text: Sometimes it takes a film-making master like Kubrick to bring that extra little something, that unique, untractable and elusive ingredient that transforms a great movie or a great script into a masterpiece, one for the ages.<br /><br />It's not just that Stephen King's story has enough meat and potatoes making it difficult for even the most workmanlike of directors to miss. Heck, even King himself didn't fare so bad. It's how Kubrick perceives King's universe, how he transforms the page into screen time, that renders THE SHINING both a visual feast and a compacted masterclass in directing.<br /><br />Kubrick's miss-en-scene is, as usually, terrific. The movie progresses with a brisk, sharp, lively pace, even though it's neither fast nor heavily edited and it clocks at no less than 160 minutes. The camera prowls through the lavish corridors of the Overlook Hotel like it is some kind of mystic labyrinth rife for exploration, linear tracking shots exposing the impeccably decorated interiors in all their grandeur. There's a symmetry and geometrical approach in how Kubrick perceives space that reminds me very much of how Japanese directors worked in the sixties. As if what is depicted is inconsequential to how all the different elements are balanced inside the frame.<br /><br />Certain images definitely stand out. The first shot of Jack's typewriter, accompanied off screen from the thumps of a ball, like drums of doom coming from some other floor or produced by the typewriter itself as though it is an instrument of doom all by itself, later on proving to be nothing short of just that. A red river flowing through the hotel's elevators in slow motion. Jack hitting the door with the axe, the camera moving along with him, tracking the action as it happens instead of remaining static, as though it's the camera piercing through the door and not the axe. The ultra fast zoom in the kid's face thrusting us inside his head before we see the two dead girls from his POV. And of course, the bathroom scene.<br /><br />Much has been said of Jack Nicholson's obtrusive overacting. His mad is not entirely successful, because, well, he's Jack Nicholson. The guy looks half-mad anyway. Playing mad turns him into an exaggerated caricature of himself. Shelley Duvall on the other hand is one of the most inspired casting choices Kubrick ever had. Coming from a streak of fantastic performances for Robert Altman in the seventies (3 WOMEN, THIEVES LIKE US, NASHVILLE), she brings to her character the right amounts of fragility and emotional distress. A terrific and very underrated actress.