Stanley Kubrick's work occupies such a hallowed place in film history that it seems absurd to be arguing for its continued relevance. But here we are with yet another box set of Kubrick films. This is the third so far in the age of DVD, made all the more remarkable for the fact that it consists of the same films as the last two. This time, however, they've been re-mastered for widescreen. Kubrick was decidedly anti-letterboxing with his later films, most of which he had shot with open mattes to avoid the inevitable cropping that would come with TV and video presentations. All technical considerations aside, however, a new Kubrick boxed set is a welcome development, because it may be time for a reassessment of sorts.
For decades, the knock on Kubrick — often from quarters championing a more personal, rougher, open-ended style of filmmaking — was that he was too cold and aloof, his plots were sadistic closed circuits designed to thwart his puny characters, his Olympian camera wasn't expressive or intimate enough, his favored acting style eschewed realism for arch, representational stiltedness. The director's well-known fondness for chess was tossed back in his face, with the suggestion that his characters were all pawns in an elaborate game the filmmaker was playing with his audience. Such criticism might have convinced some unfortunate souls back in the late '60s and '70s, when the predominant acting style veered between method hysteria and method brooding, when street-level grit was the order of the day and when cool perfection often carried with it the stench of authority. But it's time to retire this last bit of critical slander. For starters, in a world where Michael Haneke exists, Kubrick's alleged sadism seems downright avuncular.
More importantly, to argue that Kubrick's work is cold suggests a willful ignorance of the films themselves. True, Kubrick's characters often find themselves destroyed by the very systems to which they try so hard to belong: Redmond Barry in Barry Lyndon attempts to become a nobleman, only to be thwarted by the hierarchical class structure of eighteenth-century England; Alex De Large in A Clockwork Orange subjects himself to a dangerous thought experiment in order to get out of jail, only to wind up becoming a toy in the hands of warring political parties; the astronauts in 2001 are undone by the sentient computer that's been keeping them alive during their journey. (And in that same movie, Mankind is somehow both undone and perfected by the Monolith, the very object that supposedly allowed for human progress in the first place.)
But — and it seems silly to have to even say this — a plot that doesn't end happily for its protagonist does not automatically equal an anti-human bias. Kubrick's work is compelling to this day because we invest so much in these characters. Has there ever been a more lyrical film than Barry Lyndon (not included in this set, but being released separately in a new edition) about one man's desperate attempt to simply belong? What is that weird twinge of pathos we feel when poor Jack, the psychotic husband and father of The Shining, chooses his murderous obligations to the haunted Overlook Hotel over those of his wife and son? And if A Clockwork Orange is so heartless, then how come we wince in pain when the thuggish Alex is reduced to a milquetoast thoroughly incapable of defending himself against the everyday brutality of society?
Seeing Alex turned from a rapist and killer into a victim would, in most movies, be a cause for audience cheers and catharsis. (A Clockwork Orange came out the same year as Dirty Harry.) But instead, Kubrick tries to make us feel something for the poor heartless bastard, a discomforting proposition at best. What turned many off to Kubrick's work, then, is not their lack of emotional involvement, but the fact that they make us emotionally involved with people we do not otherwise wish to be associated with. There were no easy answers or allegiances in Kubrick's films. Watch them again after all these years, and you'll realize there still aren't. — Bilge Ebiri
DVD Extras: At last, the notoriously reclusive director's estate has allowed some heavy-duty extras to be included on these discs. The gold standard here is 2001, which comes with not only an audio interview with Kubrick (the closest we'll come to a commentary) but also numerous documentaries about various aspects of the film. The other films get "Making Of" featurettes as well, and Eyes Wide Shut comes with an additional special feature about Kubrick's unfinished films.