Stanley Kubrick goes down final path of glory

One of the more vivid memories I have from my early childhood is sitting on the couch with my father one Saturday afternoon watching a movie on television. He had called me in, sat me down and informed me that I wasn't getting up for the next two hours. I sat there expecting to be subjected to an episode of "Star Trek," but there were no tribbles on the schedule that day. Instead, the most wondrous images played before me. It was Stanley Kubrick's "2001: A Space Odyssey."

I was nine. And I was in awe.

Two weeks ago, at 2 p.m., my heart sank. A story came across the wire with the headline, "Film director Stanley Kubrick dies in Britain." I thought that maybe it was a mistake; after all, last summer the wires picked up a false story that Bob Hope had finally checked out, but he's still teetering around at the ripe old age of 95. Kubrick is young, I thought, only 70. He couldn't be dead.

But it wasn't a hoax. The man who was unequivocally the greatest living American filmmaker - despite the fact that he hadn't left British soil for decades - died of natural causes in his sleep. It's ironic that Kubrick died that morning, mere days after the first true screening of his final gift to the world, "Eyes Wide Shut" played for two Warner Bros. executives and the film's stars, Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman. For all intents and purposes, his work was done. He knew it was time to go.

When the news of Kubrick's demise trickled in, I was too stunned to do much of anything. And I stayed that way for the next several days, lamenting the state of the world and of film, trying to contemplate and digest the great loss. I didn't even know the guy. But I knew his work - and to Stanley Kubrick, the work was everything.

So when the first images from "Eyes" were released to the public three days after his death. I watched, not breathing, as the first footage from the film played on the television. And I wept - because that's the Kubrick I know: The man behind the image. I don't know the man that all of the obituaries describe, because Kubrick was such an intensely private person that he hadn't given an interview in 20 years.

What I do know is the man who made several of the scariest and blackly comedic films I've ever seen. I know the man who created whole universes and post-apocalyptic futures without the aid of today's advanced computer effects. I know the man who directed one of the most powerful Vietnam films ever made without even setting foot in Asia, let alone outside of London. I know the man who shot scenes by candlelight simply because he just knew it could be done, no matter how difficult it was. I know the man who had the audacity and the genius to show the world 90 seconds of uncut footage of mega-stars Cruise and Kidman, naked before a mirror, engaging in explicit foreplay, as an announcement of what his final film will be.

And I wept.

This might seem like an extreme reaction. It is, I freely admit. It's also nothing less than what Kubrick deserves. No other director had such autonomy over his work (and I doubt that any director ever will) to the point where Warner Bros. basically handed him a bunch of money and allowed him to go make his film, and come back when and only when it was finished. And no other director demanded such autonomy; Kubrick had control over every detail of the making and distribution of his films, right down to how the film was matted by projectionists in theaters. He would cut his own trailers and had approval over artwork and advertisements for each film he made. He was able to command who saw what and when.

Aside from that, no other director made as many classics in such a span of time while making so few films. Kubrick made 12 feature-length films during his nearly-50 year career; in the last 20 years, he made three.

For comparison, Steven Spielberg directed 12 films between 1983 ("Twilight Zone: The Movie") and 1998 ("Saving Private Ryan") alone; Martin Scorsese, heir to the title of greatest living American film director, made 12 between 1983 ("The King of Comedy") and his fall 1999 release, "Bringing Out the Dead."

Each of Kubrick's 12 films is the work of a painstaking craftsman - it's no coincidence that nearly every article and obituary for Kubrick contains the word "meticulous" - an amazing visionary and a technical innovator. He worked closely with his cinematographers and other techies to create the look of his films, and he knew every lens and film stock by heart. He started out as a teenager shooting pictures for Life magazine, a job which he eventually parlayed into his film career. He was known to run the cameras himself.

Film and video studies Prof. Hubert Cohen recently spoke of the ageless quality of Kubrick's films: "They seem to be out of time. There's a sense of a masterpiece, almost when it's made," Cohen said. "Very few filmmakers have that kind of satirical, critical approach to life."

Film and video studies Prof. Frank Beaver said, "Stanley Kubrick for me was one of those filmmakers whose small body of work was always greeted with great excitement. Whether I liked the new one as much as the previous one, you always knew was that you weren't going to be bored by his films. They took chances." Beaver feels a very personal attachment to Kubrick's work, having served in Vietnam. "I think that 'Full Metal Jacket' is one of the greatest war films ever made," he said. "I liked the way the particular idea of a moral dilemma for humankind became one of Kubrick's central themes."

There's a definite thematic unity to Kubrick's work, and he often tread a slim wire suspended somewhere between horror and hilarity. His films are filled with images of terrible violence and abhorrent actions, but he was like as not to reverse the tables and make us question who really is the villain in films such as "Lolita" or "A Clockwork Orange."

There are so many Kubrickian images stamped indelibly on my brain - images he shot with those cameras that he loved so dearly. Major Kong riding the bomb to kingdom come in "Dr. Strangelove;" HAL9000, memory banks aglow, ominously singing "Daisy" in "2001: A Space Odyssey;" Alex, eyelids clipped open, being deprogrammed to the tune of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony in "A Clockwork Orange;" Elevator doors releasing a tidal wave of crimson blood in "The Shining;" Pvt. Pyle in the latrine, about to blow his brains out, in "Full Metal Jacket."

And finally, there's a picture in my head of Kubrick directing, face full of unbridled anger when something has not gone his way, when the most miniscule detail has gone awry, balding, bearded and incomparably, unequivocally brilliant.

These are the pictures that I will never forget, the ones that I will take to my grave as their creator did. Kubrick was more than just a filmmaker - he was an artist, a man who took mere imaginings and made them visible. He was a magician, a technician, a man of grand vision. And after all of that work done in secret, he ultimately gave that vision to us.

Thanks for the memories, Stanley.

Kubrick's filmography

3 "Full Metal Jacket" (1987)

3 "The Shining" (1980)

3 "Barry Lyndon" (1975)

3 "A Clockwork Orange" (1971)

3 "2001: A Space Odyssey" (1968)

3 "Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb" (1964)

3 "Lolita" (1962)

3 "Spartacus" (1960)

3 "Paths of Glory" (1957)

3 "The Killing" (1956)

3 "Killer's Kiss" (1955)

03-25-99