Visually Stunning, Severely Disappointing Otherwise

Rating: 10/10 (29 November 2008)

Aren't movies amazing? Every movie has a fair share of love and hate directed towards it; no film can be said to be universally lauded or loathed, not even the truly awful ones - someone is bound to enjoy them in some capacity.
There is a reason for this amazing occurrence: no movie is perfect. Not a single one. Not the true "greats" like The Godfather or Citizen Kane, and certainly not From Justin to Kelly. Every movie has its flaws - whether minor flubs or serious dramatic or visual problems. No film is exempt from this rule, and as such, a single film can appeal to a variety of different people for different reasons and in different ways.
As an audience, it is our job to look over the flaws and enjoy the film for what it is: an imperfect, yet still amazing, confluence of ideas and emotions. Obviously, this is not possible for every film, and doubtless after the fact we will find myriad ways in which a film can improve. This is the nature of film-going, and of movie making.
2001: A Space Odyssey is no exception to this rule, despite what its many ardent fans would have you believe. The biggest thing this movie has going for it are its astonishing visuals: they are truly revolutionary, and hole up remarkably well today. They also seem oddly appropriate, as if "updating" them, as George Lucas has done, would somehow detract from the film, rather than add to it.
I won't deny, therefore, that this film is a stunning visual experience, and wildly influential. But that is all that it is.
For all its visual innovation, it is also an incredibly pretentious film. I believe I read one post on these boards that defined pretentious as aspiring to something and not achieving it (the poster then went on to explain that, for this reason, 2001 isn't pretentious; I disagree, but I'll get to that eventually). I would accept that definition, but would add that the journey getting there is just as important.
What 2001 is aspiring to is a story (although I do not believe you could describe it as such) told through the visual, with numerous metaphorical segments alluding to the entire history of mankind and its place in the universe, as well as a dissertation on the evolution of thought and of science.
2001, then, has great aspirations, but I find the film incredibly flawed for its over length and inability to sufficiently approach these ideas. For starters - the scene at the beginning spends fully fifteen minutes on idea that the audience understands after five; the additional minutes add nothing to the meaning or flow of the film, and in fact detract from the overall enjoyment of anyone intelligent enough to understand it.
Kubrick makes the same mistake throughout. Endless scenes of people floating in space emphasize remoteness and the advancement of technology, and of course how far humanity has come - but to what end? No end, apparently. I hate to be condescending, but certainly no one can enjoy the acid trip at the end of the film that lasts for at least five minutes and expresses nothing other than infinity? Did it need to go on so long? No, of course not. I understood what it was trying to say, I accepted the swirling lights as perhaps the best representation of an abstract idea, I appreciated the care and beauty that went into creating it, I took it in for a long stretch of time to fully experience the message ... and then it kept going.
The film is so densely layered with such abstract metaphors as to be rendered meaningless; I have seen some defend the idea that it is not, but truly so many possible explanations can be achieved, almost none of them satisfactory, that it is rendered meaningless. The ending of the film doesn't mean anything precisely because it means everything; there comes a point where restrained is needed, and Kubrick has no concept of this. As a result, the entire film is rendered moot.
All of this combined make for unpleasant business, but could have been redeemed if the characters were at least mildly interesting. You could substitute a cardboard cutout with a smiley face in for any of the actors and would achieve virtually the same film - and with no emotional connection to the characters, or the environment, which is rendered cold and unapproachable by the very exactitude by which it is created, how can you expect the audience to be invested at all in the dramatic conflict of the movie? And surely, for a film about the nature and history of mankind, such relentlessly uninvolving characters is counter to your purpose? Truly, there is very little to admire here other than the arresting visuals.
Or is there? Here we see once again the subjectivity of film. What I regard of flaw, others regard as masterstroke; why is there a disparity? Everyone, I suppose, experiences a film differently.
What I find emotionally uninvolving, cold, and relentlessly pretentious, others find as riveting, meaningful film making. Who is right? Who is wrong? There is of course no answer to that question. As long as a good argument is made, everyone's opinion is equal in the arena of movies. I believe I have presented one such argument here, and have read many, many expressing an opinion opposite to mine that are just as valid.
One thing, I think, is true: this movie is not perfect. There are flaws; its adherents may have to look hard to find them, but however minute, they are there. But then, they are there for every movie. And in the end, because no movie is perfect, we can only understand it as best we can based on how it spoke to us as individuals.