2001: a space odyssey - The Music THE MUSIC To compose the music for 2001: A Space Odyssey, Stanley Kubrick called upon Alex North, who had written the score for Spartacus (the film that had made Kubrick bankable, after Paths of Glory had earned him his art-film credentials). North was mostly a composer of jazz-based music for "small subject" films - A Streetcar Named Desire; Death Of A Salesman; Unchained; The Rainmaker; The Long, Hot Summer; The Children's Hour; The Misfits; Who's Afraid Of Virginia Woolf? Composing the music for the epic Spartacus led to more "spectacular" scores, such as Cleopatra, The Agony And The Ecstasy, and Shoes Of The Fisherman. But from the very beginning of the 2001 project, something was wrong. Kubrick "was direct and honest with me concerning his desire to retain some of the 'temporary' music tracks which he had been using," North would later recall.

"Somehow I had the hunch," he said, "that whatever I wrote to supplant Strauss' 'Zarathustra' would not satisfy Kubrick." He was right. Neither the director nor the composer could finally live with a score that was part North's original work and part excerpts from classical pieces. The "temporary" tracks were what Kubrick used in the completed film. Whatever the motivation behind it, Kubrick's decision to use preexisting classical music - like everything else about 2001 - went against the grain of the science-fiction film genre. Most of what passed for science-fiction films before 2001 employed fairly conventional film music, though the best of them were often distinguished by futuristic experimentation, such as Bernard Herrmann's remarkable score for The Day The Earth Stood Still, the "electronic tonalities" created by Luis and Bebe Barron for Forbidden Planet, and the theramin-based "space music" that quickly became a cliché.

"'The Blue Danube,'" Kubrick remarked in an interview, "gets about as far away as you can from the cliché of space music." Both the most widely loved and the most frequently lampooned of the waltzes of Johann Strauss Jr., "The Blue Danube" was given new life when Kubrick associated it with the dancelike poetics of weightlessness. So hauntingly perfect was his use of the Strauss waltz to accompany the graceful descent of spacecraft in silent space that today few people can think of either without the other. Perhaps sensing the rightness of this conjunction of music and image, Kubrick reprised the waltz for the film's end titles, sending the audience away with something they could hum and deftly supplanting the disturbing open-endedness of his finale with comfortingly familiar rhythm and melody. There is a certain irony in Kubrick's decision to use a composition of Aram Khachaturian's in 2001 in preference to Alex North's music: North had scored Spartacus, Kubrick's film of the epic story of gladiator/slave rebellion that Khachaturian had himself scored for ballet.

Khachaturian worked on his Spartacus music beginning as early as 1950, producing three different versions - the final one of which was premiered in 1968, the same year that 2001 appeared. Much earlier, Khachaturian had composed the popular Gayane, a massive four-act ballet about crisis and reconstruction on a Soviet collective farm, filled with spirited Russian dances, of which the popular concert piece "Sabre Dance" is best known. Kubrick's use of the languid, melancholic Adagio from Gayane to accompany the flight of Discovery toward Jupiter is a stroke of genius. It amplifies the monotony of the astronauts' existence aboard the ship and adds an overtone of near-hopelessness. The crew is, after all, not only in an empty and sterile environment but also millions of miles from home (and, as we later learn, doomed never to return).

The mood created by this use of the Khachaturian adagio finds a more recent echo in Oliver Stone's Platoon (1986): Samuel Barber's mournful Adagio For Strings floods the film with foreboding and despair as a yawning air transport disgorges its cargo of doomed recruits onto the shimmering-hot blacktop of Tan Son Nhut Air Force Base, Vietnam. The most experimental music to be found in 2001 is that of the contemporary experimental composer Gyorgy Ligeti, whose turbulent choral atonality combines, for Kubrick's purposes, the unease of inexplicable occurrence with the adventurous strangeness of the utterly new. The choral phrases of the Requiem, each overriding the one before, create a layering of laments that emerge like the sound of battling winds. This music accompanies the first appearance of the monolith and reflects the furor into which it sweeps the band of man-apes. A portion of the piece is heard again as Discovery is guided by a floating monolith into Jupiter space. The less turbulent, more wondrous "Lux Aeterna" accompanies the low-level flight of the moon bus that carries Dr.

Floyd to the site of the excavated monolith, and his team's "artifact." The disorienting and adventurous "Atmospheres" expresses the danger and drama of Bowman's dizzying "light show" flight through Jupiter's atmosphere toward his destiny. Another use of Ligeti's music occurs in the sequence in the 18th century room in which Bowman lives out his life: The presence of his extraterrestrial "zookeepers" was suggested by surreal, laughterlike sounds created by altering an excerpt from a Ligeti composition. (Ligeti reportedly took successful legal action for the unauthorized modification of his music.) But unquestionably the most famous and most emphatically right musical choice in 2001: A Space Odyssey was the selection of the stirring introduction to Richard Strauss' "Also Sprach Zarathustra" to accompany the film's key moments of planetary alignment and intellectual propulsion. Johann Strauss' "The Blue Danube" was already a widely popular piece before 2001; not so "Also Sprach Zarathustra," nor even Richard Strauss himself, both of only second-echelon importance even in narrow classical and operatic circles.

The opening to "Also Sprach Zarathustra" is but a brief introduction to a sweeping full-length orchestral tone poem celebrating Nietzsche's ambitious philosophical parable of the superman. But by the time Kubrick was done with it, that fanfare was thoroughly and irrevocably associated in the popular mind will stellar spectacle. The news media and NASA picked up on it; so did television commercials and the satirical impulses of comic filmmakers. But even though widely quoted and parodied, nothing has shaken loose the power and appropriateness of Kubrick's choice, which not only embodied a philosophical and musical rightness but also introduced the music of Strauss to a far wider audience than it had enjoyed before. Becoming in the film a sort of musical emblem of the Nietzschean philosophical theme on which Strauss' tone poem was based, the fanfare from "Also Sprach Zarathustra" accompanies an alignment of astral bodies at the film's opening; the man-ape leader's triumph at discovering the power of the bone as tool and weapon; and the unforgettable finale, when the fetal Star-Child joins a new celestial confluence - and, turning gently, weightlessly, floats into film history.

Classical music at the movies | Film | The Guardian Share on Messenger Close The beloved 1945 tearjerker Brief Encounter is the first motion picture in which the score literally seizes control of the film, not only because it paralyses the hapless viewer, but because it makes it impossible for the protagonists to function in a normal fashion. From the moment Celia Johnson, a prim suburban homemaker, meets Trevor Howard, a charming doctor, in a crowded railway station, Sergei Rachmaninov's overbearing Second Piano Concerto begins to terrorise the star-crossed lovers with the implacable cruelty of an Inspector Javert. For the next 85 minutes, the torment never stops. When the doomed lovers sit down to eat, the concerto is rumbling along in the background. When Johnson switches on the radio, the concerto comes blaring through the speakers. In the tunnel, on the bridge, in the bedroom, beneath the lamppost, by the quay, across the hedges, through the keyhole, and yes, even smack dab in the middle of the boisterous train station cafe, the clamorous strains of Rachmaninov's overwrought, piano concerto keep coming at them.

At the end of the film, seemingly wracked by guilt, Howard announces that he is taking a post in South Africa, thus deserting his inamorata forever. But the truth is, it is not guilt or self-loathing or even a desire to salvage what remains of his self-respect that motivates Howard to flee Albion. It is the burning desire to escape the strains of Rachmaninov's hammy Second Piano Concerto forever. Look here, old girl: Hasn't a chap suffered enough? Besides, I want to clear out of here before Sergei gets a chance to write the dreaded Rach Third. Classical music has been a fixture in motion pictures since the industry's inception, but rarely is it used in the explicitly punitive fashion director David Lean resorted to in Brief Encounter. One exception is the 2002 film The Hours, where Philip Glass's prepubescent minimalism, combined with Nicole Kidman's Pinocchian prosthetic schnoz, makes the film both unwatchable and unlistenable.

Another is Fearless, the 1993 film about a plane crash survivor who cannot readjust to his previous life because he keeps hearing the ominous, molasses-paced third movement from Henri Gorecki's lugubrious Third Symphony. But minimalism is not classical music à la Bach, Beethoven and Brahms; it is better described as learner's permit classical music. Glass's work doesn't sound much different from Brian Eno's, and Gorecki's repetitive symphony sounds like it was composed in the 12th century for people who wish they were still living in the 11th, when composers still knew how to bang out a tune you could hum. As a rule, film score classical music is used as a shorthand: Handel indicates that the snobs have arrived, Mahler that someone is about to die, but not before pouting about it, and Wagner is a sure sign that big trouble's a-brewing. This cultural semaphore system was established in the silent-film era, when no monster worth his salt would dream of making his entrance without the accompaniment of Bach's Toccatta and Fugue in D or something equally theatrical by Liszt.

The tradition continues today: Vivaldi's ludicrously overplayed Four Seasons invariably indicates that the stuffed shirts are having brunch; Beethoven's Ode to Joy announces that Armageddon may be just around the corner; and anytime an aria by Verdi, Bellini or Puccini is heard, you can bet your bottom dollar that someone is going to get raped, stabbed, blinded, buried alive or impaled. Purists ridicule the use of classical music in films, complaining that the same pieces are used over and over again: the Blue Danube Waltz, Pictures at an Exhibition, the Pachelbel Canon. Yet the truth is, classical music, an art form that has been on life support for at least one generation, would have completely faded out of the public's consciousness by now were it not for films and television commercials. Purveyors of upscale merchandise - luxury cars, jewellery, champagne, furs, and so on - love to use the classics in their advertisements not only because they exude a sense of class usually lacking in the slobs and thugs who can afford to buy their products, but because the themes are so familiar that they merely re-evoke emotions that have already been embedded years earlier.

(It also helps that classical music is mostly in the public domain, which Aretha Franklin's work is not.) Moreover, there is something reassuring neutral and inoffensive about Chopin and Debussy and Puccini, whereas products involving the marketing complicity of James Taylor, Jimmy Buffett, Phil Collins or John Cougar Mellencamp can anger some viewers to the point that they would never again buy the company's products. Films also help classical music from expiring. Classical music, used in hundreds of films, including movies where it is least expected, keeps the lofty art form in the public ear, even when the public does not know what it is listening to, or can barely hear the music in the background. It also helps that hundreds of movie scores are ripped-off versions of the classics, with Gustav Holst's The Planets and Igor Stravinsky's The Rite of Spring the most heavily plagiarised.

People who claim to abhor modern music are actually listening to watered-down Stravinsky, Alban Berg, Arnold Schoenberg and Anton Webern every time they go to a cinema; those snippets and sound effects of doors creaking and aliens slithering and cars crashing and serial killers lurking are little more than "sampled" retreads of compositions written almost a century ago and now rewritten by music conservatory graduates masquerading as cutting-edge composers. For a clearer idea of how this system works, particularly for those thinking of making their own films, the following is a handy guide to classical music as a mood-setting device in motion pictures: Carmina Burana by Carl Orff This over-the-top choral selection appears in its original form, or some ripped-off version, in every film trailer promoting motion pictures involving battle axes. If Huns, Vikings, Goths, Malmelukes, Tatars, Turks or Mongols are about to lay waste to civilisation, despoiling the virgins, defiling the temples and eviscerating the city fathers, you can count on Carl Orff turning up. The music surfaces in a more contemporary setting in Oliver Stone's Natural Born Killers: different weapons, same level of depravity.

What seemed like a good idea when John Boorman made his King Arthur saga Excalibur in 1981 has now turned into the biggest musical cliche of them all; if you hear the strains of Carmina Burana, or even music that sounds like Carmina Burana, while watching a motion picture, keep your eyes peeled for Orcs. Adagio for Strings by Samuel Barber Nothing better expresses the horrors of war, the loss of innocence, the flaws in the best-laid plans of mice and men, and the vanity of human wishes than this morose little number by the under-appreciated Pennsylvania native. Best known as the backing music from Oliver Stone's Platoon, where Willem Dafoe played a Christ-like GI condemned to both an early death and horrible teeth, it has also been heard in such films as Elephant Man and Lorenzo's Oil. They're no picnic either. Intermezzo from Cavalleria Rusticana by Pietro Mascagni Used to shocking effect at the beginning of Raging Bull, and to considerably less effect at the end of The Godfather: Part III, this is the only piece of music Mascagni is remembered for.

Bittersweet, tragic, beautiful, the interlude is invariably identified with tragic Italian-American males whose lives might have turned out less tragically had they gone into another line of work. Finlandia by Jean Sibelius If you've seen The Hunt for Red October or Die Hard: With a Vengeance you'll know to get the big guns primed when Sibelius pops up; this thing could go nuclear. Rhapsody in Blue by George Gershwin The score to Manhattan, Gershwin's classic buttresses Allen's controversial thesis that New York is a really, really great city with a lot of really tall buildings. Ride of the Valkyries by Richard Wagner The gun ships are coming, the lunatics are landing, the napalm is falling, and all hell is breaking loose. Seized upon by Francis Ford Coppola in Apocalypse Now to convey the idea that the American incursion in Vietnam was the work of bloodthirsty psychopaths, this trusty old Aryan favourite never fails to please, in part because it is identified so closely with Wagner's supporters in the Third Reich, by far the worst Reich of them all.

Also Sprach Zarathustra by Richard Strauss Another crowd-pleasing favourite by a conflicted Teuton, this bombastic old chestnut never goes out of fashion. Since being heard at the opening of Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey, it has frequently been used in movies, ads and TV programmes to convey the idea that something portentous and perhaps even species-altering is about to occur. You just can't beat the Germans for this kind of apocalyptic material. Cello Suites by Johann Sebastian Bach From the moment this lugubrious music is first heard in Ingmar Bergman's Sarabande, you know that death, disappointment, despai r and disaster are right around the corner. Death, disappointment, despair and disaster are always right around the corner in Ingmar Bergman films, but in this final work he's not even making an effort to sugarcoat the misery that lies ahead. Used in many other films, Bach's cello suites are the very last word in menopausal grief.

Air on a G String by Bach Though this sublime little jewel turns up everywhere, its most cynical use is in Seven, where it serves two purposes: to announce that the hero (Morgan Freeman) is a paragon of virtue, intellect and class, and to alert the audience that an epidemic of unprecedented depravity is about to erupt in Beantown. From the moment its lilting strains are heard, it's only a matter of time before Gwyneth Paltrow's head turns up in that overnight delivery box. Eine Kleine Nachtmusik by Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart Whether it's Batman, Bonfire of the Vanities, Daddy Day Care, GI Jane or Charlie's Angels: Full Throttle, somebody's having themselves a classy fundraiser. Beethoven's Ninth Symphony Used in Apt Pupil, A Clockwork Orange, Cruel Intentions, Dead Poets Society, and many others. The message: Pay attention, folks: auteur on board.

Overture to William Tell by Rossini As heard in Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure, The Butcher Boy, Brassed Off and many other films starting with the letter "B," the triumphant theme from the beloved TV series The Lone Ranger (earlier, a beloved radio show) sends the unmistakable message that help is on the way, the forces of evil will be undone, the varlets will be cast out into the darkness, and the Yorkshire miners' pickup band will win that coveted first prize. And finally: Anything by Antonio Vivaldi The stuffed shirts are preening, the plutocrats are beaming, the gentry are celebrating, the society matrons are congratulating themselves on yet another job well done. High time for Adam Sandler to fart into somebody's face, doncha think? · This article was amended on Monday October 22 2007. In this article about classical music in films we mentioned the Blue Dabune Waltz; that should have been The Blue Danube Waltz. This has been corrected.

Review: A 'Space Odyssey' in cosmic harmony at the Hollywood Bowl - LA Times The stars, a 'Space Odyssey' and the Hollywood Bowl in cosmic harmony Review: A 'Space Odyssey' in cosmic harmony at the Hollywood Bowl Lawrence K. Ho / Los Angeles Times The Hollywood Bowl makes an ideal venue for the L.A. Philharmonic to explore the classical music in Stanley Kubrick’s "2001." The Hollywood Bowl makes an ideal venue for the L.A. Philharmonic to explore the classical music in Stanley Kubrick’s "2001." (Lawrence K. Ho / Los Angeles Times) Richard S. Ginell Stanley Kubrick's 1968 film "2001: A Space Odyssey" became a landmark event for classical music almost by accident. Kubrick had originally commissioned film composer Alex North to write an original score for his movie, but somewhere in the post-production phase, the maverick director decided that he liked the selections of classical music that he used as "guide tracks" better. So North's score was scrapped (it has since been found and released on CD), and the classical selections were embedded in pop culture. The MGM soundtrack album from the film went gold.

The imposing "Sunrise" opening of "Also Sprach Zarathustra" suddenly became Richard Strauss' most famous piece: Elvis Presley used it for his entrances at his concerts, and Eumir Deodato had a No. 2 hit record with a jazz-funk version. SIGN UP for the free Essential Arts & Culture newsletter >> "2001" (along with 1967's "Elvira Madigan") was a harbinger of a flurry of films in that era that used straight classical music, including "Slaughterhouse Five," "Death in Venice" and Kubrick's own "A Clockwork Orange." Most unlikely of all, "2001" catapulted to fame the hitherto-little-known Hungarian avant-garde composer György Ligeti to his great surprise (and for awhile, chagrin), since he didn't know his music was being used. Photos Los Angeles Times photographers document the year in arts and culture.

I would guess that had North's score been retained, you would never encounter Ligeti's spooky, drifting, challenging — and uncannily appropriate to the film — micropolyphony at Hollywood Bowl, where on Tuesday night the Los Angeles Philharmonic played the "2001" score live underneath a screening of the film. There were live-orchestra screenings of "2001" in London in 2010 and Birmingham, England, in 2013; the San Francisco Symphony performed a "2001" program last September, albeit playing complete works without the film. Yet all of these were done indoors, so seeing and hearing this sci-fi space-travel film under the stars added an extra dimension to the experience. It was easy to let go of any grappling with the film's amorphous story line and just take the thing in as a spectacular, sensual, abstract light show. With the Ligeti pieces most likely in mind, the phil turned to a new music person, Brad Lubman — whose Ensemble Signal participated in the Next On Grand concerts in May — to conduct.

Lubman immediately made an impression, leading a powerful rendition of an excerpt from Ligeti's "Atmospheres" prior to the film's opening sequence. And one has to admit, the "Sunrise" opening has never sounded so thrilling as when heard by a live orchestra outdoors with the unforgettable corresponding images on the big screens, validating Kubrick's original vision. Yet the initial thrills soon threatened to spill into overkill, for the sound level was sometimes cranked up to the level of a rock concert. In the excerpts from Ligeti's Requiem, Lubman led members of the Los Angeles Master Chorale with skill and fervor, but the voices sounded distorted at peak level, almost drowning out the instruments. During the stunning "Star Gate" sequence, where the Requiem, "Atmospheres" and an electronic alteration of Ligeti's "Aventures" follow in succession, the Bowl seemed to shake with unpleasantly deafening bass rumbling. Film audiences may be used to these sound levels, but it doesn't do justice to this incredible music.

Fortunately, Johann Strauss Jr.'s "Blue Danube" Waltz wasn't subjected to such sonic mayhem, and Lubman led it with considerable sway and grace, syncing with the footsteps of a flight attendant in the film. Same with the Adagio from Khachaturian's "Gayane," given a lovely, patient rendition, and Ligeti's "Lux Aeterna." The turnout was huge for a Bowl weekday — not posted, but estimated at more than 11,000 by an usher — and a good deal of the audience behaved like a movie crowd, laughing and applauding at times, with many leaving en masse as the credits rolled while the philharmonic was still stoically playing the "Blue Danube" onstage. But get this: When the composer credits were flashed on screen, the one who got the biggest ovation was Ligeti. Kubrick's trust in his audience was repaid. The Kubrick Site: Slavoj Zizek on Eyes Wide Shut 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY: A critical analysis of the film score by Dariusz Roberte In its day 2001: A Space Odyssey was one of the most talked-about films.

The film divided audiences over all aspects of mise-en-scène and narrative: dialogue, sets, use of technology, music  and silence, not to mention the enigmatic ending. I put forward the assertion that  especially in terms of a purely audio-visual experience - 2001 is still an important film. Now, 33 years later in the films projected year one can still refer to it as a masterpiece, part of its uniqueness owing somewhat to its novel use of classical music. Various books and journals were consulted, on: film theory, film music and composers, biographies on 2001s director Stanley Kubrick. My strategies were to draw from these sources, an overview and broad spectrum of opinion and insights on Kubricks intentions; the history and philosophy of film and film music; and also the responses of critics and the public (or the responses implied by the related information). Because of the predominantly audio-visual nature and minimal dialogue, the narrative structure and plot had to be detailed more than would normally be necessary.

2001 is a meditation on the question of extraterrestrial intervention and its influence on the process of human evolution, it is, in Kubricks words: a "mythological documentary" (Walker, 1973: 241). It covers 4 million years, from the opening scene The Dawn of Man in the Pleistocene era to the space technology of the twentyfirst-century. It is also a meditation on the paradox of civilization and dehumanisation; lots of questions are raised regarding metaphysics, theology, cosmology, the impact of technology on mans consciousness, and his role in the universe of space and time. "One was asked to experience it like a piece of sculpture, before one tried to understand it" (Walker, 1973: 242). The film being so predominantly visual, the role of the music becomes essentially intrinsic to its overall form. The narrative structure is not like any other film of the time  with the exception of Andrei Tarkovskys Solaris (or Solyaris) of 1972. 2001 dared to break from the post-silent cinematic tradition of telling a story largely through words.

What Kubrick did that was radical was to bridge the gap between experimental non-narrative film and the traditional plot-driven film - or more, to assimilate and transcend the limitations of both extremes. So, even though the abstract and 'psychedelic' sequences in 2001 owe much to the experimenta of the silent era and more especially to the films of such mystic film luminaries as Jordan Belson and the Whitney brothers of the early sixties; 2001 achieved so much by utilizing such experimentation and developing the 'metaphorical narrative' within a large canvas. [C] The opening credits are accompanied by Richard Strausss Thus Spake Zarathustra: as with all Kubricks films, he doesnt believe in wasting money on long and elaborate credits  the music is sufficient to instil drama and a feeling of anticipation. [1a] The film begins with a long silence where only the noises of two clans of hominids, some tapirs and a leopard are heard.

[1b] The first appearance of the monolith introduces the dies irae of György Ligetis Requiem, a very challenging and hypnotic piece replete with microtonal clusters, soaring overwhelmingly powerful wordless voices and orchestral sonorities conjuring supernatural states of mind  a sonic wormhole into the infinite. The music is almost too profound for the clumsy and trepid kinaesthetic response of the hominids to the irresistible black surfaces of the monolith. But of course the music is an expression of the inexpressible  the alien intelligence that dwarfs prehistoric man. "Historically, dissonance  harsh, controversial, disconcerting sounds  has been treated in films as negative factor implying neurosis, evil" [etc.] (Bazelon, 1975: 88). However, in Space Odyssey this music  Ligetis  is used to evoke feelings of awe, almost reverence for the unknown, the terror experienced is part of the fabric of wonderment not abhorrence.

In this I am certain the music succeeds admirably; this is more a compliment to the composer than to Kubrick, yet it took the directors visionary powers to fuse it with the image. Ligetis Requiem dissolves, leaving a residue of the new man consciousness in the apes [1c]. [1d] The C-G-C chords of Strausss Zarathustra thump triumphantly as the camera tilts upward from the foot of the monolith to the famous shot of earth, moon and sun in orbital conjunction  seen throughout the film. "The chords of Thus Spake Zarathustra reverberate more profoundly at the Dawn of Man than any verbal commentary couched in a pseudo-Genesis style" (Walker, 1973: 245). [1e] The sequence of the bone hurled by the most advanced ape cuts to [2a-b-c-d]...the atomic bomb satellite and the courtly grace of Johann Strausss Blue Danube Waltz plunges us into what looks like a Newtonian universe of clockwork and precision.

The Blue Danube and the spinning Hilton Space Station have a symbiotic relationship  the waltz with its musical pap gains a greater aesthetic drama when thrown into the equation of technology in the darker reaches of space. The waltz also acts as "muzak  happy-music for space travellers" (Manvell and Huntley, 1975: 253) for the Pan am space shuttles flight, delivering the space scientist to the station, the Blue Danube thereby serves many functions. This urbane irony, in 3/4 time, the 19th century waltz of feminine elegance aligned to the space hardware moving with 21st century precision could be seen as a cosmic Freudian docking procedure. When the orchestra swells there is a momentary lilt in the music  the breath and heartbeat of history echoing through the backdrop of mute darkness. As to why the director chose this music, one enthusiastic viewer wrote to Kubrick advancing the theory that "centuries ago 3/4 time was referred to as perfect time and that it best described the motion of the universe" (Agel, 1970: 191).

Whether this notion is spurious or not, it remains that with these juxtapositions of music and image, Kubrick has created an innovative narrative approach. The musics most eloquent irony is in the fake Nietzschian world of man as superman and the banale dialogue abounding around his space toys while the elegant cosmic law-abiding metrical rhythm steers us through to the moon base. Via the chocolate box waltz, Kubricks black humour and cynicism could be asking us to question this imperfect evolution generated by simian violence to the passive-aggressive Americans of corporate interplanetary conquests. The music is not used to emphasize a characters action, emotion or dialogue  in fact, virtually none of the music is underscored  the music is practically on equal footing to the imagery, and together they act as a dialogue. "2001 aspired not to the condition of a science fiction novel but to that of music." (Kubrick in Baxter, 1997: 215).

About the film and the use of music and image Kubrick says: "It attempts to communicate more to the subconscious and to the feelings than to the intellect." (Agel, 1970: 7). Of the 141 minutes of running time (originally 160) there are only 40 minutes of dialogue. [3a] In the region of the Tycho crater on the Earths moon the monolith has reappeared  after 4 million years. A lunar shuttle is sent with space scientists, who, in their masked mortal nervousness discuss sandwiches and fillings. Ligetis Lux Aeterna is heard when we view the vehicle from the wastes of the lunar landscape, the music fades out momentarily during the empty dialogue and then fades back in as we contemplate with the astronauts what lies ahead at Tycho. I feel this is a mistake; dialogue at this point serves no purpose and only diminishes the quality and energy of this scene. However, this is only a brief lapse and the return of the music restores our feelings of unearthliness.

The Lux Aeterna music (scored for voices alone) has transparent yet ominous strands of sound, the voices cluster with electronic-like timbres and sometimes give the impression of souls lost in time the spectres of an earlier odyssey or, the premonitory voices of the future leaking into space and out of time? [3b] The astronauts arrive at the excavation site of TMA-1, the NASA term for the monolith. For the second time we hear the awe-inspiring music from Ligetis Requiem  the sentinel: alien intelligence manifesting as music. The astronauts respond just as the apes did 4 million years before - tentatively touching the monolithic surface. Like typical tourists they line up - with earthling vulgarity - for a photograph of national pride. But suddenly their myopic self-aggrandising behaviour is shattered "as if they were being mown down by machine gun bullets" (Walker, 1973: 251): it is an ear-piercing signal emanating from the monolith. Once again the earth and sun are in conjunctive orbit.

During this whole scene all we hear is the music and this shattering din, no dialogue has transpired (thankfully). Here again, the mystery, the realisations and questions have full impact purely through music and image; of course this is not unusual in cinema (in brief or bridging sections), but 2001 makes profound and extensive use of this. No sooner has the deafening signal faded into our mental recesses, when the scene cuts to us finding ourselves floating in eternity  drifting with the tide of the Discovery on the Jupiter Mission 18 months later. [4a] The Adagio from the Gayaneh ballet suite of Aram Khatchaturian is the only music that features in this section of the film; this and the extended silences help to imbue a feeling of isolation. While the only two conscious astronauts engage in on-board procedures in unemotional numbness, the Armenian melodic lines of the Adagio unfold forlornly. However, despite the sombreness of this music, there is a floating, mysterious quality here that seems to etch into the fabric of space.

The slowness of the Adagio seems to correspond perfectly with the motion of bodies in weightlessness (celestial mechanics). [4b] A growing concern about a possible computer malfunction develops. This sequence is without music, both astronauts dont realise their discussion regarding HAL is being lip-read, the suspense created by our realisation of this builds, and then cuts climactically for intermission. [4c] When the cybernetic conflict finally occurs between man and machine and all but one astronaut are terminated, the film doesnt assault us with clichéd conflict music. Instead we find ourselves in the silence of space as the lone astronaut David Bowman goes through various space-walking manoeuvres. The claustrophobic sound of Bowmans breathing is all we hear right through to the disengaging of the computer HALs higher cortical functions. With the rhythm of breath the tension mounts, and during this sequence we the audience are breathing those breaths, and through this identification are made more acutely aware of the vast vacuum surrounding us. The computers voice has been bland but somehow more human and emotional than anyone elses throughout the whole film  the paradox of evolution and artificial intelligence.

This narrative theme hits home even more poignantly as HAL sings the only song in the film while Bowman performs the lobotomy. The sound of human breathing acts as a counterpoint to the machines swan song. [5a] The third part Jupiter and Beyond the Infinite opens with the monolith gleaming in the light of celestial bodies against the blackness. For the third time we are thrust into the astonishing realm of Ligetis Requiem, the following sequences are some of the most extraordinary ever filmed in the history of cinema. "Kubricks ambition in 2001 is, in some ways, to return to cinema the notion of film as experience, a notion that has often taken second place to the mediums narrative aspirations." While one of the films concerns is the experimenting with narrative, "it seems equally concerned with creating a visual and aural experience so unique that audiences will feel that they are experiencing film for the first time." (Falsetto, 1994: 48) "The nine moons of Jupiter are in orbital conjunction (a near-impossible astronomical occurrence)" (Agel, 1970: 221).

This occurs as Bowman, in pursuit of the monolith, is plunged into the stargate there is a musical montage at this point where two pieces by Ligeti overlap  the Requiem and the orchestral work Atmospheres. [5b] Atmospheres provides an eerie intensification to the "abstract expressionist art work" and solarized landscapes - where the "spatial and temporal ambiguity itself becomes the subject of the sequence." (Falsetto, 1994: 50). Kubricks indebtedness to avant-garde filmmakers such as Jordan Belson and the Whitneys is most apparent here, (Curtis, 1971: 170). To propel us along, Kubrick has included along with the music - random explosions or the inter-dimensional equivalent of sonic booms. [5c] The sense of hurtling through the infinite subsides as the Lux Aeterna music filters in [5d] and the curious sounds of preternatural voices take us into the next sequence: the Louis XVI rooms.

These strange sounds bare some resemblance to the Dadaist experiments of the twenties and musique concrète; they seem to follow Bowman as he discovers himself in startling moments of accelerated aging. "[T]he wizened chrysalis of the bedridden Bowman is raising his arm to the monolith, which has appeared at the foot of the deathbed" (Walker, 1973: 262). Bowmans corpse is "subsumed into the monolith" and "an aureoled embryo, a perfect Star-Child" (Walker, 1973: 263) moves earthwards through space. [5e] Thus Spake Zarathustra emerges out of this scene just as the transformation has transpired, the Star-Childs glowing eyes look back at us just as the tympani pound across the solar system and the majestic sound sustains this image of human transcendence. [E] The End Credits are accompanied by the Blue Danube Waltz. Why Kubrick chose to bring back interplanetary Vienna is uncertain and no opinions or ideas have been gleaned from the material examined.

All I can suggest is that this is another touch of dry wit mixed with a hint of hope for the future of humanity, if not - its sense of humility (and humour) in this universe peopled with beings of relative omnipotence. The following is a recapitulation on why the film music is effective and how it successfully portrays or enhances certain actions or images throughout: Besides its obvious associations with the theme of transcendence and the notion of the superman, Richard Strausss Thus Spake Zarathustra - from a purely musical point of view  bestows its visual component with enormous power. The prerecorded aspect does not diminish its tenor. The composers intentions (73 years previous) befit the theme of the film, and so (arguably) 2001 has provided an association that does not unduly affect the original aim of the music. None of the pieces by Ligeti obey or conform to conventional notions of meter, harmony, melody, etcetera, the music is used for its poetic drama, it expresses equally well the beginning and end of the universe  infinitely ancient and infinitely futuristic.

It has been argued that an original score should have been used (Alex Norths was rejected), or at least to have had Ligeti from start to finish. (Bazelon, 1975: 111). That may be a fair assertion, but very few film composers at that time could have done the film justice  Ligetis musical language was light years ahead of them. Bebe and Louis Barron of Forbidden Planet fame may have been another possibility, but thats another story. (Vale and Juno, 1994: 194). The Blue Danube Waltz provides a wry look at the space industry and man at this stage of evolution "functions as a kind of muzak to get you up to the space station where Howard Johnson and Conrad Hilton have taken over" (Glass in Bazelon, 1975: 279). It is a double-edged sword: the waltz conveys grandeur on so many levels, tying history together.

And despite the old Viennese associations "in the hands of Von Karajan the music becomes a work of art, the film helps dispel all of [those] associations, and were into a new audio-visual world" (Williams in Bazelon, 1975: 200). Regarding the use of Khatchaturians Adagio, Irwin Bazelon admits: "Moving slowly almost wistfully, the musics undeniable linear flow suggests to a remarkable degree the calm progress of the ship through the dark vastness of outer space." (Bazelon, 1975: 132). Interestingly, Bazelon doesnt generally agree to the use of pre-recorded music in film. The rampant use of bleeping whooshing crashing noises in the majority of science fiction films is minimised and Kubricks scientifically accurate application of absolute silence in space allow for greater impact in terms of the music content. The latter consideration is largely ignored in nearly all other films of this genre  deeming the public to be scientifically ignorant or unobservant.

Above all, given the subject matter, the cuing of musical episodes and the juxtaposing of these elements with extended periods of silence has created a filmic experience of such profundity. And yet, with such philosophical weight, as an art form it doesnt lose sight of the necessity of a narrative structure (even if that be of an experimental nature), and thereby it successfully engages the audience. But this is not an essay extolling the use of pre-recorded music in motion pictures. This is an assertion that the present film has made use of such music in a creative and remarkably innovative way. It has been queried as to whether the use of prerecorded music in 2001 is "a retrograde step, a return to the silent film?" (Manvell and Huntley, 1975: 253).

It is true, music was an integral part of the film experience in the silent era, films like "Réné Clairs Entracte(1924) and Fernand Légers Ballet Mécanique (1924-25), in fact, abstract or avant garde film has depended on musical theory for much of its effect" (Monaco, 1977: 39). James Monaco continues: By the 1930s Sergie Eisenstein, for his film Alexander Nevsky, constructed an elaborate scheme to correlate the visual images with the score by Prokofiev. In this film as in a number of others, such as 2001: A Space Odyssey, music often determines images. (Monaco, 1977: 39) However, there is nothing retrogressive about 2001 and its musical content. Given the experimental narrative structure, ambiguous imagery, and open-ended conclusion, 2001 is a film that challenged the soporific formulas of commercial entertainment.

It is evident that this essentially non-verbal film invites us to actively interpret and question our senses and perceptions. "Jean-Jacques Lebel described art as the creation of a new world, never seen before, imperceptibly gaining on reality." (Mast and Cohen, 1979: 755) PLOT SEGMENTATION AND CUE EDIT CROSS-REFERENCING, LISTING AND ANALYSIS OF MAJOR THEMES C: Credit Titles R. Strauss: Thus Spake Zarathustra (only the musics opening is used throughout whole film) 1: The Dawn Of Man: 4 million BC, Australopithecines  human evolution from alien influences? a. Silence (no music) (Key Images: shots of landscapes from the Pleistocene era, groups of hominids and tapirs grazing on plants  hominid clans fight - leopard with dead zebra  hominid attacked by leopard) b. G.

Ligeti: Requiem  dies irae (Key Images: Monoliths first appearance  one clan of hominids gather around and touch it  sun, earth and moon in orbital conjunction) c.Silence (no music) (Key Images: hominid clans fight - hominid discovers use of bone as weapon and kills rival leader) d.R. Strauss: Thus Spake Zarathustra (Key Images: hominid experiments with use of bone as weapon, slow-motion shots of tapirs falling to the ground) e.Silence (no music) (Key Images: hominid clan sit and eat the meat of slaughtered tapirs, hominid continues to play and experiment with bone as weapon  slow-motion shot: throws bone in air) match cut from bone(primitive weapon) to atomic bomb satellite (modern weapon) 2: 2001 AD: Mans conquest of space  the irony of human intelligence - the need for national security?  Existence of intelligent extra terrestrial life? a. J.

Strauss: Blue Danube Waltz (Key Images: Space Station and Earth Space Craft from space, Dr Floyd and flight attendants in Earth Space Craft in zero-gravity - slow-motion shots) b. Dialogue only(no music) (Key Images: Dr Floyd and flight attendants in Earth Space Craft arrival at Space Station, Floyd reading zero-gravity toilet instructions, Floyd meeting with Russian scientists, Floyds picturephone conversation with daughter) c.J. Strauss: Blue Danube Waltz (Key Images: Aries Shuttle leaving Space Station - Aries Shuttle arrival on Lunar Base) d.Dialogue only TMA-1 Excavation Site  Existence of intelligent extra terrestrial life? a. G.Ligeti: Lux Aeterna (Key Images: Lunar Shuttle and Lunar landscape) b. G. Ligeti:Requiem, dies irae (signal to Jupiter at end) (Key Images: Monolith  astronauts enter excavation by foot  astronauts touch monolith  astronauts group around monolith for photo  signal: astronauts deafened - orbital conjunction) 4:  Mission 18 months later  Questions of human and artificial intelligence a. A.

Khatchaturian: Gayaneh - Adagio (infrequent dialogue) (Key Images: Discovery craft exterior, Discovery craft interior, Poole and Bowman involved in everyday procedures, earth radio communications b. Dialogue and extended Silence (no music) (Key Images: HAL: antenna malfunction, Bowman - in pod - space-walking  antenna, checking power unit inside, HAL lip-reading Bowman and Poole) INTERMISSION continued (Appendix 1 & 2 combined) 4: Jupiter Mission cont.  Human conflict with and eventual dominance over machine  the possibility of intelligent extra terrestrial life and its connection with Jupiter c.

Dialogue and extended Silence (no music) (astronaut breathing  HAL singing) (Key Images: HAL lip-reading Bowman and Poole, Poole  in pod - space-walking  pod manoeuvred to attack  Poole floats off losing air, Bowman in pod to rescue Poole, astronauts in cryology: lives terminated  computer malfunction - Bowman in pod tries to re-enter ship - Bowman improvises airlock forced entry, Bowman inside HALs mainframe  HAL sings as lobotomization proceeds - screen image of Dr.Floyd divulging the real purpose of the mission) 5: Jupiter and Beyond the Infinite - Is Jupiter a portal to the stars? - Is the Monolith a portal to the stars? Rebirth and Human transcendence a. G. Ligeti: Requiem, dies irae  Atmospheres fades in at end (Key Images: Bowman exiting Discovery, Monolith in space, Jupiter moons in orbital conjunction, Bowman in pod) b.

G.Ligeti: Atmospheres (explosions - fade out half way) (Key Images: Bowman in pod, Bowmans face intercut with Star Gate: alien landscapes and formations, Bowmans eyes and colours intercut with Star Gate: alien abstractions) c. G.Ligeti: Lux Aeterna - fade out to - (sounds of preternatural voices) (Key Images: Bowmans eyes - colours fading, Bowman emerging from pod) d. G.Ligeti: Aventures (sounds of preternatural voices)  fade out to silence before deathbed (Key Images: Louis XVI rooms, Bowmans successively aging doubles  in space suite  at the table  in deathbed, monolith, glowing foetus merging with monolith) e. R. Strauss: Thus Spake Zarathustra (Key Images: Star-Child  planets in orbital conjunction  earth from space) E.

The Directors Series - Stanley Kubrick: 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY (1968) The Directors Series Academy Award Wins: Best Special Visual Effects Inducted into the National Film Registy: 1991 A few days ago we celebrated the forty-fifth anniversary of Apollo 11’s historic moon landing, an event that captured the imagination of the entire world and heralded the arrival of a Space Age that, regrettably, has yet to fully materialize. We haven’t been back to the moon since 1972, and our collective dream of becoming a spacefaring civilization living amongst the heavens has gone essentially unrealized—bogged down firmly by the mud of warfare, urgent domestic issues, shuttle disasters, and budgetary neglect. The dream of space is a dream delayed, a fact that was made painfully apparent at the dawning of the twenty first century. The year 2001 came and went, but we were nowhere near living on giant, spinning space stations and flying on commercialized commuter spaceships, let alone undertaking missions to Jupiter and beyond.

All of these things were promised to us in a film released the year before we stepped foot on the moon for real and discovered that it was, in fact, not made of cheese. That film was director Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY (1968), and its matter-of-fact, realistic (yet no less romantic) depiction of our spacefaring future captivated the imagination of millions. It became one of the most influential films of all time, and even today it remains a benchmark of craft and design. It is a cultural touchstone, its enigmatic storyline and mysteries sparking an endless debate about our place among the cosmos in addition to smaller (but no less important) matters like the development of artificial intelligence. Kubrick himself was fascinated by these ideas as well as the possibility of intelligent extraterrestrial life, and began a series of discussions with noted science fiction author Arthur C. Clarke in the mid-1960’s. Their conversations gave way to serious collaboration, with Clarke offering up several of his novels and short stories as source material for Kubrick to adapt.

Kubrick aspired to make, in his words, the “proverbial good science fiction film”, and fashioned his narrative from a combination of Clarke’s short stories, arranging them into an examination of mankind’s evolution as a process aided by extraterrestrial intelligence. In making 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY, Kubrick acted as his own producer, and thus had no one that would object to his dropping of traditional story structures and dialogue conventions while rendering the film instead as an enigmatic audiovisual experience. The financial and critical success of Kubrick’s previous film, DR. STRANGELOVE: OR HOW I LEARNED TO STOP WORRYING AND LOVE THE BOMB (1964), gave the visionary director a significant amount of momentum and leeway in getting his follow-up off the ground, and by the following year he was in back in England (where he had since relocated with his family full-time), rolling camera on the film that would cement his legacy as one of the greatest filmmakers of all time.

2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY unfolds against the sprawling expanse of space, but at its core, tells a very concentrated story about mankind’s evolution and taking our rightful place amongst other intelligent civilizations in the stars. Kubrick begins his examination with The Dawn Of Man— the point in which humanity branched off from the line of apes to become the dominant species on earth. Their evolution is kickstarted by the discovery of a massive black obelisk, which bestows superior intellect upon them. Their rapid development is charted quickly and wordlessly— it’s not long until they are walking on their hind legs, and the first use of tools allows the apes to transcend their scavenging ways while empowering them with the means to create their own meals. When a rival group of apes tries to push in on their territory, the newly-evolved apes turn their tools into weapons, and ensure their dominance through violence and murder. Kubrick then cuts to the year 2001, where space travel is commonplace and a similar black obelisk has been found buried underneath the moon’s surface. After laying inert for millions of years, it emits a single piercing radio wave out towards Jupiter before falling silent once again.

Excited by the first indisputable evidence of intelligent life outside the Earth, a research mission is organized and sent to Jupiter to see what might be waiting for us there. Dr. Dave Bowman (Keir Dullea) heads the five-man mission, assisted by his deputy Dr. Frank Poole (Gary Lockwood) while the remaining three men hibernate in cryosleep. The ship is guided by a state-of-the-art, artificially intelligent computer named HAL 9000. HAL 9000 is essentially self-aware, and is treated like a sixth member of the crew by the humans until the possibility of a flaw in its computations is suspected. The HAL 9000 series of computers were supposed to be perfect and utterly incapable of error, so the Jupiter mission’s HAL was given complete control of every single system on the ship. Naturally, even the smallest of computational errors on HAL’s part could mean that the entire mission might be compromised. When Bowman and Poole attempt to re-assert manual control of the ship and shut HAL down, the self-aware computer uses the ship itself as a weapon against the humans in a defensive bid to keep itself operational.

What neither Bowman or the all-knowing HAL 9000 can predict is that they are on a crash course with the next stage of human evolution, a stage that lies outside the space-time continuum and within a different dimension entirely. Kubrick’s films have always been noted more for their craft and style than their cast, and 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY reinforces that notion almost to an extreme, scaling back the characterization to the barest of minimums. Dialogue is almost nonexistent, with the first spoken line not occurring until we’re already twenty-five minutes in. What little dialogue there is serves either as exposition or as a means to move the story along in the simplest of strokes—anything else is banal and ordinary, emphasizing Kubrick’s thesis that space travel would be so commonplace by the year 2001 that any novelties would have worn off. This idea is personified in the character of Dr. Heywood Floyd (William Sylvester), who is introduced to us early in the film as a travelling businessman en route to the moon, his lack of wonder at the whole enterprise suggesting he’s made this trip several times before.

He’s more attached to his life back home on earth, at one point even making a video call to his daughter on her birthday (played by Kubrick’s own daughter, Vivian). Keir Dullea plays the Jupiter mission commander Dr. Dave Bowman, who can be considered the film’s conventional protagonist. However, his personality is downplayed considerably, achieving a blank, emotionless slate that tells us absolutely nothing about who he is as a person. The same can be said for the Gary Lockwood’s slightly more-aggressive deputy, Dr. Frank Poole. Since this is a Kubrick film, we should know by know that his story choices will always skew towards what’s most poetically ironic. In that respect, 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY is a stroke of genius in its depiction of the self-aware, artificially intelligent supercomputer HAL 9000. Voiced by Douglas Rain and represented only by a red light inside of a large glass lens, HAL 9000 is perhaps the most emotional, relatable character in the entire film, a strange claim considering that as a computer it can’t physically emote.

HAL 9000’s omniscience gives way to something resembling neuroses, and its ability to acknowledge its own existence leads to it actively protecting said existence at any cost. One would be hard pressed to find a villain in cinematic history that’s more fundamentally chilling and iconic than HAL 9000. The sequence where HAL 9000 begs in its characteristic monotone for Dr. Bowman to not disconnect it is especially haunting, simply because its lack of a physical body renders it ultimately unable to defend itself against Dr. Bowman’s particularly monstrous determination. The visual style of 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY marks a radical shift in Kubrick’s aesthetic, not the least notable aspect of which is the director’s return to glorious color after 1960’s SPARTACUS. Shot by cinematographer Geoffrey Unsworth in the staggeringly wide 2.20:1 Super Panavision aspect ratio, 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY is a film that demands to be seen on the largest screen possible.

My first experience with the film was on a regular consumer television, but shortly after I moved to Los Angeles, I caught a screening of a 70mm film print at the American Cinematheque’s Egyptian Theatre and the experience was nothing less than a revelation. Kubrick’s panoramic vistas are rendered in large swaths of vibrant, searing color (or, alternatively, inky blotches of black). He makes excellent use of the color red in particular, using it as a recurring visual motif to distinguish man from the colorless voids of space and technology. Red, as we all know, is the color of blood—the essence of life, so to speak. In the film, it is a color that belongs firmly in the domain of the humans—it is the color of Bowman’s spacesuit, for instance, as well as the interior of the reconnaissance pods—the only part of the ship safe from the watchful eyes and ears of HAL 9000. However, as HAL 9000 becomes more human-like in its expression of concern, the balance of red’s ownership tilts decidedly in the computer’s favor.

It starts off with only the little red right in its “eye”, but much like the inside of the human body, Kubrick eventually reveals that HAL 9000’s interior memory mainframe is literally drenched in red. Kubrick’s camerawork in 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY echoes HAL 9000’s supposed infallibility in its compositional precision, deliberately set back from its subjects so that it may observe the action in a cold, clinical manner devoid of subjectivity. Kubrick’s frame makes excellent use of depth, frequently incorporating one-point perspective compositions whose lines all converge towards a singular point in the distance. The pacing is glacial—at times unbearably so—but it also reinforces the endlessly patient, calculating nature of its antagonist. Despite the plodding nature of 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY’s storytelling, Kubrick and editor Ray Lovejoy still infuse it with punches of New Wave expressionism, like jarring jump cuts that radically disrupt the visual continuity.

The most famous example of this is perhaps the most famous jump cut of all time, where Kubrick jumps forward four million years within a single frame by cross cutting from a bone in the air to a similarly-shaped satellite suspended in orbit above the Earth. Nearly fifty years after the film’s release, this cut in particular is still breathtaking in its sheer audacity. Kubrick’s inventiveness extends to other aspects of the film, such as sound design. 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY was groundbreaking in its realistic depiction of the sonic aspects of space travel. Most science fiction films tend to value entertainment over realism, and thus blatantly disregard the well-known fact that space is a vacuum, and sound needs air in order to travel and be heard. Recent films like Alfonso Cuaron’s GRAVITY (2013) have re-introduced us to the idea of the silent cosmos, but Kubrick’s realistic treatment of the phenomena in 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY blazed the trail in using the lack of sound as an asset.

Long stretches of the film are just simply the sounds of the astronauts’ breath inside their own helmets, and they are just as tense and exciting, if not more so, than they would be if accompanied by a richer soundtrack. Kubrick approached the film’s visual effects from a similar standpoint. Whereas CGI-laden films from a few years ago now look dated and fake to our eyes, the effects of 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY hold up, even looking arguably more realistic than the best that modern CGI can offer. Kubrick was praised throughout his lifetime as not just a gifted storyteller, but also as a pioneer in filmmaking technology. His inherent knowledge of the film medium gave him the confidence to create 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY’s striking effects in-camera, fully rendered onto the original negative so as to preserve the highest image quality. Despite having a team of visual effects artists at his disposal, it was Kubrick himself who accepted the film’s sole Academy Award win (out of thirteen nominations) for its visual effects. The irony of the only Oscar Kubick ever won being the result of work he couldn’t fully claim as his own surely must not been lost on the master filmmaker.

As an artist who demanded complete control over his projects, Kubrick prized shooting his films in the manageable isolation of studio sets. This also allowed Kubrick to impose his own design aesthetic on the sets themselves. 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY must have been a very appealing project to Kubrick in that the demands of the story dictated shooting entirely on soundstages. After all, it’s not like they could exactly go up into space and shoot “on location”. This, combined with the need to create the various miscellanea of a futuristic existence results in what is perhaps one of the most meticulously designed films ever made. I’m not exaggerating—Kubrick even placed detailed instructions on how to use the space station’s toilet on the front of the bathroom door even though it served absolutely no story purpose. Ernest Archer, Harry Lange, and Anthony Masters share the Production Designer credit under Kubrick’s vision, creating a distinctly-1960’s vision of the future.

Kubrick and his designers incorporate banks of pure white light into their sets as a recurring motif throughout the film, such as the walls of the briefing room on the moon, the floor of Bowman’s baroque-style apartment suite in the “stargate” sequence, and the entire interior of the earth-orbiting space station. This has the effect of creating a cold, even light that eliminates all shadows and allows Kubrick to objectively examine his subjects like they were exhibits in a museum. The technology on display in 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY is remarkably prescient. While full-scale space travel is not yet a reality, we do have several things (albeit about thirteen years late) that the movie predicted would be commonplace by the dawn of the twenty first century: portable computer tablets (iPads) and video calls (Facetime), for instance. I wouldn’t be surprised to find the research and development facilities at Apple looking like they were straight out of this film. If anything, it just proves how highly influential 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY continues to be.

Of course, any projection as far into the future as 1968-era Kubrick made is bound to have missed a few marks. Kubrick rather accurately predicted that space travel in the twenty first century would give way to private corporations and commerce rather than remaining strictly government or military endeavors. While this is now in the infancy of becoming a reality thanks to Richard Branson’s Virgin Galactic and SpaceX, Kubrick erroneously (yet logically) predicts that major airlines would have made the natural expansion into space—Dr. Floyd is seen flying to the moon in a Pan-Am branded spacecraft. Since Pan-Am wouldn’t last as an operating company long enough to even see the year 2001, it’s easy to look back on Kubrick’s inclusion and laugh. However, that would be losing sight of 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY’s design as a valid historical document—an expression of our dreams and hopes for the future during the romantic era of space flight. Given that we have been firmly grounded here on Earth ever since, that aspect becomes more poignant than ever. A dream unrealized.

Kubrick’s reputation as a fuser of indelible image and inspired music really begins in earnest with 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY. Whereas his previous films might have augmented an original score with adaptations of existing classical material, here Kubrick eschews a composer and a conventional score entirely. However, that was not always the intent. Kubrick commissioned an original score from his SPARTACUS composer Alex North, but quickly dumped it when it didn’t meet with his satisfaction. Inspired perhaps by the graceful pirouetting motions of the space station, Kubrick yet again made film history by pairing the sequence introducing mankind’s technological advancements in the year 2001 to the dizzying waltz of Johan Strauss II’s “Blue Danube”. This pairing had such a profound impact on our collective social psyche that I defy you to find someone who doesn’t think of spinning space stations when they hear it. Similarly, Kubrick uses Richard Strauss’ bombastic classical piece “Also sprach Zarathustra” throughout the film to symbolize the wonder of mankind’s evolution.

We hear it when the apes realize that bones make great tools, and we hear it again when Bowman re-enters our dimension and is reborn as a star child. Much like “Blue Danube”, this piece is also ingrained into us and paired with visions of space and the cosmos. In addition to using classical music from romantic, Victorian eras, Kubrick turns to compositions from modern maestros like Gyorgy Ligeti, the man behind a fundamentally unnerving suite of cues that accompanies the terrifying appearances of the black obelisk. Primal and dissonant, the piece features a building chorus of men’s voices seemingly scrambling over each other in a bid to escape some unseen evil emanating from the bowels of the earth. It’s the kind of music cue that makes one’s skin crawl, so of course Kubrick uses it as his beginning musical overture, filling the screen with an impenetrable blackness for several minutes before the story begins in earnest. Just as radically as Kubrick deviates from the straightforward visual style of his previous films in 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY, so too does he loyally adhere to the same set of themes that have fascinated him as an artist.

He uses the film’s storyline about evolution as a conduit into further explorations of violence, essentially stating that it is a natural byproduct of the evolutionary process. If evolution can be described as “survival of the fittest”, then it stands to reason that those who can assert dominance over the ecosystem will prosper—and the only way to assert said dominance is by force. The apes’ discovery of tools allowed them to take charge of their own development, but it was only a short matter of time until they perverted the tool’s original purpose for warfare. Mankind built its civilizations on the foundations of violence and war, and as such, it is an inextricable component of our humanity. 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY filters its ideas about personhood and evolution through the lens of technology, another major theme in Kubrick’s body of work. The character of HAL 9000 represents the countless ethical conundrums surrounding the concept of artificial intelligence, but most importantly raises the question: “at what point does an artificial intelligence achieve personhood?”. The ship’s human inhabitants view HAL 9000 as another crewmate, and they entrust their lives to its stewardship.

We know that the computer is as intelligent—if not more so—than humans because Kubrick shows it winning a game of chess against Dr. Bowman (a none-too-subtle nod towards Kubrick’s own dominance at the game). As intelligent as it may be, HAL 9000 is still not a human, and cannot emote—yet it shows increasing signs of paranoia and neuroses as trouble mounts during the mission. It stands to reason that a self-aware entity would fight to defend its own existence, which the story of 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY makes more than clear when HAL 9000 pleads with Bowman before being shut down. Throughout history, man has fashioned technology in service to its needs, but it’s the tipping point in which technology itself emerges as a dominant species that captivates Kubrick’s interest. Just as we now bear little resemblance to the apes from which we descended, it stands to reason that the next link in the chain of evolution will appear quite dissimilar to humankind.

2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY raises many questions, but it is here that its core line of questioning becomes clear—will humanity’s successor come in the form of cold machines, or does our destiny instead lie out in the vast expanse of the cosmos? 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY also makes potent use of several of Kubrick’s signature storytelling conceits as a way to imprint his stamp despite the radical tonal departure from his previous work. While Kubrick formally dispenses with the omniscient voiceover narration that peppered throughout his previous films, he essentially achieves the same purpose here with the incorporation of the all-knowing, all-seeing HAL 9000 computer. This is also the film in which Kubrick perfects his use of one-point perspectives compositions, hypnotically luring us deeper into his world by travelling down the length of claustrophobic tunnels. An extreme version of this is evident in the infamous “stargate” sequence in which Bowman travels to another dimension entirely.

Additionally, the rendering of Bowman’s enigmatic apartment suite in the gilded style of baroque décor points to Kubrick’s fascination with the era and serves as a link to a common thread that runs through his filmography and its disparate genres and styles. 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY is no doubt a massively influential work, but it didn’t achieve that status overnight. The film debuted in 1968 to severely mixed critical reception. Kubrick’s intentionally obtuse storytelling frustrated countless old-school critics, but more “enlightened” critics immediately recognized the film’s brilliance and importance. The film also had something of a slow start at the box office until it caught on as a cult hit among young adults, who would come to late-night screenings—stoned out of their gourds no less—to lose themselves in the psychedelic “stargate” sequence. The idea of the film as a cinematic milestone began catching on in earnest when the next generation of filmmakers—the generation that brought us STAR WARS—credited 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY as a key inspiration in their work.

Over time, the film’s legacy has only grown stronger, and its induction into the National Film Registry in 1991 ensured its preservation for generations to come. Perhaps his best known and most widely-viewed film, 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY rocketed Kubrick to the top of his field, cementing him as one of the most influential filmmakers of all time. Though Kubrick would not live to see the year 2001 himself, his groundbreaking work here assured that his legacy would carry on well into the twenty first century and beyond. 2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY is currently available on high definition Blu Ray via Warner Brothers. Credits: Written by: Stanley Kubrick, Arthur C. Clarke Director of Photography: Geoffrey Unsworth Production Designers: Ernest Archer, Harry Lange, Anthony Masters Edited by: Ray Lovejoy

Question: Which piece of classical music was heard at the beginning of the Stanley Kubrick film 2001: A Space Odyssey ?
Answer: ALSO SPRACH ZARATHUSTRA