2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)

It is the work of a master film stylist in collaboration with a popular science-fiction author.  It is visually stunning, employing groundbreaking special effects, and taking full advantage of the new theatrical technology of the day.  It creates a real and believable future world in a dynamic and inimitable style, while generating dreamlike, mythic, psychological, even psychedelic, and certainly spiritual events and imagery.   It wrestles with weighty questions regarding where we come from and where we are going, while stubbornly refusing to answer them in anything but an oblique and ambiguous way.

It opens with a prologue set in the distant past, where an alien intelligence effects the development of human life on earth.  It then thrusts its viewers into the future, where inexplicable archeological discoveries instigate a space mission to find the secret of alien intervention in human existence.  Along for the ride is an anthropomorphized artificial intelligence that may be working from a hidden agenda, or may simply have gone mad.

The movie is “Prometheus.”

“Prometheus” is the work of producer/director Ridley Scott (“Alien,” “Blade Runner,” “Gladiator”) and two sci-fi writers.  The first is Jon Spaihts, known in Hollywood as the author of a well respected but unproduced science fiction romance, “Passengers,” and hired by Scott’s production company to write two prequel films to the original “Alien.”  The second and perhaps most important is Damon Lindeloff, popular and controversial co-creator of the TV series “Lost,” who steered the project toward more independence from the “Alien” franchise.  Both authors credit Scott with having conceived the overall themes and basic plot of the film.

Like “Lost,” “Prometheus” has been criticized for raising too many questions and answering too few.  Stylish but enigmatic, it fails to provide a clear-cut and straightforward explanation of its proceedings.  It refuses to answer either the larger issues it ponders, or even more direct questions regarding the aliens’ backstory and motivations.

This ambiguity is the attraction of the film for some; it provides the stimulation of open-ended and personalized interpretation and speculation.  The seemingly unending series of unanswered questions, oblique events, and dangling plot strands are a detraction for others.

Speculation and interpretation followed its release, with numerous critics and bloggers offering elaborate scenarios and back stories to connect and explain the film various mysteries, or plot-holes, depending on your perspective.  Blogger Johnathan McCalmont argues that:

To my mind, these attempts to wring meaning from the text of the film are hopelessly deluded as Prometheus is quite explicitly a film about the absolute futility of seeking Big Answers to Big Questions.

In an interview with Movies.com, the director himself threw a sort of bone those needing more a concrete interpretation of the film’s events, admitting that the filmmakers had considered a controversial motivation for the apparently murderous aliens:

Scott:  We thought it was a little too on the nose. But if you look at it as an “our children are misbehaving down there” scenario, there are moments where it looks like we’ve gone out of control, running around with armor and skirts, which of course would be the Roman Empire. And they were given a long run. A thousand years before their disintegration actually started to happen. And you can say, “Lets’ send down one more of our emissaries to see if he can stop it. Guess what? They crucified him. 

Beginning with blogger Adrian Bott, the Internet lit up with speculation on how this revelation effects an interpretation of the movie.

And there is a book to offer guidance.  It gives us lingering views of images only fleetingly glimpsed in the film, and even labels the various elements for an easier discussion.  It’s “Prometheus: The Art of the Film” and it tells us what the pyramid, the engineers, the ampule chamber, the babyhead, the hammerpede, the juggernaut, the orrery, the trilobite, and the deacon are.

 All this brought to mind one of my Dad’s favorite movies, “2001: A Space Odyssey.”

“2001: A Space Odyssey” is the work of producer/director Stanley Kubrick (“Dr. Strangelove,” “A Clockwork Orange,” “The Shining.”) and science-fiction author and futurist Arthur C. Clarke (“Childhood’s End,” “Rendezvous with Rama,” and “The Sentinel,” the short story on which “2001” was loosely based).

Visually, “2001” was and is a revelation.  Narratively, it was a radical and groundbreaking departure from the norm, a major release from a major studio that dared confuse, bewilder, frustrate and delight viewers with inexplicable (but still interpretable) images and events.  “2001” offered no easy answers, no really relatable characters, very little dialogue.  It was slow, certainly painterly, perhaps meandering.  It sent its characters and viewers together on a journey of discovery where the revelations were too vast and complex to understand, and Kubrick was unwilling to lend a helping hand.

Critics were split; many hated it.   Audiences were at first unenthusiastic; it wasn’t until the film’s psychedelic imagery and spiritual resonance clicked with the counter culture that the film’s box office took off.  Soon, the marketing of the film changed.  Gone was its description as "an epic drama of adventure and exploration."   A year later, it would be described in its advertising as “The Ultimate Trip,” directly linking the experience of viewing the film with drug induced euphoria.

So much has been written about “2001;” it would be pointless to recycle it all here.  What I’d like to relate is how and why my Dad, a 40-year-old middle class father and businessman from a small southern town, would be so taken and stimulated by such a difficult, challenging, non-conformist film.

I would have been 12 years old when “2001” was released, so my memory may be somewhat faulty.  I clearly remember sitting near or in the front row.  The movie was so big and so wide that it exceeded my peripheral vision. I remember the overwhelming sound and music, coming from every side. The movie engulfed me. 

I am sure I saw it in Super Panavision 70mm Cinerama, the IMAX of its day.  I thought I saw it at the Terrace Theater in Greensboro, NC, but research reveals that the roadshow release did not come to Greensboro.  We may have made a special trip to Raleigh to see it; we had done so for “The Sound of Music.”  Either way, the unprecedented experience lingers.

So what did Dad relate to? 

Well, Dad loved originality.  Nothing has ever looked, or sounded, or felt like “2001.”

Then there was the meticulous believability of the film, the astonishing make-up and performance of the ape people, the detail of the future world with its clear links to and evolution from the present, the majesty and size of the space vehicles, floating silently in the black sea of space, the uncompromised and unprecedented special effects.  Dad had been impressed with the attempts to insert believable science into the original “Star Trek” series; imagine his response to the painstaking accuracy of this future world.

And there was the sound.  Magnetic stereo.  The absolute cutting edge of film audio technology.  Heightening every breath, every hush.  In the absence of much dialogue, the sound effects, and the silences, burst to the forefront.  And the music.  There had never been such a score.  A soaring rendition of the Blue Danube Waltz, the moody intonations of  György Ligeti, and the majestic “Also Sprach Zarathustra.”

I’m going to speculate that there was also something in the day-to-day mundane details of Haywood Floyd and his “business trip” to the moon.  Dad ran a business, begrudgingly wore a tie everyday, and his job often involved travel.  This futuristic business trip, with its Pan-AM stewardess, its anti-gravity toilet, it’s Hilton Hotel, its airplane food, its phone call home, its casual but uncomfortable encounters, must have seemed both familiar and foreign at the same time.

But there was also, and perhaps most importantly, the puzzle.  “2001” was a puzzle waiting to be solved.  And Dad loved puzzles.  But a puzzle needs a definitive solution, not just another interpretation.  And the movie did not provide for a definitive solution. 

But the novel did.

Arthur C. Clarke was writing the novel “2001: A Space Odyssey” even as he was collaborating with Kubrick on the screenplay and the movie.  And Clarke did not have the same interest in ambiguity and obfuscation that Kubrick did.  Clarke had a definitive interpretation of the events of the film.  You could argue THE definitive interpretation; you could argue just another possible interpretation.  But the novel deciphered the movie, and in the days before the Internet, it was the only game in town.

We bought the paperback.   And Dad devoured it.

OMG.  The monolith is an alien device that awakens intelligence and helps mankind evolve. 

The main ape character has a name – Moon-Watcher.  We hear his internal thoughts.  After using the first weapon, he thinks to himself that he is now master of the world, he is unsure of what to do next—but he will think of something. 

HAL fails because of an internal conflict when he is ordered to lie about the mission.

The large floating monolith opens and pulls Bowman’s pod in.  His last words before entering - "The thing's hollow—it goes on forever—and—oh my God—it's full of stars!"  THE MONOLITH IS A STAR-GATE!

All those colors and lights and shapes, that’s Bowman travelling through an interspatial wormhole to a galaxy far, far away.  He passes through the 'Grand Central Station' of the universe, where he sees alien spacecraft in route to other destinations.  He sees what appear to be life-forms.

The aliens hold Bowman in the familiar construct of a ritzy hotel suite.  He ages and evolves in a new entity, the Star Child.  We are also privy to his thoughts.  Like Moon-Watcher, he is now master of the world and uncertain what to do next—but he will think of something.

Now, not only was the movie an amazing and captivating experience, it all made sense.

The explanation gave my Dad permission to like the movie.

He saw it again.  And it became one of his favorites.

Kubrick 2001: The Space Odyssey Explained

Prometheus Unbound: What The Movie Was Actually About


© 2012 Edward Bowen

1939 A Montage - Part 5: Frankly My Dear There's No Place Like Home

1939.  Laurel and Hardy perform “Shine on Harvest Moon” in “Flying Deuces.”  My Dad may have preferred “At the Ball, That’s All” from “Way Out West” two years earlier, but the boys performance here retains a great deal of their earlier charm.  Two James play unlikely cowpokes.  James Stewart is an amiable, gun-less lawman in “Destry Rides Again,” and James Cagney, in a ten-gallon hat, plays what co-star Humphrey Bogart described as a giant mushroom in “The Oklahoma Kid.”  The serial “Buck Rogers” sets the templates for phasers and transporters.  Sherlock Holmes in the form of Basil Rathbone makes two appearances, in “The Hound of the Baskervilles” and “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.”  He’s also a second generation Frankenstein opposite Boris Karloff’s third turn as the monster in “Son of Frankenstein.”  Henry Hull offers sage advice on lawyers and their place in the wild west in “Jesse James,” as does a ravishing Norma Shearer to a provocative Joan Crawford in “The Women.”  Bette Davis plays an empress and a queen and an unmarried mother and a dying debutante.  Director George Stevens shepherds a troubled production to fruition with “Gunga Din.”  Charles Laughton wrings more pathos from the tragic Victor Hugo character than had Lon Chaney in the remake of “The Hunchback of Notre Dame.”  Thomas Mitchell is there to support in the role of Clopin, only one of five astonishing performances from 1939.  If any one actor can embody this amazing year, it’s Thomas Mitchell.  He’s Kid Dabb in “Only Angles Have Wings,” Diz Moore in “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington,” Gerald O’Hara, father to Scarlett, in “Gone With The Wind,” and takes home the best supporting actor Oscar for his performance as Doc Boone in “Stagecoach.”

“Stagecoach” is one of two films that, after “Gone With The Wind” and “The Wizard of Oz,” are the most remembered and revered of 1939.  The other is “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington.”  Both films are the products of directors later raised to the pantheon of auteur by critic Andrew Sarris and the writers at Cashier Du Cinema in France. “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington,” is an ultimately uplifting but at times dark study of corruption in the United States Senate and its effect on a starry-eyed, optimistic, patriotic man-child appointed to the august body through the manipulations of a political cabal.  It was directed by Frank Capra, who had already received three previous Academy Awards for directing. “Stagecoach” is a reimagining of the Western as an amalgam of archetype, stereotype, action adventure, and character study, and is often credited with rescuing the Western from the ghetto of low budget, adolescent-oriented productions.  Director John Ford had already won one best director statuette and would eventually receive three more.

Prior to 1939, the Western was largely consigned to low budget poverty-row studios, produced quickly and cheaply, churned out like link sausages, and screened for young audiences on Saturday mornings.  (Yes, the tradition of reserving Saturday mornings for children’s fare predates the popularization of television.)  In 1939, Warner Brothers, Paramount, Universal, Twentieth Century Fox, and United Artists all release big budget Westerns, throwing lavish production value and star power their way.  Alongside Cagney and Bogart and Stewart, Marlene Dietrich (“Destry Rides Again”), Barbara Stanwyck, Joel McCrea (“Union Pacific”), Tyrone Power and Henry Fonda (“Jesse James”) all headline Westerns this year.  Warner Brothers gives “Dodge City” all the resources at their disposal – their most bankable stars (Errol Flynn and Olivia DeHaveland), expensive and time-consuming Technicolor photography, massive scale and broad vistas.  It would end up as the fourth highest grossing movie of the year, after “Gone With The Wind,” “The Wizard of Oz,” and the Ernst Lubitsch comedy “Ninotchka.”

And an under recognized David O. Selznick receives the Irving Thalberg award from the Academy.  

1939 A Montage - Part Four: Puttin' On The Balalaika in Seaport

I'm Puttin' On The Balalaika right here in Seaport.  Garbo will laugh. Dr. Livingston will come.  And Buster will play the ukulele.

1939 A Montage - Part Three: Sleuths, Swing and Stereotypes

Part three of the sights and sounds of the movies of 1939 ...


In which mysteries are solved and monsters vanquished by teenaged girls, magicians, buffoons, socialites and yellowfaced Europeans to the melodious bowing of Jascha Heifetz ...


While Lupe, W.C., Huck, Edgar, Charlie, Mortimer, Shirley, Harpo, Stan, Ollie and Cheetah wait on the Robert E. Lee with Fred and Ginger.


Dedicated to Boris and Basil and Bela; Moto, Wong and Chan; and the ubiquitous Walter Brennen.

1939 A Montage - Part Two: Coeds Ride the Range

Part two of the sights and sounds of the movies of 1939 - B-Cowboys ride the range, a white boy croons a negro spiritual, co-eds dance and patriots sing.  Dedicated to Roy, Duke, Bob, Ken, Gabby, Herb, Gene, and the Colonel.

1939 A Montage - Part One: Over There

As I think about my Dad’s favorite movies, I am inextricably drawn to the year 1939.  I’ve already considered “Gunga Din,” "The Oklahoma Kid" and “Destry Rides Again,” but there is also “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington,” “Stagecoach,” “Another Thin Man,” “Jesse James,” “Goodbye Mr. Chips,” “The Hunchback of Notre Dame,” “Of Mice and Men,” and “Only Angles Have Wings,” all among Dad’s favorites. 

So I have embarked on a project to encapsulate the movies of 1939 in a series of montages.

In 1939, my Dad would have been ten years old.  He would have spent his hard-earned nickel going to see “B” cowboy movies on Saturday morning, not classy studio financed “A” pictures.  So these films became my Dad’s favorites later, when re-released to theaters, or even over a decade later when aired on television.

In 1939 in America, the good news was that the Great Depression was approaching its end.  The bad news was that this was in no small part due to the country rearming in response to the escalating wars in Europe, Asia and Africa, wars already lumped under the collective designation World War II, a conflict American would enter two years later.

A recovering economy and encouraging returns spurred American studios and filmmakers to go bigger and better than ever before, resulting in 1939 often being considered Hollywood’s Greatest Year.  This claim can be made on the strength of two films alone released that year, both by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer Studios.  The first is “Gone With the Wind,” independently produced by maverick and iconoclast David O. Selznick.  The second is “The Wizard of Oz,” produced by MGM itself.  Amazingly, both films credit the same director, Victor Fleming, although both productions were actually guided by multiple directors.  George Cukor, Sam Wood, Melvyn LeRoy and King Vidor worked un-credited.

 “Gone With the Wind” and “The Wizard of Oz” may be the most beloved and remembered productions from the 1939 or from any year during the Hollywood Studio System, but the films of 1939 do not end here.  There were ten movies nominated by the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences for Best Picture Oscars from 1939, and the remaining eight were “Dark Victory,” “Goodbye Mr. Chips,” “Love Affair,” “Mr. Smith Goes to Washington,” “Ninotchka,” “Of Mice and Men,” “Stagecoach,” and “Wuthering Heights.”

But there was more than these movies to 1939, more than Greta Garbo laughing on screen for the first time in “Ninotchka,” more than a stunt horse being driven over cliff to its death in “Jesse James,” more than the cat fights of “The Women” and “Destry Rides Again,” more than Astaire and Rogers recreating the dances and “The Story of Vernon and Irene Castle,” more than Robert Donat’s Oscar winning, decade-spanning performance in “Goodbye Mr. Chips,” more than the tipsy sparring of William Powell and Myrna Loy in “Another Thin Man,” more than the Technicolor Shirley Temple in “The Little Princess,”  more than the swashbuckling antics of “Gunga Din.” Over 500 features were released in the United States alone, not to mention over 150 cartoons, at least eleven serials and innumerable short subjects, newsreels and travelogues. Budgets ranged from almost 4 million dollars for “Gone With the Wind” to Poverty Row potboilers at as little as $3000.  Film series included installments from Laurel and Hardy, Buster Keaton, Our Gang, the Marx Brothers, The Three Stooges, the Dead End Kids, Nancy Drew, Mr. Woo, Charlie Chan, Tarzan, and Blondie.

The motion picture industries in Europe and Asia were severely impacted by the escalating conflicts there. By 1939, the Germany film industry was nationalized and controlled by the Nazi Party, non-Arians were barred from employment, and film criticism was abolished.  The Japanese film industry was taken over by the state in 1939 as well.  France and Britain declared war on Germany in September; France would surrender to Germany less than a year later.  China and Japan had been at war since 1937, and Italy had invaded Ethiopia in 1935.  Still, Great Britain released over 75 feature films in 1939, including movies starring Bela Lugosi, Leslie Banks (five films), James Mason, Ralph Richardson (four films), Rex Harrison (2 films), Laurence Oliver and Valerie Hobson (four films).  There were only a handful of films produced in Italy.  This is also true of France, but this included one film by legendary director Abel Gance (“Louise”) and what many consider to be one of the greatest films of all time, Jean Renoir’s “a Règle du jeu” (“The Rules of the Game”).  Germany produced over twenty films, many of them anti-Semitic treatises.  Infamous director Viet Harlan, who would a year later inflict the notorious “Jud Süß” (“The Jew Suss”) upon the world, released a remake of F.W. Murnau’s sublime “Sunrise.” China’s massive film industry released over 130 films in 1939, but only a dozen or so were generated on the mainland; the rest originated in Hong Kong. The Soviets produced over 40 films, among them the amazing "Vasilisa Prekrasnava." Indian Cinema was characteristically vibrant.

Here’s a brief look at the foreign films of 1939, Part One of  "1939 - A Montage."

"Over There"