Ebert never mentions Arthur C. Clarke, who wrote the short story that the movie is derived from, who wrote the script with Kubrick, and who also wrote a first-class sci-fi novel with the same name and basic plot as the movie.
The Clarke novel is far more literal in spirit than Ebert's interpretation of the film. The most important difference is probably the bedroom. In the novel, it's a place where the aliens try to make Bowman comfortable while they study him. The novel describes how Bowman spits out the water he finds there, because it doesn't taste right: turns out it's too pure. The aliens knew he was supposed to have water, but they didn't understand about all the other trace chemicals we're used to. It's all very concrete.
That being said, there was a book about the making of 2001, and it talked about how there was some conflict between Kubrick and Clarke over the literalness issue. For instance, when the Star Child appears at the end of the movie, Clarke needed there to be concrete explanation of what he was doing there near Earth and why he was doing it, and suggested reasons to Kubrick, who was (in Clarke's description of the scene) "unimpressed." Clarke was also upset when he went to the first screening of the movie and saw that some of the explanatory plot was not there.
My takeaway is that Kubrick was more oriented toward 2001 being a visual poem, intended to convey his vision in a deep, evocative, non-literal way. And in that sense, it seems that Ebert's take on it is consistent with Kubrick's vision, if perhaps not consistent with what Clarke had expected/intended the movie to be.
Kubrick's version makes no sense at all unless you read the book, and it left me with a lasting dislike of all of his works and a bafflement that people consider him such a great director.
It's a story first, and a work of art second.
I suppose some (lots?) of people like art that makes no sense, but not me.
And I think Ebert never mentions Arthur C. Clarke because Ebert didn't read the book either, and like everyone else has no clue what's happening in the film.
There is an actual story here. A great one, and Kubrick was unable (or unwilling) to actually include it in the movie.
For anyone who hasn't seen it yet, do yourself a favor: Read the book first, then watch the movie.
In the book I read Arthur included a preface that explained how the book and movie were created together.
Makes no sense at all? That's rather unfair. Would you say that abstract art makes no sense at all unless the author explains it to you? Who says that film is story first, art second? Frankly, I don't want to live in a world where film is limited to works of literal dictation.
You are free to dislike someone's work, but to say it makes no sense is an objective statement about communication. There is an abundance of sense in 2001.
Poets say science takes away from the beauty of the stars - mere globs of gas atoms. Nothing is "mere". I too can see the stars on a desert night, and feel them. But do I see less or more? The vastness of the heavens stretches my imagination - stuck on this carousel my little eye can catch one-million-year-old light. A vast pattern - of which I am a part... What is the pattern or the meaning or the why? It does not do harm to the mystery to know a little more about it. For far more marvelous is the truth than any artists of the past imagined it. Why do the poets of the present not speak of it? What men are poets who can speak of Jupiter if he were a man, but if he is an immense spinning sphere of methane and ammonia must be silent?
He's saying that explanations produce a net gain in enjoyment since they add another dimension to an experience without affecting the ability to enjoy it in an unexplained fashion.
Feynman was speaking to poets. He was allaying their fear that increased understanding would lead to less "wondering", and hence less creativity.
I find it hard to believe that Feynman would apply that argument to works like Kubrick's 2001. In all of Feynman's speaking, he never took the stance that something must be explained entirely in order to be interesting. Quite the opposite; Feynman was most interested in the things that hadn't yet been explained. The things that no one else could explain.
He was addressing the idea of the poets' that he could not appreciate the beauty of the stars because he understood why they worked. His delight in understanding how things worked increases his enjoyment of them.
The reason he was interested in things that hadn't been explained yet is because he wanted to find explanations - not because there is an inherent advantage to their remaining opaque.
I've never read the book in my life, and 2001 is one of my favorite films, even if it confused me at first.
Kubrick is considered a great director because he forces the audience to confront film as something other, and perhaps more, than simply a narrative vehicle. A Kubrick film is a visual experience, more like a photograph or a painting than a novel, and almost any given still frame from 2001 is beautiful enough to frame it and put it on your wall. (It seems important here to note that Kubrick started as a photographer before becoming a filmmaker.) In most of his films, but especially 2001, Kubrick composes these striking images together with just enough of a narrative to form an emotional impression on the audience without making it too overly familiar.
Consider some of the themes of 2001. Do you really think it makes sense to convey those ideas in a way that isn't somewhat opaque? How do you convey the mystery and terror of genuinely mysterious and terrifying themes by turning them into commonplace intellectual concepts and making the audience fully comfortable with them?
2001 conveys more than you can simply put into words. That's why it's a film, not a novel. The novel offers a more literal interpretation of the events depicted, but I think Clarke himself would be the first to tell you they are separate works of art and should be evaluated as such.
I read the book before the movie came out (I was 12 at the time; I vividly recall begging my mother to take me to the bookstore to buy it, at which time she presented it to me because she'd already bought it for me for Christmas or my birthday (not sure what month it was)). So, I have always understood the movie in light of the book. And yet, I love Kubrick's films -- he's my favorite director, and I think I would have loved 2001 even without having read the book. In that case, I think my interpretation would have been a lot like Ebert's, although I wouldn't have been able to express it as well. But, I'll never know, because I simply didn't have the opportunity to have that experience.
I think if you did have that experience you would hate him :)
I watched the movie, thought it was horrible and incomprehensible, read the book, then watched it again and enjoyed it - somewhat, I kept getting annoyed at how unwatchable it was without the book knowledge. But except for the warp scene the visuals were great.
I know there's really no point in arguing about matters of taste, but I've seen the film and read the book, and vastly prefer the film. Kubrick's film is a work of genius, if you ask me, and the book was mediocre at best. In my mind, it read like a bad novelization of the film (even if it wasn't written as one.)
And no, you absolutely do not need to read the book to have a clue as to what is happening in the film. As Ebert points out, you just need to sit back and watch, and enough will be revealed.
Kubrick's films before 2001 (Spartacus, Paths of Glory, etc) tended to tell the story with words and pictures. From 2001 on, with the notable exception of Barry Lyndon, he seemed to become obsessed with imagery, or as you say, creating visual poems (and even Barry Lyndon with its simple plot was a visual powerhouse), but I'm afraid his storytelling became secondary.
For those of you who haven't read Clarke's book 2001, you should consider putting it on your list. As garyrob has implied, it's very different from the movie - very concrete - and yet, possibly as a result, almost more hallucinogenic than the film could ever be.
Similar comments also apply, I think, to Kubrick's adaptation of Stephen King's The Shining. Several critics talk about how it has hidden meanings about the massacre of American Indians.
I found one at a used bookstore ages ago and it was a fascinating look at the partnership and conflict between Kubrick and Clarke as well as a look at the different ideas and plots they discarded.
What hasn't been mentioned yet is that Kubrick was inspired by the short story "The Sentinel" by AC Clarke.
The monoliths in the short story are placed by intelligent beings through space, typically on moons of adjacent planets. The monoliths are sending signals home (wherever that is) once they are broken/destroyed/... This can only happen with nuclear power.
The idea was to have some kind of warning system when intelligence emerges somewhere in space since this new intelligent species needs to be able to leave their own planet AND they need to have discovered nuclear power.
(Disclaimer: I read the short story at least 10 years ago, and I hope I remember it correctly)
either ebert missed it or I'm adding sophistry: I thought the third monolith, the one that comes down horizontally and neatly fills the screen as the warp sequence begins looking suspiciously like a big movie screen, represents the transmission of ideas as the next logical step from tool use. the fact that we are sitting in a darkened room having a shared experience of idea transmission is part of the message.
man the beast -> man the tool user -> man the thinker. HAL represents a failed attempt at this next step: trying to get our tools to do our thinking for us. dave enters the warp and observes first abstract images and then images of landscapes, but distorted from the look of a real landscape. we flash back to images of dave experiencing pain or horror. this process of having ideas transmitted to us, either as abstractions or distortions of real things is a traumatic one. It is, however, necessary on the path towards what we become next. Dave then dies as a human, and so too what we are now must die to pave way for the new.
In the book the first one is tool user, the next one encourages space travel, and the third transports Dave to a distant galaxy where he is changed into the Star Child and is responsible for helping Earth.
One thing I always found slightly sad about this movie is the idea that humans can only advance through outside intervention. I don't believe that at all!
I agree. It struck me re-watching this movie recently that it invokes a "sky-hook"-type explanation for human cognitive development. This occurred to me during the opening scenes, but it didn't detract from the power of the film. These types of explanations are very satisfying, for some reason.
(I guess you could also ask what was responsible for the cognitive development of whatever planted the monoliths..)
For some reason I always seem to have exactly the kind of people around me in the theater that Ebert describes, whether the movie is a sophisticated one like "2001" or just your ordinary Hollywood junk. And I've heard others complain about the same thing.
Going to the movies used to be a very special thing (at least to me). The big screen, the darkness, the comfortable seats, the sound, fresh popcorn... These days, you can get almost all of these things at home, sans annoying people making phone calls in the row behind you. Movie lovers now often prefer to spend their money on home entertainment system, even though they'd have to go a lot of movies until they've spent the same kind of money.
Does anyone have a theory why this changed? I mean, the experience of seeing a movie in a theater? Or is it just me?
I think that movies used to be a viewing event. Now, they're a social event. They're where you go when Micky D's or Chipotle is too bright.
Recently, I've read (not confirmed to me) that some theatres have developed problems with bedbugs. That's the final nail in the coffin, for me. I'll stay home, where I can still have an undisturbed viewing experience and, ya know, like, actually enjoy the film.
Uhm, because they are the bad guys? John Wayne films are pretty clear on why the bad guys are considered bad. I realize that these films are not high brow entertainment, but factual honesty is always a bonus. Witty false statements playing on a cliche kind of irritate me.
Yes, that's understood. But what are the gunslinger character's motivations behind wanting to kill the bad guys? After all, we encounter really bad guys all the time in our lives, e.g. Jared Lee Loughner. If he were out in the wild, would you be willing to seek out and kill him. It takes a certain kind of person to be motivated to do this. What are those motivations? For being a Western that delves into some of these issues, I love The Unforgiven.
In many periods of history (including a chunk of the 20 years of the Old West), it was up to individual members of the community to deal with the really bad guys. Killing them was the method. Holding people from historical eras (even the fiction of that era) to modern conventions / beliefs kinda defeats the purpose.
Have you actually watched any of the John Wayne flicks? The motivation is pretty self explanatory. Its like asking why the military in ID4 wants to kill the aliens. Getting shot at first is generally considered a basic reason.
You miss my point. I understand what the obvious motivation is. But actually killing a man is emotionally quite hard, especially when he's shooting back at you (this is why even some good hunters fail in these situations, there's a classic scene in The Last Samurai about this). One of my favorite gunslinger quotes is "You don't have to be fast, you just have to be willing."
Even in those times you mention, not everyone was up to the task, and not just because they weren't sharp shooters; they just weren't willing in the above sense. Think about it: Would you be able to ruthlessly kill a "bad guy", when if he shot at you first.
No, I really don't think I miss your point. I should point out every film is not a deep drama with a message. The basic plot line for a Western has many people who don't deal with the villains for various reason, thus the need for our heroes. It would be a very short movie if the whole town took up arms against the bad guys.
To the second point, if someone is shooting at me, I take a little exception at my response being called "ruthless", I would say it is more in the justified range. Given everything, yeah, I would feel bad about it, but I would defend my family / friends.
"Man is a curious animal. He is uneasy in the face of great experiences, and if he is forced to experience something profound, he starts immediately to cheapen it, to bring it down to his own level. Thus after a great man is assassinated, lesser men immediately manufacture, buy and sell plastic statues and souvenir billfolds and lucky coins with the great man's image on them."
I had to read this paragraph several times. First I had to figure out that the word 'curious' here meant 'remarkable for his incuriosity'. Then I wondered who the great man was and remembered the publish date.
The Clarke novel is far more literal in spirit than Ebert's interpretation of the film. The most important difference is probably the bedroom. In the novel, it's a place where the aliens try to make Bowman comfortable while they study him. The novel describes how Bowman spits out the water he finds there, because it doesn't taste right: turns out it's too pure. The aliens knew he was supposed to have water, but they didn't understand about all the other trace chemicals we're used to. It's all very concrete.
That being said, there was a book about the making of 2001, and it talked about how there was some conflict between Kubrick and Clarke over the literalness issue. For instance, when the Star Child appears at the end of the movie, Clarke needed there to be concrete explanation of what he was doing there near Earth and why he was doing it, and suggested reasons to Kubrick, who was (in Clarke's description of the scene) "unimpressed." Clarke was also upset when he went to the first screening of the movie and saw that some of the explanatory plot was not there.
My takeaway is that Kubrick was more oriented toward 2001 being a visual poem, intended to convey his vision in a deep, evocative, non-literal way. And in that sense, it seems that Ebert's take on it is consistent with Kubrick's vision, if perhaps not consistent with what Clarke had expected/intended the movie to be.