O Iluminado

Stephen King may have said the master director knew nothing about horror, but that simply is not true. That is a too biased opinion for anyone to go on given that he wrote the book, which Kubrick based his wonderful film ever so loosely on. And at any rate, faithful or not, KUBRICK's Shining-the BEST crafted genre film of the 80's- performs it's duty as a fright flick, and then some.

There are appropriately no words strong enough to convey the haunting beauty of the visuals showcased throughout the movie, from the drive to the Overlook to the final chase in the hedgemaze the movie is a feast for the eyes as it is for the mind. And it IS a feast for the mind as The Shining is as psychological as horror gets, toying relentlessly, and expertly with your emotions and expectations(some could even say SADISTICALLY), throwing something in that's completely out of left field and never, ever letting you catch your breath between the now classic shocks as the movie speeds toward it's memorable conclusion in the last half hour.

Kudos are in order for Kubrick, a director of the old school style, who builds an eerie atmosphere by exercising total control over the filmic environment, manipulating everything down to the tiniest detail to suit the needs of the picture, yet filming with a coldly detatched, objective eye, as though Kubrick were making a documentary about these events. This would account for the dialouge, which-thankfully-is not the typical phoney balloney Hollywood banter (Kubrick detractors/King purists usually bitch about this the most, having been weaned on the phony nature of 'Hollywood talk', which is usually nothing at all like real talk. Many of us speak 'on the nose', and do not try to convey subtext through use of carefully chosen words that articulate our state of being without being direct.) In this light, Shelley Duvall must be commended for her performance which is very naturalistic. It does not seem like acting at all. She is not concerned with glamour, nor does she clutter her performance with typical acting chops, but rather she is solely focussed on hitting the emotional highpoints of her character as 'Wendy' gradually comes to realize that her husband is a madman. And let's face it folks, how many of us would like a million bucks when placed in a situation like that? Who does NOT look like a blubbering idiot when they are hysterical? That's what I thought, so what did you expect? She was great. To say nothing of the rest of the cast.

Sometimes all good horror needs is a good idea. But sometimes, rarely indeed, a horror masterpiece will reach us by the hand of a Kubrick, with the adept, elusive touch of a great artist to guide the vision, and we know what separates it from all else.

Okay, the story has enough promise that even a hired gun would have to try to fail. Heck, even Stephen King himself didn't fare so bad. It's how Kubrick perceives King's universe however, how he fills the frame with it, that renders THE SHINING a feast for the senses.

Horror that will reach us through the mind and body alike, an assault as it were, tending eventually its pitch to a crescendo, yet curiously not without a delicate lull.

Kubrick's cinema is, as usually, a sight to behold. We get the adventurous camera that prowls through the lavish corridors of the Overlook Hotel like it is some kind of mystic labyrinth rife for exploration, linear tracking shots exposing impeccably decorated interiors in symmetric grandeur. The geometrical approach in how Kubrick perceives space reminds me very much of Japanese directors of some 10 years before. In that what is depicted in the frame, the elements of narrative, is borderline inconsequential to how they all balance and harmonize together.

Certain images stand out in this. The first shot of Jack's typewriter, ominously accompanied by the off-screen thumps of a ball, drums of doom that seem to emanate from the very walls or the typewriter itself, an instrument of doom in itself as is later shown. A red river flowing through the hotel's elevators in a poetry of slow motions. Jack hitting the door with the axe, the camera moving along with him, tracking the action as it happens, as though it's the camera piercing through the door and not the axe. The ultra fast zoom in the kid's face violently thrusting us inside his head before we see the two dead girls from his POV. And of course, the epochal bathroom scene.

Much has been said of Jack Nicholson's obtrusive overacting. His mad is not entirely successful, because, well, he's Jack Nicholson. The guy looks half-mad anyway. Playing mad turns him into an exaggerated caricature of himself. Shelley Duvall on the other hand is one of the most inspired casting choices Kubrick ever made. Coming from a streak of fantastic performances for Robert Altman in the seventies (3 WOMEN, THIEVES LIKE US, NASHVILLE), she brings to her character the right amounts of swanlike fragility and emotional distress. A delicate, detached thing thrown in with the mad.

Even though The Shining is over a quarter of a century old, I challenge anyone to not get freaked out by Jack Nicholson's descent into madness. This is a rare example of something so unique that no one has been able to rip it off; instead it has been referenced time and again in pop culture. The twins, the elevator of blood, RedRum, the crazy nonsense "writing"... this should be seen, if for nothing else, to understand all the allusions to it in daily life. The film is simultaneously scary, suspenseful, beautiful, and psychologically intriguing. It has the classic mystery of Hitchcock and the terror of a modern thriller. And it has what horror movies usually lack: a great script.

Chilling, majestic piece of cinematic fright, this film combines all the great elements of an intellectual thriller, with the grand vision of a director who has the instinctual capacity to pace a moody horror flick within the realm of his filmmaking genius that includes an eye for the original shot, an ice-cold soundtrack and an overall sense of dehumanization. This movie cuts through all the typical horror movies like a red-poker through a human eye, as it allows the viewer to not only feel the violence and psychosis of its protagonist, but appreciate the seed from which the derangement stems. One of the scariest things for people to face is the unknown and this film presents its plotting with just that thought in mind. The setting is perfect, in a desolate winter hideaway. The quietness of the moment is a character in itself, as the fermenting aggressor in Jack Torrance's mind wallows in this idle time, and breeds the devil's new playground. I always felt like the presence of evil was dormant in all of our minds, with only the circumstances of the moment, and the reasons given therein, needed to wake its violent ass and pounce over its unsuspecting victims. This film is a perfect example of this very thought.

And it is within this film's subtle touches of the canvas, the clackity-clacks of the young boy's big wheel riding along the empty hallways of the hotel, the labyrinthian garden representing the mind's fine line between sane and insane, Kubrick's purposely transfixed editing inconsistencies, continuity errors and set mis-arrangements, that we discover a world guided by the righteous and tangible, but coaxed away by the powerful and unknown. I have never read the book upon which the film is based, but without that as a comparison point, I am proud to say that this is one of the most terrifying films that I have ever seen. I thought that the runtime of the film could've been cut by a little bit, but then again, I am not one of the most acclaimed directors in the history of film, so maybe I should keep my two-cent criticisms over a superb film, to myself. All in all, this movie captures your attention with its grand form and vision, ropes you in with some terror and eccentric direction, and ties you down and stabs you in the heart with its cold-eyed view of the man's mind gone overboard, creepy atmosphere and the loss of humanity.

Rating: 9/10

Stephen King was so horrified at what Stanley Kubrick did to his 1977 novel he felt it necessary to later write his own alternative version for TV. Dismissed at the time as an anticlimax the pendulum of history quickly swung in the opposite direction, where it remains today.

Seldom commented upon is the obvious influence on Kubrick of 'Last Year in Marienbad' - already apparent in '2001' - with its endless tracks through an enormous soulless hotel in the middle of nowhere to the accompaniment of a glacial music score, within which Kubrick stages at least two moments worthy of his name for which the film has been carefully preparing us for over an hour: the discovery by Shelly Duvall exactly what her husband (played by Jack Nicholson as if he's auditioning for the role of Richard III) has been labouring on since his arrival and that she and her son are trapped in the middle of nowhere completely at the mercy of a maniac, and the final track into the photograph of Nicholson among the revellers on July 4th 1921 which is quite an ending but - like so much else in the film - to which there is probably far less than meets the eye.