood, which seem peculiar but simultaneously make it interesting.

Perhaps the most daring element is the climactic fight scene between Davy and Vincent, which happens in a mannequin warehouse. The warehouse in question is filled with nude mannequins; many of them women with exposed breasts. Kubrick would later go on to show plenty of living nude women (perhaps most notably in A Clockwork Orange and Eyes Wide Shut), but nudity was frowned upon even before the Production Code was in place. Most of the "controversial" films it aimed to suppress only hinted at sex through innuendos. The Production Code itself even states that "Complete nudity is never permitted. This includes nudity in fact or in silhouette, or any lecherous or licentious notice thereof by other characters in the picture." Despite all this, Kubrick was able to shoot a scene in a room where the characters are literally surrounded by fully-naked (if artificial and unmoving) bodies. This was an extremely daring move that could have easily gone wrong, and the fact that Kubrick even had the nerve to consider it is admirable.

Ultimately, Killer's Kiss isn't Kubrick's greatest achievement, but it is still worth seeing. As an introduction to Kubrick, it works, as it shows just how creative he could get and how he never wanted to let anything interfere with his vision. The story might be simple compared to his later work, but it is impressive just for how daring it would have been during the 1950's. The fact that Kubrick had the nerve to take as many chances as he did is admirable.

Art Cinema is Garbage

Movies labelled as "Art Films" often like to display their titles as though there is some sort of pride within it. Somehow calling a film "art" implies that it is elevated in terms of quality above other types of movies, and this is simply not true. To begin discussing the subject of Art Cinema, we should look at what exactly defines the term and how it compares to another dominant mode of filmmaking. Generally, when critics use the term "Art Cinema", they are referring to European-produced films produced during the 1950's and 1960's. Many of these films are shot in black and white, and make choices intentionally trying to challenge the classical model of filmmaking.

The "classical model" is based on a simple rule: story comes first. In a classical film, the narrative is the primary focus, and everything within is subordinate to it. This means a few specific requirements are in place, namely in that the narrative has to progress as clearly as possible. The characters should be clearly defined, with specific motives and goals (even if those motives or goals might change over the course of the film, but even then those changes have to be clearly marked). Story should of course progress in a linear casually-driven fashion. One scene leads into the next, and any stylistic choices have to serve the narrative. There was also the fact that classical films are required to imitate reality (or at least, what the audience perceives as reality), and appear as a literal window into another world.

The "classical film" is often associated with the Studio Era, mainly because during this time it was strictly enforced as the only way to make movies. However, it goes back long before, originating in early silent film with devices such as the continuity system. It also is hardly confined to American cinema; the entire French New Wave was based on critics being inspired by Hollywood films and trying to find new ways to utilize their structure while also putting a new spin on it. Today there is more room for flexibility and experimentation, but the classical film still remains the dominant mode of filmmaking.

"Art Cinema" is a counter of sorts to classical filmmaking, and one that aims to resist it by trying precisely the opposite. This movement was popularized in Europe during the 1950's, though there is some dispute over precisely what qualifies as Art Cinema. The two most famous directors to take part in Art Cinema are arguably Federico Fellini and Ingmar Bergman, though other directors have produced iconic Art Films such as Michelangelo Antonioni's L'Avventura. Some critics even label Jean-Luc Godard as a major pioneer of Art Cinema even though his work with the French New Wave purported to do precisely the opposite (not to mention his movies were despised by Ingmar Bergman).

Art cinema rejects causality and clarity in favor of ambiguity. Often plots remain unresolved or open-ended, at least as much of a plot as can be applied to these films. Often the narratives were subjective and open to interpretation, inviting speculation from the audience. Characters motives are psychologically-driven but often times their goals or motives are kept vague. In theory, this allows the audience to see art films as an exercise, movies that make them think and come to their own conclusions.

That is a very good description of the films of David Lynch, but as far as "Art Cinema" is concerned this is simply what critics like to say. In truth, Art Cinema cinema claims to be a new way of breaking the trends of Hollywood, but really all it produces is a jumbled and incoherent mess that tries to use pretty images to make itself look more intelligent than it really is. The use of the term "Art" in its name seems to imply that this different approach somehow elevates Art Cinema above Hollywood narratives in terms of storytelling, but this is not true. If anything, it downgrades it.

This is not to say that there is anything wrong with subverting Hollywood conventions. After all, quite a bit of Hollywood storytelling owes itself to movements in other countries (among other things, film noir has some of its roots in the German Expressionist films of the 1920's), and some American filmmakers implemented elements of the Art Film to far greater effect. David Lynch is a perfect example of someone who brought Art Film techniques to the mainstream while also making decent films that succeeded where his predecessors failed.

Lynch's films are precisely what the likes of movies like 8½, I Am Curious (Yellow), and L'avventura attempted to do. A lot of his movies, like Eraserhead, Lost Highway, Mulholland Dr., and Inland Empire are based on creating a subjective experience. Lynch has gone on the record multiple times refusing to divulge the meanings of his films preferring that the viewer draw their own conclusions, and people have. None of his films ever fit perfectly into the classical model, including his more straight forward ones like The Elephant Man and The Straight Story, and they are based on the idea that different viewers will find different meanings in his films.

Stanley Kubrick is also a director capable of exploring these subjective narratives when he wants to. One of his greatest achievements, 2001: A Space Odyssey, ends on a very open note with literally nothing explained about what happened in the last half hour or so of the movie (though there is a popular explanation often accepted as the "official" one). Similarly, Eyes Wide Shut leaves a lot of plot threads unexplained and unresolved. We never find out anything about the bizarre secret society beyond what Bill Harford observes or is told afterward, and even then quite a bit of that information is open to debate.

More recently, Jonathan Glazer's film Under the Skin used a surrealist and non-conventional approach to depicting its story. Like the old art films, it was character-based, with ambiguous goals and motives in its protagonist. Looking at the narrative structure, there is a lot of influence from a variety of sources. Bits and pieces of Kubrick and Lynch are visible throughout, and there is even a bit of the Italian Neo-Realist movement in there. It would not be far-fetched to assume Glazer drew somewhat from Art Cinema as well, and yet somehow it works.

This raises the question, what is it that Lynch, Kubrick, and Glazer have that Fellini and Antonioni do not? I think it is a matter of looking at why those choices were made? Under the Skin's surrealist approach works because it helps to put the viewer into the mind of an alien. Mulholland Dr.'s subjective structure allows Lynch to explore the darker side of Hollywood filmmaking. As weird as Eyes Wide Shut can get, there is still a basic narrative that can be followed, even if they are left to think about specific moments within it. Context is a crucial part of the narrative, and just because breaking the rules can work does not mean it always will.

Italian cinema had already managed to briefly establish its own identity with the Neo-Realist movement. Films like Bicycle Thieves were still able to convey straight forward and comprehensible stories while still trying something new for the time by focusing on everyday occurrences and addressing the lack of closure that often happens in real life. A lot of Art Films may have broken the rules, but perhaps did it too much and in ways they did not need to. To provide a straight forward example, L'avventura had a very basic premise: a girl disappears under mysterious circumstances. A classical film might have used that as the setup for a mystery, with the plot centered around finding out what happened to her and building up to a big reveal at the end.

As it was made, her disappearance is never explained, and instead the focus is on how this one event affects those who with her before it happened. Already they are defying the conventions of a typical Hollywood narrative, and this is perhaps all they had to do. The movie could otherwise have been a fairly straight forward and easily comprehensible narrative, and it might have worked better that way. Instead, the final product was so disjointed it took a Wikipedia synopsis even to understand the key plot points.

It seems the main problem with Art Cinema is that it is essentially surrealism for the sake of surrealism. The whole movement included a group of arrogant-minded individuals who got so caught up in their quest to break free of Hollywood they forgot to actually make something interesting with their films. A lot of these Art Films didn't need to be so disjointed or confusing. These directors simply think that making the narrative incomprehensible and supposedly leaving room for interpretation automatically makes their films "art". In fact, the whole term "Art Film" comes itself with negative connotations that imply snobbery as though they are somehow superior to other types of movies. In what way are Hollywood productions any less "art"?

1999: A Sexual Odyssey

I've been doing a lot of articles about action movies lately, so I think it's time we shift gears and look at something a bit different. It's the Holiday season, and that's the time of year when lots of things start happening. It's that time when stores become battlefields, the shows you actually want to watch get taken off the air in favor of whatever cheap Christmas specials their networks can get the rights to, and blizzards come in to make sure you can't leave your house. Naturally, it makes sense to discuss a holiday film, and there are many great classics. It's a Wonderful Life is a great movie, and maybe this year I'll finally get to see White Christmas with Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye.

Still, Christmas movies can be a bit formulaic. They're generally very upbeat, light-hearted films. Some might be heavier than others but in most cases things turn out okay in the end. They're also in most cases family films. Perhaps you're a bit sick of this kind of thing. Far too many movies to count approach Christmas in the form of a quirky comedy or a light-hearted drama about family relations. We need something different, and there are a handful of movies that deliver. The Lion in Winter is a Christmas movie that centers around several characters, most of them members of the British Royal Family, scheming against each other and stabbing each other in the back. Die Hard is an action movie that happens to take place around Christmas. You could also read H.P. Lovecraft's The Festival if you like your Christmas stories with a dash of cosmic horror.

But perhaps that's not good enough for you. Maybe we need something more adult, more sexual in nature. Well it should only make sense for such a film to be made by one of the greatest directors who ever lived, Stanley Kubrick. Working from a novella titled Traumnovelle, Kubrick made quite possibly one of the strangest and most arousing Christmas films ever conceived by a human being. It is a bizarre film to say the least, with sexual themes, scenes filled to the brim with nudity, a haunting orgy sequence, and Tom Cruise actually displaying some talent as an actor. The result was his final movie, Eyes Wide Shut.

I suspect there may be some influence from David Lynch on this film. Kubrick and Lynch had something of a mutual respect for each other's work. Lynch has on multiple times voiced his admiration for Kubrick's work, particularly Lolita, though that was probably not the only film that influenced him (it doesn't seem too far-fetched to assume Lynch borrowed some ideas from A Clockwork Orange when he was making Blue Velvet). Likewise, Lynch has an anecdote in his biography Catching the Big Fish where he mentions an incident that happened while he was making The Elephant Man.

According to Lynch, he was approached by a couple of men who had recently met Kubrick, and were invited to his house to see his "favorite film". Lynch was naturally excited when he learned that Kubrick's favorite film turned out to be Eraserhead. Eyes Wide Shut certainly has that dream-like atmosphere that characterizes Lynch's movies, and even some similar ideas to Blue Velvet in the idea of a seemingly ideal world that is revealed to have a hidden darker side. Really, it's a shame the two of them never actually met, since a collaboration between Stanley Kubrick and David Lynch could have been amazing.

I have this cynical theory that true love is impossible. "Love" is just something we constructed to give ourselves hope in our miserable lives. There is no such thing as "love" in any sense, or is there? What does it mean to be in love? Is it merely a matter of sexual interest, or is it something far more? These questions are raised in Eyes Wide Shut, and it seems to very much personify my own theory.

William "Bill" Harford (Tom Cruise) is a doctor in New York, married to a former art museum curator named Alice (Nicole Kidman) and together they've had a daughter, Helena (Madison Eginton). They claim to love each other, but from the opening scene it already seems that there is a certain strain in their relationship. In the movies, marriage is often depicted as a romantic and glamorous experience, complete with a "happily ever after". Well, here we get to see the aftermath of that "happy ending", which turns out to be very mundane.

The first time we see Alice (not including the opening shot of her taking off her clothes) is when she's sitting on the toilet and presumably defecating. Most Hollywood films would skip this part, and generally they tend to stay out of the bathroom unless it's essential to the plot. The audience is ordinarily expected to infer that the characters occasionally have to relieve their bowels but just do it off-screen in between key moments of the film. Stanley Kubrick was not like other Hollywood filmmakers, and instead decides to show us this moment in great detail. It doesn't even affect the story, Alice sitting on the toilet is just one of many things that happen in this scene, but the fact that Kubrick shows her seated, as well as wiping her anus and washing her hands helps to show just how dull their relationship can be.

At the party, the relationship between Bill and Alice is further brought into question. They claim to be happy together, but already some of their sexual urges are coming around. Alice gets roped into a dance with an elegantly dressed but seemingly perverted Hungarian. From the moment he drinks from her glass it is clear that this man has nothing but sex on his mind. Meanwhile Bill gets called upstairs after an emergency. It seems that his friend Dr. Ziegler (Sydney Pollack) has been sneaking off from the party to have sex with a local prostitute in the bathroom. We even see him desperately tryingto put his pants back on as fast as he can . Said prostitute, who we learn is named Mandy (Julienne Davis), took a "speedball" (a mixture of heroine with cocaine) and overdosed. Bill is able to save her, and tries to encourage her to stop taking drugs.

Back at the party, Bill sees his wife dancing with another man. Later the two of them begin having sex, ironically while smoking pot despite the events of the previous scene. What starts off as a romantic moment quickly erupts into a confusing argument in which neither side is thinking straight and aren't entirely sure what they're disputing. Things get heated and it leads to Alice confessing that she has experienced sexual fantasies about a guy she saw at a hotel this one time. This begins a recurring image throughout the rest of the movie, in which Bill is haunted by images of what his wife's fantasies might look like. As the story progresses these images become more explicit, with the man gradually stripping his clothes and climbing on top of Alice.

The tension is somewhat mediated when they are interrupted by a phone call and Bill is informed that one of his patients has just died. He goes to his house and meets the patient's daughter, who is waiting for her boyfriend. She is understandably grief-stricken and not thinking entirely straight, which leads to her acting on her own sexual impulses. Bill tries to resist, and leaves when her boyfriend arrives, but he is affected by the experience. His sexual urges are getting out of control, and he finds himself desiring some form of experience. It doesn't even need to be with his wife, in fact because of how haunted he is by her confession perhaps he'd rather it not be. He simply tries to find something.

At this point, it starts to become clear that Bill's sexual urges aren't something he can control. They aren't so much a conscious decision on his part as they are instinct, human nature. He has no control over his own body's desires. He isn't driven by any form of love or even attraction to other women. He is simply driven by a biological process.

Enter Domino, a prostitute who intercepts and seduces the vulnerable Bill on the streets. She provides a means to satisfy Bill's urges, inviting him into her apartment for sex. He almost goes through with it as well, agreeing to a very large fee. The two of them begin to kiss before he gets a phone call from his wife. He assures her that everything is fine and has a moment of realization, breaking off the encounter with Domino but showing his appreciation for her efforts by paying her anyway.

Bill then encounters his old friend Nick Nightingale from medical school, now working as a pianist. He arrives at a club where Nick was performing just in time to see the band finish their set, but spends some time with his friend. The two take some time to catch up before Nick gets pulled away to a mysterious gig. According to him it always happens at 2:00 A.M. in a different location, and he has to play blindfolded. Nick also mentions that the last time he played the blindfold wasn't put on properly and he glimpsed something really strange. Bill finds himself interested in this party, but also learns that everyone who attends is costumed and masked, so he has to find one.

To accomplish this end, Bill visits Rainbow Costumes, run by Mr. Milich (Rade Serbedzija), a totally unsuspicious businessman who is most definitely not involved with any shady business operations. Milich agrees to find Bill a costume and mask in exchange for a higher than normal fee, but they are disrupted by another strange encounter. It seems Milich's daughter (Leelee Sobieski) invited two Japanese businessmen over for sex. She is every bit as sexually active as Bill is, possibly even more. Milich begins yelling at the two men, telling them that they will have to answer to the police. Meanwhile, his daughter is displaying a curious attraction towards Bill as she hides behind him, to the point where they almost look like they are about to kiss. This is especially curious given she is clearly underage, though the businessmen insist that she invited them which raises a few odd questions.

Now that he has the mask and a costume, Bill can attend to the party. Having learned the password from Nick he is able to get through the gate and arrives at a large mansion only to find something really odd. What we have is a haunting sequence involving a bizarre sex-themed masquerade party. Bill puts on his mask and begins wandering around, and witnesses some kind of ritualistic event in progress.

The "party", if you can call it that, includes a man in a mask and a red cloak walking in a circle, surrounded by naked women in masks. They then proceed to kiss each other, providing a somewhat twisted demonstration of how men are aroused by seeing two women have sex. At this party, it seems anyone can have sex with anybody, anonymously. It's very ritualistic, and almost feels like some sort of cult. They even have the mysterious red-cloaked figure chanting something in another language, possibly Latin.

The fact that every single person is masked, right down to the guy that takes Bill's coat, makes this part especially unnerving. With two exceptions, we never learn the true identities of any of the men and women behind the masks (though it's hinted that many of them are people of power who would not want to be seen in such an environment). We hear the voices of characters but their faces remain static. Some of them remain blank, others have disturbing expressions (there's one guy who looks like he's screaming). Either way, the inability of the actors to express themselves visually makes it harder to tell anyone's motives.

Bill's presence manages to draw the attention of one couple, a man with a mask designed with a tricorn hat, and a woman wearing a jester's mask. We never find out for certain who these people are. We never even hear them speak, and with the masks it is impossible to discern their expressions. What is clear is that they have seen Bill, and acknowledge him silently with a simple nod. There is one possibility of who one of them might be, but I have a different idea about where he fits in. We'll discuss that in more detail later.

At this party, Bill witnesses sex in progress. We never learn quite how it operates, but appears to be based on a group of female participants selecting men with whom to engage in sexual intercourse. Whether the people at the party take turns or simply enjoy watching people have sex is not clear. All that seems to be clear is that intercourse with anyone is fair game (Frank Booth and Alex DeLarge would enjoy this). The whole thing seems rather alien, otherworldly even.

Any uneasiness the audience might be feeling upon witnessing this ritual seems to be enforced when a mysterious woman tries to stop Bill from participating. She keeps telling him it is dangerous and he needs to get out, but refuses to say way. From what she describes, these people don't take kindly to uninvited guests. At one point Bill even tries to remove her mask, which she refuses to let him do, almost as if it is considered a crime to expose your face in the house.

Finally, Bill is confronted by a servant who claims the driver of his taxi wants to see him, but instead of being led to the gate he is brought back into the large room and confronted by the red-cloaked man (because he does not have a name, I shall identify him as the "Inquisitor" for the purposes of this article). The Inquisitor asks Bill for the password, but claims there is a second one which Bill was not told about. Bill is then told to remove his mask, exposing him to the intimidating crowd. The fact that he remains the only character in this entire sequence whose face is seen in the mansion makes him feel more like an outsider.

The Inquisitor delivers a speech that seems to imply he has something horrifying in mind for Bill. It's suggested that Bill may have ended up dead, but he is told oddly enough to "take off his clothes". It almost seems that forced sex was part of the plan. In other words, from what Bill is told, it sounds as though the Inquisitor intended him to be raped. Considering Bill has been searching for some form of "sexual encounter", the Inquisitor could therefore be seen as technically granting his wish in the form of an ironic punishment for intruding on the party.

Before any kind of forced intercourse can happen, the woman who tried to warn Bill stands up and claims herself as a "sacrifice". Precisely how this works is not clear, though from what is described it sounds as though she will die. Bill is released, although not without warning to keep quiet about everything he has seen and experienced. It's hard to tell whether the threats are genuine or purely psychological, but either way it is disturbing. Bill is finally able to leave, and returns home. He finds his wife asleep, and laughing. When she wakes up she claims that she actually had a nightmare in which she had sex with a number of men while Bill was watching.

The next day, the first thing Bill does is find Nick's hotel, and arrives only to learn that his friend has checked out. According to the clerk, Nick was scared, and being escorted by two very large men. He tried to pass the clerk an envelope but it was intercepted. The obvious implication is that Nick was killed to prevent him from talking about the party.

His next stop is the costume shop, where he tries to return the costume. Strangely enough, the mask seems to have been misplaced, though Milich agrees to put it on Bill's tab. His daughter emerges, with both the Japanese businessmen, who seem to suddenly be on good terms with Milich. Bill is confused, as is the audience, based on Milich's reaction to their presence when we first saw him. He claims that "other arrangements" were made, ones that apparently involved him selling his own daughter into prostitution. He shows no remorse for allowing a minor to be treated this way, and even offers Bill "other services" besides costumes, which is implied to include sex with his daughter.

Bill then decides to visit Domino's apartment, arriving with a gift for her. Domino is nowhere to be found, but he is invited in by her roommate. The two flirt with each other but she begins to open up about Domino's whereabouts. It turns out she got a blood test that registered her as HIV positive, or to put it more simply, Domino had AIDS. Seeing as that virus is sexually transmitted, Bill was nearly in a position to receive AIDS himself, and might of had Alice not called him when she did.

Later on, Bill obtains a newspaper while trying to evade someone who seems to be following him. The paper in question refers to the death of a beauty queen. When Bill finds her body, he recognizes her as Mandy, the prostitute he saved at Ziegler's party. This in turn leads to a new development that comes when Bill receives a call telling him Ziegler wants to see him.

Ziegler is very calm and casual when Bill arrives, offering him a drink and even inviting him to join in a game of pool. Eventually, Ziegler gets down to business and reveals why he really wanted to talk. It turns out he knows about everything that Bill has been through. He was at the mansion. The question is where. Since everyone was cloaked and masked we can't really say, but he said he was watching Bill. The most obvious candidate is the mysterious tricorn-masked figure who spotted Bill immediately, but I have another, slightly more interesting theory.

The idea that I propose is that Ziegler was in fact the Inquisitor, not just present at the party but actually running it. He claims to have seen "everything", which would make sense as the leader, and of all the people in this group the leader would be the one most likely to know about its members. After all, everybody is masked, but Ziegler seems to know their identities. As he puts it, "I'm not going to tell you their names, but if I told you I don't think you'd sleep so easy". It sounds as though a lot of the people are politicians or people who otherwise would not want to be seen in this kind of environment. Who else but the leader would know this information? Also, why would any one member of such a secret group of people risk talking about it outside the party without fear of consequences? Unless they were the leader and thus had no one to answer to.

Ziegler claims that the whole thing was staged, simply meant to scare Bill into keeping quiet. According to him, Bill's friend was taken from his hotel but simply put on a plane to Seattle, and while Mandy was the mysterious woman who "sacrificed" herself for Bill, that was all just for show, and her death afterwards was a mere coincidence. Bill remains unsure of it, as these explanations make sense. Nick never actually saw anything, so it's not like he would be able to tell anyone about what happened, and it was already established that Mandy was hooked on drugs. On the other hand, from what we have seen, it might not be unreasonable to assume that Ziegler just wants to put Bill's mind at ease and cover up what really happened.

That evening, Bill returns home to find Alice sleeping, with the mask next to her. The obvious assumption is that Alice found the mask and put on Bill's pillow as a way of confronting him, but in a Stanley Kubrick film you should never take anything at face value. If you pay attention, the mask is never actually touched by any of the characters during the scene, and it may not actually be there. For one thing Alice doesn't seem the kind of person who would be comfortable sleeping next to a mask like that. The mask here is used more as a symbol of Bill's guilt over his actions during the film, and how it will haunt him for the rest of his life. Seeing this reminder finally causes him to break down and confess to Alice.

In the following scene, Bill has told Alice everything that happened to him, possibly even including the weird sex party he attended. Once he has opened up, it allows them to finally reconcile. Their marriage seems to be back on track, and the film ends on an optimistic note, but this is hardly a "happily ever after" situation. Bill and Alice may have gotten through this situation, but that is not the end of the road for them. It's very likely that they will have other problems in the future, ones that will force them once again to question whether they truly love each other.

In the end, love was never a driving force behind anything. Everyone in Eyes Wide Shut is driven purely by sexual urges, just as it is in all of us. Apart from Helena, there was not a single character in the film that was not sexually active, male or female. Almost every single person was driven by a desire for some sort of sexual experience, with the only thing that changed being how they got it. Emotions had nothing to do with it. Everyone is driven by a biological desire for sexual interaction, and ultimately it seems that there is no such thing as true undying love.