I first saw 2001: A Space Odyssey when I was 13 years old. It's safe to say that I couldn't begin to comprehend or enjoy it.
While Christopher Nolan has previously professed the belief that young children should see Stanley Kubrick's masterpiece for the powerful, hypnotic experience it provides, I wasn't at the right age for that either. I was too young to understand the film and its immense philosophical questions, but I was too old to simply appreciate its audio/visual pleasures. I spent much of the lengthy running time frustrated by the languid pace, annoyed by the film's disregard for narrative conventions, and baffled by the shrill noises and trippy visuals. I felt like I had to stretch myself to my cinematic limits just to get to the end credits. I won't mince words- I hated 2001 after my first viewing.
But that initial taste of Kubrick's greatest accomplishment was only the beginning. As much as I despised my journey beyond the infinite, I can't deny that 2001 captured a piece of my imagination in a way few films ever had. I turned to Roger Ebert's phenomenal essay on the seminal sci-fi classic, which reassured me that I wasn't alone in my immediate distaste. In his piece, Ebert recounts how many viewers walked out at the film's world premiere, while Rock Hudson walked around the theater asking what the hell was happening. So I wasn't alone. I wasn't the only one who didn't get this. But if Ebert's essay confirmed that 2001 bafflement was nothing new, it also opened my eyes to a fresh perspective. I felt a desire to revisit the film, so I watched it again.
And again. And again. And probably again after that. Slowly but surely, it became one of my favorite movies. Now, I've finally seen it the way it was meant to be seen. Well, there's been some dispute as to whether digital IMAX is the proper format for the film. I would obviously love to see 2001 on glorious celluloid, but until the day I move to New York or L.A. (a day that may never come) and see a 70mm print, this is the best possible way to view the greatest of all science fiction films. Even after several viewings, I knew I hadn't really seen this one until I witnessed it on the big screen, in all its glorious, impenetrable majesty.
Oh, how majestic it truly is. If your local IMAX theater is showing a print of 2001, just go. Even if you've seen it before, it feels wonderful to watch such a vibrant classic of the genre come to life all over again.
Especially when you're someone like me, a semi-professional critic who makes well over 100 trips to the theater each year, going to the movies rarely feels like an event anymore. Who would have guessed that a half century old movie would give me one of the most memorable cinematic experiences of the year? Maybe I shouldn't be so surprised- this is 2001, after all. But with the old overture/intermission format, the towering images of surreal wonder, and the booming musical score (made all the more thunderous by IMAX's ear-shattering sound), seeing A Space Odyssey in this new light frequently left me dazed with wonder.
The idea of writing a review of Kubrick's film is daunting, so this won't exactly be a "review" in the traditional sense of the word. I've read too much and too little about it, and I don't necessarily trust that I have a firm enough grip on the film's themes to present a strong philosophical and existential argument. But to be quite honest, that's only half of 2001's power as a filmic journey. Kubrick is saying something here, but he's also giving us a chance to bask in the magic of a world beyond our own understanding. As Ebert said in his essay, the film allows us to "contemplate" its images; with those gorgeous frames looming over me, I felt my reaction to them was stronger than ever.
I was struck by how many of the film's sequences have been permanently etched into my memory, and I was equally taken aback by just how much I had forgotten. Each scene in 2001 is an assembly of perfectly framed pictures, virtually working as a series of fantastical paintings. In a way, Kubrick crafted a series of vignettes- each with a distinct setting, flavor, and purpose- in the aim of conveying a sense of scope that remains unparalleled to this day. The film has a narrative, or several, but my mind often recalls the moments of symphonic beauty and terror, whether it's the docking scene or the chilling encounters with the monolith. In the meantime, I had forgotten just how much happens in this sequence with Dave Bowman (Keir Dullea) and HAL 9000, how eerily Kubrick managed to predict where the genre of sci-fi was heading in the coming years.
As it spins a complex web of stories and purely visual moments, 2001 has an unusual way of physically affecting its audience, both in regards to its spectacle and its editing choices. With its zero gravity effects and moments of eye-popping astonishment, I felt weightless for much of the film, like I was drifting in space, just along for the ride. To my memory, this had never happened during any of my previous viewings of 2001; this was basically a direct result of seeing it in such a monumental way. At the same time, I had also never experienced the film's dream logic quite like this. Kubrick rarely ends his narratives in a traditional capacity, settling instead for a fade-out or cut that whisks us to the next location before we can ask what even happened. It's frustrating in a conventional sense, but when the film's goals are intensified by the format, Kubrick's choices reflect a desire to move us to the next dream, whether it's a vision of the past or a hallucinatory trip into the unknown.
Ebert says something to this extent in his essay, but it's an undeniable fact that so many films attempt to shrink to our level as human beings, giving us characters and people we can relate to in some capacity. Maybe it's a diminutive statement, but much of 2001's power lies in its ability to dwarf us, to make us feel like we're a part of something so much bigger than ourselves. I couldn't escape how small I felt while watching this journey through our history unfold on the screen; its visions and ideas towered over me.
While its inaccessibility as a narrative may render it out-of-bounds for a segment of moviegoers, its visceral power as a sci-fi spectacle demands to be experienced on the biggest screen you can find. Even if you've seen it before, this is one film you can never see too many times.
Fifty years later, Kubrick's genius hasn't dimmed one bit. I doubt it ever will.
Images: Warner Bros./IMDb
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