Archive for Arthur C Clarke

An Odyssey in Bits: The Computer Wore Carpet Slippers

Posted in FILM, Politics, Science with tags , , , , , , , on February 27, 2019 by dcairns

2001’s intermission plays for several seconds with just the hushed mechanical hum/sussuration of the Discovery (and probably HAL’s cooling system), continuing over from the HAL POV shot Part 1 ended on. This feels quite avant-garde.

A nice, ominous Ligeti drone carries us through the entr’acte, and then we’re abruptly in an extra-vehicular wide shot with astronaut Poole leaving the Discovery in his repair pod. Kubrick doesn’t try to reorient us. As often in this film, he jumps ahead as far as he can and lets us catch up through our own thought processes.And HAL goes murderous, using Poole’s own pod to snip his air-tube. Great use of sudden silence as Kubes jumps in, straight down the line to the pod, showing HAL’s cyclopean sunset of an eye staring out of it. Astute visual storytelling. The abrupt enlarging cuts (about four of them, I think?) remind me of the bomb that’s about to explode in Hitchcock’s SABOTAGE.Poole’s rapid movements as he asphyxiates are all the scarier for occurring in the eerie silence of space. ASTONISHING that other space movies don’t use the lack of sound as a positive effect.

Watch Keir Dullea’s movements as he goes to the rescue, and we can tell he’s meant to be in zero-G with grips shoes for traction. So that settles it: only the big rotating hamster wheel in the Discovery’s frontal globe has gravity.

In his haste, he forgets his space helmet. What would HAL have done if he’d brought it along? Apart from the pods and maybe the airlocks, he’s helpless, a brain in a box. But right now, he seems to have his opponent in check.

Also, a rule that is never explained but seems to be important: though HAL can take over a pod while it’s unoccupied, he can’t override the pilot’s manual control. So Dullea-as-Bowman is able to retrieve Poole’s corpse. Which allows the next stuff to happen.Meanwhile, very quietly, without any fuss, HAL kills the sleeping crewmembers. VERY funny conversation between Bowman and HAL. HAL periodically adopts the snooty tone of a teacher scolding a recalcitrant child. “I think we both know what the problem is.” The dialogue is blackly comic, and enhanced by the shots, which show a small round spacecraft talking to — negotiating with — a big long one.I love the projections on Keir Dullea’s chiselled features, especially this one. No REAL reason why they should happen, file under “visual interest,” but they pass by our defenses without a struggle. The monitors and lights in the pod MIGHT have that effect.

Funny how HAL’s closeup is always exactly the same shot. Kubrick must have shot a whole reel of it. Knowing him, probably two reels. You COULD vary it for “visual interest” and to make HAL seem alive, give him moods. But HAL is not alive, and Kubrick does not want to anthropomorphize him unduly. Which is why he cast a Canadian, I guess. (I’m kidding!)“Without your space helmet, Dave, you’re going to find that rather difficult.”

What Bowman does now may not be exactly possible/scientifically accurate. Kubrick has been ridiculously careful to set up the EXPLOSIVE BOLTS that can open the back of the pod all at once. So that’s fine. The air rushing from the pod cannons Bowman into the Discovery airlock. But he doesn’t explode like the guys in OUTPOST. Douglas Adams produces a “fact” in The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy about how long a human can survive in the vacuum of space, but in reality I believe the amount of time you can survive is none time. Now, since Bowman is wearing a space suit sans helmet round his body, maybe he’s protected from having his lungs explode. And only his head will freeze. But look: Keir Dullea is holding his breath. His little cheeks are puffed out. Well, I think either he’d be forced to exhale or else those cheeks would pop like soap bubbles.But he might be able to survive a few seconds of airless, empty lungs and a freezing head as the airlock closes and repressurizes. And it’s a gripping, convincing sequence. The tension is such that you can’t call 2001 an unemotional film.

Always interesting when the control freak director goes wobbly and handheld, though I’m posi-sure he’s operating the camera himself. (US union rules might have forbade this, but in the UK things were looser in this one respect.) Dave, now helmeted (a dissolve disposes of the question of whether HAL has voided the ship’s atmosphere) goes in for the kill.

HAL’s brain is composed of numerous perspex slabs — like mini see-thru monoliths — which haven’t dated at all because who knows how they work? Whereas earlier, HAL had popped a punch card out a slot, which seems a little embarrassing now.

Characters who sing touching songs in Kubrick films: Christiane Kubrick at the end of PATHS OF GLORY; HAL here; any more?MEMORY TERMINAL

Poor HAL! I remember as a kid finding his slurring voice hilarious, and I still do, but as one gets less callous with age, I also get a big charge of pathos from the scene. “My mind is going. I can feel it. There can be no question about it.” And he reverts to childhood: the song was part of a demonstration he gave shortly after activation.

Interesting choice by Dullea — and I want to give him credit for it BEING a choice, not just his sculpted inexpressiveness. He plays the scene tense, and there’s an undercurrent of anger, but then the anger goes away. He doesn’t perform sympathy for us, like he feels sorry for HAL, but the removal of the anger tells us that he does. A bit.

EXTREMELY bold use of repetition. Very few human characters in films have had their death scenes lingered on so lovingly.

“Dave, stop. Stop, will you? Stop, Dave. Will you stop, Dave? Stop, Dave. I’m afraid. I’m afraid, Dave. Dave, my mind is going. I can feel it. I can feel it. My mind is going. There is no question about it. I can feel it. I can feel it. I can feel it. I’m a…fraid.”

I had a friend whose Mac would say “My mind is going,” in Douglas Rain’s voice whenever he powered it down.Then Dr. Heywood Floyd pops onto a screen for plot reasons. No obvious reason why it happens now — no reason why HAL’s termination should activate the autoplay function, since mission control never anticipated that HAL *would* be deactivated. 2001 only appears rational and precise: Kubrick and Clarke play fast and loose whenever it suits their purposes.

Clarke always felt it was a shame that the film never made clear why HAL went crazy: it’s all mission control’s fault. Not because they didn’t program him with Asimov’s Three Laws of Robotics, but because they told him to lie. This would appear to be the moment when Kubrick expects us to figure that out, but all we’re told is that only HAL knew the purpose of the mission. All this to keep the Russkies from knowing about the Jupiter signal.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we cannot afford a Monolith Gap.”

But Floyd’s appearance does add a weird blast of mental energy to the plot, despite his trademark laid-back manner. It’s a big AH-HAH! for the audience since for the first time it’s confirmed that the Jupiter mission does have some connection with the previous part of the film. Remember, we know the ape-man and Clavius sequences had a narrative link because the monolith was in both. But for its entire duration until now, the Discovery mission has been some random astronauts and their fun-loving onboard computer off on a spree. We didn’t know the whining noise on the Moon was a message, a beacon, pointing to Jupiter. We do now. What next?

 

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An Odyssey in Bits: Moonwatchers

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , on February 9, 2019 by dcairns

Fadeout on Rossiter/Smyslov. Fadeup on chunky moonhopper on its way to Earth’s satellite. Fadeup also The Blue Danube again, just to piss off Quincy Jones. Because we’ve already heard it, and because we don’t have a spinning wheel-shaped space station this time, the reprise feels like a lesser sequence, but it has some really lovely shots. The inside of this craft has a great sixties/seventies leisure centre look… it actually feels a bit like the ABC Cinema where I saw 2001 in the seventies. Heywood R. Floyd is asleep AGAIN, there are more cute stewardesses, and a mouth-watering selection of vegetable drinks. The stewardess gets to demonstrate the power of grip shoes by walking up a curved wall in a tubular corridor until she’s upside down. I wonder if they ought to have filled the drinks trays with helium to make them look weightless in her hands. I mean, they look light, but not like they would float off, even though Heywood’s does.

The stewardesses are studying self defense.Zero gravity toilet gag! For those who are interested, or even concerned, the full instructions can be read here.

Randy Cook points out the similarity between the moonbase’s dock and the selenites’ solar power panels in THE FIRST MEN IN THE MOON, released not long previously, which shared some crew, notably effects man Les Bowie.  Kubrick wasted a good bit of his time on earth worrying about whether the TV show Space 1999 was infringing his copyright — “The title is just two years removed from our own!” But you can’t copyright a title, Stanley. However, he might have potentially sued Gerry Anderson and his team for ripping off the look of Moonbase Alpha from his Clavius base. Pick your battles.

Kubrick also remarked that older viewers seem to be depressingly word-based in their thinking — several picked up on the characters’ discussion of “Clavius” and imagined that H.R. Floyd was on his way to a planet called Clavius. He knew that most audiences wouldn’t know that was a place on the lunar surface, but assumed they’d figure it out when they got there. When he asked kids how they knew his destination was instead the moon, they all replied, “Because I SAW it.”If you want reasonably compelling proof that Kubrick didn’t fake the moon landings — and I’m only speaking to those of you who want it, I can’t be bothered with anyone who NEEDS it — consider how everyone on the moon walks about as if the gravity were earth-normal. No galumphing sideways meerkat loping for Heywood R. Floyd, thank you very much. And nobody’s wearing grip shoes. We might guess that Kubrick is supposing some kind of goofy artificial gravity in the Clavius briefing room, but Arthur Clarke would surely have nixed such unscientific nonsense. And when we see the astronauts outside at the excavation site, they’re STILL walking perfectly normally, as if strolling around Borehamwood on a May morning. It seems nobody concerned with the production predicted the effects of the low lunar gravity, or else they dismissed it as too finicky to deal with (subtle slow motion might have been an option, reverting to normal speed when Floyd and his colleagues talk, keeping them stationary for dialogue or looping in normal-speed lines…)Further proof that S.K. the perfectionist wasn’t perfect: (1) the stills photographer in the briefing room has a hideous, Great McGinty-style suit; (2) big-ass continuity error on Floyd’s posture as he addresses the assembled bods.A beautiful lunar cruise in another lovely craft, with Ligeti’s Lux Aeterna for company — the micropolyphony (don’t know what it means) of the unaccompanied choir gives an eerie, celestial (or selenite) tone which anticipates the appearance of alien artifact #2. We couldn’t have stood another iteration of The Blue Danube, so Kubrick transposes the eerie emotions of the upcoming scene over this more neutral one. As ever, those effects that don’t quite convince are the ones that look like still photographs on a rostrum camera set-up, but they’re beautiful anyway.More unappetizing space food, and more monotonous space dialogue. Floyd, the world’s blandest man, has a tendency to parrot back whatever anyone offers him, sometimes repurposing their words a little, and the others do the same to him. His dialogue isn’t chicken, but it tastes the same anyway.

“What a wonderful surprise to meet you here.”

“You’re looking wonderful.”

“I appreciate the way you’ve handled this thing…”

“Well, the way we look at it, our job’s to do this thing the way you want it done…”

It’s not quite Tom Cruise’s baffled echolalia in EYES WIDE SHUT, where he repeats every damn sentence spoken to him, but it’s an early clue to the new direction.

The original script, or one of them (here) suggests more dialogue, in particular stating clearly that the recently unearthed (or unmooned?) monolith may be solar-powered (because it’s black, therefore absorbs light) but has not actually seen daylight for millions of years, and has not yet been shone on by the sun since they cleared the moondust off it. So that the low angle “eclipse” shot that accompanies the painful high-pitched whine — the Jupiter signal, we must presume — shows the sun actually triggering the hitherto inert device.A lot of Kubrick’s dialogue slashes have the effect of making the action more ambiguous or mysterious, which is clearly both deliberate and, I would argue, good. In this case, the repeated angle with the sun cresting the monolith suggests an almost astrological event, which I’m sure would horrify Arthur C.C. Of course, the fact that the astronauts apparently HEAR the Jupiter signal from the monolith, through the vacuum of space, doesn’t make literal sense, but as we don’t know quite what kind of signal it IS, I guess we can’t rule out the possibility.

Might have been funny if the stills photographer at the excavation was wearing a loud plaid spacesuit.

Just when the whine becomes too irritating to bear, we cut to ~

An Odyssey in Bits: Dr. Smyslov, or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Squirt

Posted in FILM with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on February 1, 2019 by dcairns

Complicated bit now. We’re moving through Kubrick’s 2001 in sort-of chapters. This one contains several sub-sections.

First, Kubes chops into The Blue Danube at an opportune moment, so the transition to the interior of the Big Space Wheel is neat yet abrupt. The grinding sound of the rotating chamber that introduces William Sylvester’s Heywood Floyd to the wheel’s security atrium helps as aural interruption. There’s another of those pretty stewardess types (Maggie London) in the room with him (it’s not quite an airlock, something like an elevator that doesn’t go up or down, just around… a revolving door you can sit down in), and then another (Canadian Chela Matthison) at the sort-of customs desk.

Floyd meets a faceless functionary, Miller, who has something to do with security, bland pleasantries are exchanged, blandly. The first dialogue of the film, discounting ape-grunts, is arguably the noiseless lip-flap of the characters in the TV show Floyd is sleeping through on his shuttle trip, but these encounters offer the first audible speech and it makes about the same impression.“Here you are, sir.” “See you on the way back.” “We haven’t seen you up here for a long time.” “Very nice to see you again.” “Did you have a pleasant flight, sir?” “Sorry I’m late.” “You’re looking great.” “It’s nice to have you back.” “Did you have a good flight?”

Let’s assume this is all deliberately dull. Science fiction writers believed for a long time that their stories should feature rather bland, standard-issue characters without distracting quirks, so that the strange situations could stand out by contrast and there would be a grounding in what they’d probably insist on calling “normalcy.” This was a false good idea, because boring cut-outs don’t help make a story credible. But there’s more to that going on in 2001. The functionaries we meet here are rather dull men and women doing, what are to them, dull, everyday things. The astronauts, later, embody what the filmmakers’ and actors’ research told them, accurately, astronauts would be like: flat and not very emotional. You don’t want hand-flapping hysterics piloting your interplanetary craft, you want Neil Armstrong.

There are two characters called Miller in this film. Which gives you an idea of the deliberate blandness. This one is played by Kevin Scott, whose immediately previous film credit was THE COOL MIKADO for Michael Winner. “I like to work with the best actors in the world,” said Kubrick. Worth repeating that every so often as we watch this film. But Kev is fine here, exactly right for what’s called for.Good to see that the Dutch are prominently represented in space travel.

I like the weird garbled stuff Floyd is forced to say by the security screen woman (Judy Keirn, who plays an actual stewardess in her only other film, Sidney Lumet’s THE DEADLY AFFAIR) for his voice print identification: destination, nationality, full name, surname first. So he has to say “Moon. American. Floyd. Heywood R.” Which is certainly the best line of the film so far.Then Floyd says he has to make a couple of phone calls, but in fact makes one: he tries to speak to his wife but gets Kubrick’s daughter, Vivian, playing his daughter, Squirt. Is it an issue that she has an English accent, despite Heywood being a yank who lives in America? I don’t mind it: she’s so cute and the conversation has such a realistic awkwardness — the authentic feeling of talking to a distracted child via technology — and we can easily invent an explanation. Mrs. Floyd must be English, they must have lived there until recently…What IS a mistake is that the camera filming Squirt is able to pan right to keep her in frame during her hilarious and random postural contortions. A videophone wouldn’t do that, and if it had some motion-sensor capacity to do so, it would look more automated than Kubes’ spontaneous movement. But I guess he couldn’t bear to have a misframed daughter disappearing out of shot in his space epic. And the scene appears to have been filmed casually in the Kubrick home so it hasn’t had the rigorous thought put into it that you’d expect from S.K.

Vivian Kubrick later joined the Church of Scientology (I blame Tom and to a lesser extent Nicole) and is now completely estranged from her family. Horrible.Leaving the phone booth having been billed $1.70, which I guess was a lot of money in 1968, Floyd is ambushed by the Russians. It seems foolish of station security man Miller to have let HRF out of his sight like that, but maybe they actually WANTED this encounter to take place — because Floyd proceeds to bamboozle the Russkis, refusing to confirm the cover story his own people have leaked out, thereby making them think this story must be true. (To conceal the discovery of an alien artifact at the Tycho Clavius base on the moon, they’ve concocted a false tale of infection and quarantine.)

This scene features two actors who don’t quite fit the film’s pattern of nondescript performance. Margaret Tyzack would return in CLOCKWORK ORANGE, her plummy English solicitude acquiring a sinister edge. And Leonard Rossiter would nearly capsize BARRY LYNDON with the comic flamboyance of his performance. Here, he’s Dr. Andrei Smyslov, pumping Floyd for info as they all sit around on their comfy ’60s space chairs.

We should previously have praised Tony Masters, Harry Lange and Ernest Archer for their production design, and it’s a bit crap that I focus on them here where the design is noticable in a partially negative way. The curve of the floor, indicating that we’re inside that big wheel we saw floating in space, is fantastic. And the contrast of the white white set with the red furniture is really beautiful. But of course within ten years the chairs dated it. But then a little later we could appreciate how attractive they were, and by the time the year 2001 rolled round for real they seemed perfectly plausible space furniture.

This sequence, so soon after one of the great cuts of film history, contains the worst cut in 2001 ~

A jolting jounce inwards, not far enough to feel like a meaningful change, with a jarring continuity glitch in Rossiter’s stance. OK, not quite as bad as my frame-grabs suggest. And they make William Sylvester’s head-turn the focus, and preserve the continuity of movement there. But it’s the small size of the reframing that makes the whole cut ugly. Perfectionist, my ass!

This scene also has some beautiful pausing. If Harold Pinter was writing it, he wouldn’t even put “(a pause)”, he’d go all out and put “(a silence)”, indicating that the actors should really go for maximum discomfort. The seeds of THE SHINING’s creepy conversations are sown here.

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