2001: A Space Odyssey (MGM, 1968)

It’s been a while since I’ve seen 2001: A Space Odyssey. Probably since before the real 2001, which wound up being recognized less for space and more for terrorism. It was in high school that I began to develop my appreciation for film. 2001: A Space Odyssey is obviously mandatory viewing for anyone who wants to wax pretentious about the cinema. And so, I bought my copy of 2001 on DVD.

At the time, I knew enough to know that it was clearly very artistically constructed, but was aware I obviously just didn’t quite get it. It’s clearly well put together, but what made it so great?

The thing is, I wasn’t watching the movie in the right frame of mind. I’m not talking about an appreciation for its use of pacing or the way in which it evokes the vastness and loneliness of space. I’m talking about pot. You’re obviously supposed to be high when you watch this movie.

Having recently rewatched Star Trek: The Motion Picture which is like a Disney-world version of 2001, I thought it was time for a revisit. And so, medical marijuana card in hand (the government says I can do it, OK? So get off my back, MOM) I sat down, partook, and strapped in for the ride.

As any good film student would do, I took notes as I went. High notes, you could say. They shall be the dividers within this article.

“Sure, let the overture play or whatever. I don’t give a shit.”

2001 opens with an overture. The first reaction my ADHD ass had was “Don’t bore us, get to the chorus,” and I picked up the remote to skip that shit. And then, I reflected. No, Charles. Let the overture play. That is part of the experience, as papa Kubrick envisioned. Star Trek: TMP had an overture. They obviously ripped off of 2001. Lame.

I spaced out and thought about, well, who knows. But then, to great effect: the film begins. We see the moon. We hear the music. Dunnnnnn dunnnn dunnn…. dun dun! That’s a real attention grabber, man.

“Kubrick was so obviously tripping balls when he made this.”

It is extremely pretentious to tell a story that spans human evolution, and Kubrick really embraces that ethos. “The Dawn of Man” chapter has some serious Wall-E vibes: desolate landscapes, no dialogue, and super boring. Five minutes in, I’m still asking myself, “So when does the movie, like, start? Oh yeah, this is important. This IS the movie. OK, focus, FOCUS.”

Short version: We see the everyday struggles of apes, facing lions, other apes, and a giant black obelisk. The obelisk sings at them, and the apes, like 14 year old boys who see their very first titty, very hesitantly and cautiously approach and touch it. They are now awoken.

“Watching the monkey thinking about picking up the bone for like ten minutes. So fucking funny rn.”

There’s a shot in which the man ape is sitting, looking at a pile of bones. Kubrick, as a master of his craft, uses the slow pacing to make every nuance of discovery clear. The ape is really thinking about it. Like, the gears are turning. You can almost see the smoke coming out of his ears. Probably not the artist’s intention, but I found his stupidity endlessly entertaining.

Like, yeah dude, you can use it to hit things. Go ahead, Pick it up already. We don’t have all day.

And just like that, the ape uses the bone to start hunting and leading his tribe to prosper. They quickly come into conflict with another tribe, and our newly uplifted hero heads into the conflict armed with his bone. The conflict escalates, and a few of our tribe beat the other ape to death. Again, kudos to Kubrick for his use of pacing: You watch the other apes, and you feel kind of bad for them. They’re looking around at each other like, “Oh fuck, this shit just got REAL. This dude is PSYCHO. I’m gonna go ahead and nope the fuck on out of this bitch.”

So aliens gift us with intelligence and literally the first thing we do with it is start taking resources from nature and killing each other.

Well that’s depressing. Accurate. But depressing.

And from there, it’s basically a straight arrow up to space travel.

“It’s like half real art, and half Stanley Kubrick jerking himself off about his predictions for the future.”

Kubrick’s approach to portraying a future 34 years in the future was relatively grounded. While here in 2020 we still don’t have space stations like the one in the film or a moon base, we must remember that 2001 is a product of its time. While here in 2020 we can’t even go to the grocery store, let alone the moon, the future possibilities seemed limitless back then.

Just six years before this film was released, JFK made his “We choose to go to the moon speech,” and just one assassination and a few short years later, we were actually well on our way. We take it for granted now, but that was actually incredibly ballsy because we were way behind the Soviets. Imagine working at NASA at the time: you’re watching TV and all of the sudden your boss’s boss is like “Uh yeah, we’re gonna go to the moon. We’ll figure it out. In the next couple of years tops.” Imagine THAT meeting. “Does he know we have no idea what we’re doing?” “Yup. Guess we better get our shit together.”

The Apollo program was in full swing, with various test flights happening and the public interest captivated by the space race. The moon landing would happen a year after this movie. Remember that, at the time, figuring out how to go to the moon and doing it in like seven years was astounding, so we were pretty high on our own supply imagining how much further we could go given thirty years.

Certain predictions really hit home. The airline seats with TVs built into the headrest, the “glass” cockpit of display panels rather than fixed readouts, video calling, and governments lying to the public were all spot on. Other things, like routine flights to space, suspended animation, and Pan Am still existing; not so much.

The film uses its slow pacing and these details to evoke a sense of depth and reality, making Kubrick’s universe feel rich and relatable. But man, you can tell he had a blast thinking about how all this stuff would work to the finest detail. It’s impressive and self-indulgent, though the former wins out over the latter in my opinion, which is the correct opinion.

“Stop asking questions, you are pissing him off and he is going to threaten us more.”

The scene in which Heywood Floyd (William Sylvester, who coincidentally sounds just like William Shatner) meets with all the people at the moon base, I just want to call out how great it is. Kubrick has obviously attended bureaucratic meetings before, and I just enjoyed the way Dr. Floyd really swings his balls around. “How long are we going to have to be quarantined,” one member asks. “As long as I tell you to,” Floyd responds. Basically.

I didn’t remember Floyd being such a dick, but I had also not had the displeasure of working in the public sector in 8th grade.

“They have Alexa in every room.”

On the way to Jupiter, HAL 9000 (voiced by Douglas Rain) is the brains of the ship, Discovery. In a rare case of the “I don’t want to spoil it for people who haven’t seen it,” I’m going to refrain from exploring the depth and nuance with which Kubrick meditates upon the nature of sentience, but it is *kisses fingers* mwah. Is HAL alive? Has he, like the apes of yore, awoken in his own way, becoming more than the sum of his parts? Is he malfunctioning? Does he have a soul? Can he lie?

I will say that this film is Rated G, but the main computer scene in which David Bowie Bowman (Keir Dullea) works on HAL is extremely painful to watch. “Stop,” HAL intones. “I can feel it.”

FUCK. That hits HARD. And this is Rated G? Hard to believe, kind of.

Can he feel it? What does it mean for him to “feel”? “Feel” is such a pointed word to use, indicating that he is indeed something more alive than not.

There’s an element to Bowman and Frank Poole’s (Gary Lockwood) relationship with HAL I had not considered before. HAL is essentially a child; while possessing the capabilities of an advanced computer, its own sense of self and awareness of existence is emerging, and he looks to Bowman and Poole to take care of him: maintaining his systems, conversing with him, directing him to perform actions. He tentatively queries Bowman about the mysterious conditions of the mission (which he actually does know), and when those questions are rebuked, he covers them up with a lie. If HAL is sentient, he attempts to hide it, as if hiding something from a parent figure.

And so, the scene in which Bowman and Poole enter the pod takes on a double layer of pain: HAL is surreptitiously listening in on his parent figures discussing how they are going to carve him up and kill him.

It’s a real fucking bummer, dude. Most depressing way to shut down your PC, ever.

“There’s an intermission in this fucking movie?”

Yup.

“You just have to watch this horrible thing after horrible thing. It’s so damn cold.”

I’ve made several references to how slow the pacing of this movie is. It occurred to me late into the film how the pacing is used to create suspense and horror: We as an audience watch horrible things, and, like the victims, are powerless to interfere.

Watching apes beating other apes to death. Watching Poole writhing as he is cast off into space with his oxygen cut. Watching Bowman contemplate how pissed he is when HAL locks him out of the house.

Perhaps the most striking example, though, is HAL’s murder of the passengers frozen in hibernation. Frozen in steel caskets, we watch shots of monitors interspersed with static, unchanging shots of the victims. They have been held frozen on the edge of life, and HAL just lets their systems fail. There is no difference to us, as the audience, between them being alive or dead. We never meet them, we never find out anything much about them. But the way in which they are murdered is depicted so clinically and coldly. It’s haunting.

Again, Rated G. What the hell, man? You trying to traumatize some kids or something?

The Last 525,600 Minutes of the Movie

There are legit 10 minutes of crazy visuals that only make sense if (a) you pretend they do because you’re a pretentious prick, or (b) you are on some kind of drugs. (Damn you, Star Trek: TMP for ripping off of this too.)

We get to watch a surrealist take on the experience of aging, death, and rebirth.

This goes on so long even the actor gets old af.

If you are in an altered state of mind, this is actually an incredible surrealist experience.

Otherwise though, I dunno how you do it.

Final Thoughts

This is like four movies connected via one theme. It is incredibly inventive, nuanced, and bold in its scope and vision.

But hot damn, this is one of those movies my parents (and most people) would describe as “weird,” and more or less leave it at that.

Verdict

Every copy should be sold with accompanying mind-altering substances. Or maybe mind-altering substances should be sold with a copy?

Imagine walking in to your dispensary and the guy behind the counter slips a copy of 2001 in your bag.

“Just try this,” he’ll say. “You’ll dig it.”

Right on, bro.

Buy a copy. Watch it periodically to expand your view of movies and the universe. Watch it with your friends just to piss them off. Watch it to laugh at the dumb apes. Hahah, those dumb apes. Pick up the bone already!