Near-Flawless Masterpiece of Black Comedy and Political Satire

Rating: 10/10 (13 September 2002)

Arguably Kubrick's greatest film, and certainly one of the greatest films ever. This complex, engaging work functions on many levels - as future prophecy, social commentary, political satire and anthropological philosophy.
***Spoilers***
The machinations of the amoral Alex centre around random acts of violence, perpetrated not out of malice but simply for the sheer thrill. 'Alex' (which in Greek means 'without law') embodies the irrepressible human spirit at its best, in his love of Beethoven, and its worst, in his penchant for rape and the old ultra-violence. Alexander De Large, an obvious play on Alexander The Great, represents the 'delightful orange' as it is had in Burgess' book, unspoilt by regulation.
The similarities to Alexander The Great are shown when Alex' leadership of the droogs is put to the test - faced with the Gordian (`George-ian'?) knot of dissent among the ranks, Alex responds with the Alexandrian solution of beating the two into submission. But this first-seen attempt at enforcing order fails, as will occur again in the film... and Alex is left, betrayed by his droogs, to be picked up by the police.
A key point much glossed over by detractors of the film is the remorse Alex shows when he learns that he has murdered the cat woman. This may be seen in two lights: on the one hand, if he shows remorse, he cannot be viewed as a total monster, on the other if he knows what he does is wrong, he must face responsibility for his actions. This dichotomy is central to the film - the conflict between the optimistic and pessimistic views of humanity.
Also of note is the rank hypocrisy of the police and Alex' Corrections Officer. The police brutalise Alex, and Deltoid spits in his face. They are in reality no more inherently decent than the droogs themselves - they merely work for the other side.
In prison, Alex is subjected to total dehumanisation, becoming Prisoner #655321, and is treated like a child. However, as humanity has always done, Alex adapts himself to the new regime, currying favour with the prison chaplain, performing duties and studying the bible. But it is palpably false - he enjoys the bible, yes, but mostly the Old Testament, which features more violence. The only part of the New Testament he really enjoys is the crucifixion, seeing himself `helping in like, and even taking charge... dressed in the height of Roman fashion.'
Once volunteered for the Ludovico technique, Alex is injected with drugs and forced to view violent films scored with the very music he loves. An interesting thing to note is the eye-drops being put in Alex' eyes to prevent his retinas from scratching - the net effect is that Dr Brodsky is forcing Alex to watch violent films, and putting tears in his eyes. Facing the prospect of prolonged sessions, Alex pleads for mercy, calling the methodology a 'sin', to which Brodsky responds: `What's all this about sin?' Again, those in control of Alex are shown to be no more moral than he.
Alex then claims to be reformed, seeing that what he has done in the past is wrong, `terribly wrong! It's wrong because it's like against society.' This is an obvious feint, but it is significant that a voluntary confession of wrongdoing is rejected in favour of enforced morality.
When Alex' complete passivity is demonstrated, his tormentor embodies repulsive Middle-England toadishness. Clearly the Ludovico technique will render the common criminal as putty in the hands of the professional (the jackbooted, heel-clicking prison officer approves). Hilariously the actor, when bowing to applause for his performance, generously acknowledges Alex - politics has been replaced by show business. And a more sinister aspect of the treatment is revealed: Alex is unable to feel lustful thoughts: he experiences the same feelings of horror as when exposed to violence. The chaplain's objections are swiftly shouted down by the Minister of the Interior: 'The point is that it works!'
Released into society, Alex is rejected by his parents - again the society against which he has rebelled is lacking: only when Alex is really helpless and genuinely needs his parents do they abandon him. The irrepressible human spirit strikes out truly alone for the first time.
The sense of justice felt at the scene in which Alex is attacked by vengeful septuagenarian tramps is quickly replaced by a feeling of uncertainty - since Alex is truly helpless, how can revenge be morally justified? Willingly or no, he has changed. And it feels horribly wrong for Georgie and Dim to not only escape punishment, but to become enforcers of the law. But as Alex approaches the 'HOME' he ransacked earlier in the film, we sense that a full circle is being described.
That it is Alex' newly-returned sense of carefree well-being that allows the writer to identify Alex as his wife's rapist is a wonderful irony - th e same carefree spirit caused such horror and mayhem the last time we heard 'Singin' In The Rain'.
Clearly F. Alexander is no more for 'the people' than the oppressive Government he opposes: 'Not the people, they'd exchange [freedom] for a quieter life.' Again hypocrisy is shown at every hand's turn. Alex is again tortured by those who claim to wish him well.
Once at the hospital, it quickly becomes clear that Alex has been changed back to his old self again, in the hilarious scene with the pictures for him to supply words for. The rather heavy-handed satire of the now-apologetic Minister literally spoon-feeding Alex is something that has perhaps not aged well, but the overall idea is conveyed excellently. Again PR is substituted for politics, and we learn that F. Alexander has been arrested ('for his own protection', according to the Minister, but we can't help remembering the 'political offenders' of whom he spoke earlier). The undertones are at once comical, chilling, thought-provoking and gratifying, as amidst the hoop-la and fuss Alex reveals that he is indeed 'cured all right!'