Empty space

Rating: 6/10 (19 April 2004)

Seldom has so much awe been directed at a film with so little to say. The message that 2001 imparts can be summed up simply: Intelligence is the element that made apes into humans and will eventually cause humans to evolve even further. Shorter still: Intellect = evolution. Not particularly profound. Not particularly controversial. Not even particularly original. Just a common sense observation. But director Stanley Kubrick's penchant for pretentious rambling and oblique storytelling invites viewers to make desperate attempts to look for greater meaning, which simply is not there. As the old saying goes: There must be a pony!
Which is not to say the film is devoid of substance. Buried in the middle of the film is a Jim-dandy episode of "The Twilight Zone." When the astronauts find themselves at war with HAL, the computer that serves as both their servant and their master, the film -- finally -- develops into a compelling drama. The situation itself is suspenseful, plus, it lends itself to many interpretations: Man versus machine, man versus his God, intellect versus instinct, the future versus the present, etc. Dramatically, visually and intellectually, the film does, ever so briefly, live up to its hype. The heart of the film beats strong. Unfortunately, the heart beats in a body that is grotesquely deformed.
For a film that looks so sparse and lean, 2001 is ridiculously flabby and out of shape. What is amazing is that so much of what is romanticized as being mystical and philosophical is really just contrived and sometimes just plain silly. The infamous black monolith is a mere MacGuffin, a gimmick that lamely propels the story and loosely ties together the film's three acts. The controversial and endless "dawn of man" prologue drags on far past the point where it has anything to say and yet still reveals so little about either the film's plot or mankind. The "star child" finale is, to be kind, cute, but no more insightful than the rainbow at the end of E.T.
The adoration the film has acquired has an almost cult-like arrogance to it: "The film is great because we 'get' it and those who don't are just too stupid or shallow or, well, just not one of us." Yet, when pressed, few even attempt to venture a guess as to why the film is awe inspiring, brilliant and revolutionary. Instead, the film's defenders only make excuses for the film's failings: It's boring! "No, it's meditative." The scenes are repetitive and drag on too long! "No, Kubrick trusts the viewer to absorb the beauty and the depth of the images, which transcend conventional film pacing." The ending makes no sense! "No, the film defies conventional logic." Why? How? "Well, it has to, otherwise why would it be like it is?"

The ultimate paradox about 2001 is that Kubrick is hailed as a genius because he has made a film that raises more questions than it ever hoped to answer. The mere fact that it is so vague in its intentions angers some, but it overly impresses others. To argue that the film is great just because it can't be easily explained is no more honest than saying it is lousy because it can't easily be explained. And for my money, a genius is one who provides answers, or at least theories, not one who just asks questions.

The irony is that even with all the pretentious hot air with which Kubrick over inflates his epic, he still gets his basic message across. To survive, the astronaut Bowman must defeat HAL, but in doing so he, at best, only delays his own extinction. The evolution of intelligence, even in a corrupted state, will be man's undoing. Mankind is doomed to outsmart himself. And the same can be said for Stanley Kubrick.