What's it going to be, eh?

Rating: 10/10 (4 September 2015)

Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange applies a coat of comic absurdity to the ultra-violence of Alex and his droogs. It is more boisterous than Burgess' novel which masks the explicitness with Nadsat slang, which is much less prevalent in the film. The opening slow dolly away has his gang sprawled out in the Moldova milk bar, a innocent little front for a haven where drugged milk is dispensed out of a bound and chained female sculpture. The ornate mise en scène and the grandiose and imposing electronic Purcell piece create such a chaotic and chilling atmosphere in spite of the setting. Later, the gang ride in the Durango 95, the front two hunched over while the back two sit upright and serenade the wind of the night. Several vehicles swerve almost comically away to avoid a crash and I am reminded of a cartoonish style to the whole approach, green-screen and all. All it needs is some exaggerated sound effects when a car smashes into a wall, as if someone pushed over a whole shelf of percussion instruments in the same way Alex pushes over Mr Alexander's books in his hooliganism. And in that tunnel, the night is young and the lighting is low key and nightmarish, illuminating each savage blow but also distancing us from this dreadful act. Later it's revisited in broad daylight by the subdued Alex, and it's a telling contrast of his persona.
Malcolm McDowell's Alex is integral part of the film - he is a young man without a conventional moral framework and without direction, and he plays the hoodlum with a charm and dignified personality at times. His speech is theatrical and his charismatic persona that of a performance artist, accompanied by classical music. Kubrick's changes from the novel serve to accentuate this. The cat lady is morphed into a narcissistic, pretentious and needlessly aggressive character who parades erotic pieces of 'art' throughout her home and practises fetishised yoga. Alex mocks her in a dizzying hand-held and frenetic manner, giggling endlessly as he ridicules the phallic sculpture in an energetically charged crime. The rape of two young girls is changed to an act of sexual athletics, sped up rhythmically to an electric Rossini's William Tell Overture.
The world of Alex DeLarge is a decadent one - gangs brawl on decaying stages, police insert their own brand of brutality, social leaders and the opposition in turn fight over the people's vote and Alex as a social icon for change. The home of the DeLarge's is covered in semi-erotic art, the lurid coloured hair, makeup and dress of the mother reminiscent of a 'filthy old soomka'. Deltoid's visit to the residence has him show more affection to Alex than either of his parent's and hints at some childhood abuse. Alex's groans of pain in his hospital bed alternate with groans of pleasure of a nurse and doctor behind the curtain. The prison hymn admonishes individual aimless wandering and urges obedience to the shepherd's voice, another instance of symbolism. His faithful droogs receive a slow-motion assault for bringing up their own motivations and ideas against Alex's authority, and later repay the act with their own smashing of a milk bottle. Years later the pair assault Alex as policemen and the classical score is distorted by Walter Carlos with each hit of the baton, where the treatment and the absence of the Alex POV (the distorted worldview brought about by the use of wide angle lenses) suddenly strips the act of violence of its theatrical elements. What we witness is a world full of people obsessed with self-gratification and a desire to control others.
The hypocrisy of the state singles out Alex for the Ludovico technique, and his treatment is edited to doubly affect us as the audience as well. As the glorious Beethoven stirs from the speakers, we too witness the atrocities of the Naxi regime, the rapes, the beatings...never once shot to contextualise it as a medical experiment on a fictitious theatre screen but as a genuine part of the film reel. We cannot escape like Alex. The satirical element manifests in the character of the Minister of the Interior, a cultured man who enjoys Beethoven like Alex, and is so politically consumed that at the drop of a hat he will reverse his stance and openly encourage Alex's despicable lifestyle. If you may, Alex is the youth under control; a baby even (those delightful mannerisms where he opens his mouth agape to be fed by the Minister). He is a monstrous and morally reprehensible figure, yet easily enabled by the politician in a bid for publicity. On the other side you have Mr Alexander, tremendously well acted by Patrick Magee with his clipped speech patterns and trembling presence. He is long suffering and initially kind to an equally down trodden Alex, yet reveals himself to be a radically left wing activist who opposes the government's corruption and abusive methods. And again, he is shown to hypocritically take advantage of Alex himself in drugging and torturing him with Beethoven.
That final fantasy of Alex's is as surreal as his earlier ones; a determination in that whipping motion on Jesus of Nazareth, a blood-lusted Dracula, or surrounded by Egyptian slave girls. This time it's slowed down and appropriate too; he relishes in the sexual performance while a well-dressed classy crowd looks on and applauds with approval. Burgess' novel and Catholic Roots have Alex coming to a realisation of the pointless nature of his violent lifestyle and pondering a future and a family. That is problematic in proposing that Alex's delinquency will simply phase out. Kubrick's ending is a much more vivid and horrifying one; the world has given him free rein and will. What use is an orange if you peel back the organic layer and find a mechanic disposition?