All play and no work makes Jack (Nicholson) a VERY dull boy. . .

Rating: 7/10 (1 December 2000)

It's certainly not a new complaint in relation to this film, but I must register it anyway: Jack Nicholson's acting here is all wrong for the material. Instead of a slow buildup from banality to insanity - which, given the movie's otherwise brilliant creepiness of tone and style - could have been truly horrific to watch, we get Jack Torrance as the nutjob Big Bad Wolf right from the very beginning. It's weird: it's as if Kubrick is indeed making the ultimate horror film, and Nicholson is sabotaging it every step of the way by enacting the ultimate horror film *parody*. Each on its own terms is immensely enjoyable, but they effectively cancel each other out. I've never seen the styles of director and star diverge so emphatically (A minor comparison would be the first "Fletch" movie, where Michael Ritchie's taut direction is appropriate to a gritty crime thriller, but where star Chevy Chase waltzes through the vehicle glibly throwing darts into every dramatic setup).
However, there's no point in blaming Nicholson for the mess - this was clearly the way Kubrick wanted the part to be played. Perfectionist and control freak that he was, you don't believe for a minute that any inch of a Kubrick film isn't exactly how he wanted it; he certainly wouldn't allow a mere *actor* to steamroll his well-laid plans, not even one as forceful and magnetic as Jack Nicholson. Still, this movie - together with Batman, and even One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest - soured me on Jack for a long time; I found in him an actor far too willing to coast on his personality and to ham it up mercilessly, rather than bother to actually create a recognizable human being. Such a technique is fine, even commendable, for farceurs like Jim Carrey or Paul Reubens (either one of which would probably have been just as effective as Nicholson is here at being Jack Torrance) but we should expect more from our so-called Dramatic Actors. It wasn't until I saw some of his more restrained, nuanced work in such films as Ironweed, Wolf, The King of Marvin's Gardens, and even (amazingly) Easy Rider that I realized what a truly fine performer Nicholson can be when he is forced to, as it were, paint in between the lines (by the way, no complaints from me about his Oscar for As Good As It Gets - he's the only actor alive who could have made that part work the way it did). It's just too bad Kubrick didn't decide to use him this way; watching Jack Torrance go from a diffident, restrained man (watch the first part of Wolf to see how surprisingly well Nicholson can play such a character) to a rampaging lunatic would have been truly frightening (even with the extra bit of campiness Nicholson throws in - "Heeere's Johnny!", etc). It would have been as if the Overlook Hotel unleashed some primordial demon from the depths of an essentially decent man. The way it plays now, Jack's evil and insanity are loudly telegraphed from the very beginning (those dancing eyebrows of his NEVER stop!) - all that's left is to go through the motions.
Of course, there are some pretty startling motions to go through in this movie; Kubrick's technical brilliance and his ability to create an engrossing mise en scene ensure that the film can never be seen as a total failure. In fact, when Nicholson is offscreen, the goosebump factor here is actually pretty high. The long tracking shots of Danny riding his Big Wheel through the winding hotel corridors are justly famous, as is the very design of the Overlook's wide open - yet paradoxically oppressive - map room (where Jack does his "writing"): these sequences effectively make the Overlook into a character itself. The isolation of it, its stillness and quiet, and most importantly its labyrinthian hugeness serve to overwhelm the tiny family and break down whatever bond they may have (which, again, would have been so much more effective if we felt this family was ever bonded in the first place). Kubrick ingeniously avoids shock devices, for the most part, and creates his spooky atmosphere through an almost inhuman stillness and quiet - which effectively creates an undertow of dread and expectation in the viewer. Quite simply, there are images and flash-cuts in this movie that will get under your skin and that you will never be able to shake - they will haunt your subconscience forever (deliciously). None more so than the truly classic moment where Wendy, the wife, finally discovers what it is Jack has been "writing" all this time: I can think of few movie moments in history that are so gut-bustingly hilarious and at one and the same time so bone-chillingly frightening and perverse. For this one moment alone, the film demands a viewing.
It's simply too bad that Kubrick felt the need to invade the sanctity of his gothic cathedral like setting with the over the top rantings and ravings of the town lunatic. Not that that lunatic is not one devil of a fun guy to hiss and laugh at, it's just that he belongs in a different movie - the Evil Dead flicks, maybe, or one of Freddy Krueger's opuses. This conflict in styles between star and director ultimately make The Shining, for me at least, a frustrating experience: I keep wishing one of them would just get out of the other's way. The Shining could have been one of the hammiest and most enjoyable grand guignol horror experiences ever, or it could have been perhaps the most finely crafted and subtly shaded psychological thriller of all time. Alas, it cannot be both - and in trying to do so, it effectively undermines itself at every turn.