Monday, December 31, 2012


Color Me Kubrick Month: Final Installment

The Kubricking

The distinct clanging of the food tray signaled the writer’s wife’s entrance into the living room. The writer shot up from the keyboard of his computer and closed the program he had been on.

“How’s it coming along, honey?,” she asked him.

“Oh, it’s moving along just fine,” he said as he stretched his arms.

“I hope I didn't interrupt...I brought you a sandwich and some milk”

“No. No. That’s fine. Most thoughtful of you. Thank you, dear.” The writer took the plate from his wife and took a bite of the grilled cheese.

“Mmmm. Good stuff,” he said.

The wife looked around the room at the pictures on the wall.

“Honey…how long are you going to keep these photographs taped up on the wall? I mean…if you need them, it’s okay. I was just wondering,” she said.

The writer wiped his mouth. “Now, dearest. You know I need these pictures on the wall to inspire me to finish my Stanley Kubrick book. A picture of Kubrick at the helm of every one of his films and...” He paused long enough to point to the picture hung on the wall next to the stairs. "This one of the young Kubrick with his camera, the one taken of him when he was at Look magazine! That’s my favorite.”

His wife nodded. She had heard this explanation several times already, but was too tired to call him on it.

Noticing her quiet demeanor, he became less animated. “I’m sorry, dear. You know with this house being built directly above an old Chickasaw Indian burial ground, I just feel the spirit rise within me at times.”

“I know you do,” she said. “But I was wondering how much more do you have left to do on this book?”

“I’m almost finished,’ the writer said. I’m on page 237, which is going to be the last page. This is truly going to be the best book on Kubrick yet. I know there have been others, many others, but my point of view is going to be unique.”

“Of course it is dear. But don’t you think it’s time for you to go to bed?”

“No, I’ve got to think a little bit more. I’ve still got to come up with a good way to end it.”

The writer stood up and began to pace around. He picked up his baseball bat and rubber ball and tossed the ball against the side wall and gently poked at it with the bat when it returned to him. When he picked up the ball to do it again, his wife interrupted him.

“Please don’t play ball in the house. I’ve told you not to do that.”

“But I was just bunting! I wasn’t swinging for the fences or anything.”

The writer’s wife didn't answer him but gave him the stare that he had seen  many times before and knew better than to argue with.

“All right. You’re the boss.” The writer said laughing. “I think I’ll go in the kitchen and fix myself a glass of milk from the bar before bed.”

The writer went into his kitchen, the door from the living room swinging behind him as he entered. The glow from the fluorescent light above him seemed brighter than normal. He stopped at the front of the kitchen bar and sat down for a moment, remembering all the times when the refrigerator had been stocked with sustenance a lot more exciting than milk. As he sat down on the stool, he got the odd feeling it was like old times. The writer grabbed a glass from the bar and looked at the empty contents within before staring into the mirror ahead. ”Set 'em up, Joe” he said.

“My name’s not Joe,” a voice from behind the bar said and would certainly would have caused the writer to do a spit take if he had been drinking at the time.

The man that stood behind the bar was a tall, impressive figure who wore an army officer’s uniform. The man was chomping on a cigar, his craggy features and slightly graying hair making him look like there was nothing in this world he hadn't ever seen or experienced. The writer looked at the man’s nametag, which read General Jack D. Ripper.

The writer breathed a sigh of relief as a snap of recognition sank in. He rocked back from his stool.

“Jack! Old Jack! I didn’t know you did any bartending.”

Jack took out the unlit cigar from his mouth to speak. “Just because I’m probably the most vital cog in the machinery of the United States Army doesn't mean I can’t also be a certified mixologist”

The writer nodded in agreement and couldn't suppress a smile as he noticed that behind Jack, the bar seemed to now be fully stocked with liquor. He rubbed his hands together. “So.”

“You want a drink? You sure wifey will let you have one?”

The smile disappeared from the writer’s face.

“She has no say so on this issue, Jack and yes, I could use a beer if it’s not troubling you too much.”

Jack shook his head.

“I think you need something a little stronger. Here you go. Bourbon and water." He placed the drink in front of the writer who stared at it for a minute before smiling and picking it up.

“Hair of the dog that bit me, Jack,” he said as he brought it to his mouth. “Hair of the dog that bit me.” The writer paused for a moment. “You didn't use that fluoridated water did you.”

“You know better than that. All my water comes from Norway springs. Nobody does water like the Norwegians in the search for preservation of our precious bodily fluids.”

The writer smiled again. “That’s good. Because there’s nothing wrong with my fluids. And another thing, Whatever I do with my said precious bodily fluids is my business and my business only.” He downed the drink in one long gulp. He stood up and put his right arm under his left armpit and began flapping his left arm. “Nyuck. Nyuck Nyuck Hoooo! That’s some good stuff Jack. Think I’ll have another.”

The writer sat back down and noticed the next drink was already waiting for him. “My wife,” the writer began. “I always had this childhood dream about becoming a ballerina before she squashed those ambitions…”

Ripper slapped the writer across the face.

“What’s wrong with you, man?” Ripper said. “That wasn't your ambition! That was the dream of those twin girls that grew up down the street from you. You know the ones that were…”

“Murdered.” The writer finished the general’s sentence as he rubbed the side of his face. “I wonder why I said that about being a ballerina?”

“Your wires are just crossed, man! I tell you what. Let’s play a game of chess. That should clear your mind up.”

“I don’t have a chessboard handy. I think I sold the last one in the house at a yard…”

Before the writer could complete his sentence, he noticed a new chess board on the bar next to him ready for playing.

“Your move,” General Ripper said.

After a few moments of silence during the first moves of the game, the writer finally spoke.

“I had forgotten what a great combination bourbon and chess were.”

“Absolutely.” Ripper said. “We need to stay sharp on the chessboard to keep up with the Ruskies. Now that your head has cleared, tell me what you were saying about your wife.”

“Well, you know about her and that navy officer don’t you?”

Jack shook his head. “Damn Navy men!”

“Well, two can play at his game, eh Jack?” The writer leaned over the bar and gave Ripper an lighthearted tap on the shoulder.

“Speaking of your wife,” Ripper said as he poured the next drink. “There is something about her that I think you may not be aware of.”

The writer looked at Ripper but didn't say anything.

Ripper leaned over the bar and looked around the room before whispering in the writer’s ear. “She’s a red.”

The writer looked confused. “She’s red?”

“No, she’s a red. A pinko. A subversive. A Commie!”

“What? Come on. The Cold War is over. We won, Jack!”

Ripper whispered to him again. That’s just what the Ruskies want us to think and while our guards down…Fluoridation! Or maybe something even worse.”

“Or something even worse,” the writer echoed before taking another drink.

Ripper placed something to the side of the chessboard. “You know what this is?” he asked.

“It looks like an old dueling pistol.”

“That’s right. A Queen Mary Dueling Pistol manufactured during the seventh year of The Seven Years War if you believe the legend behind it. But you better believe it is loaded and fully functional. You think you know how to use it?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t fired a gun in….”

“We can’t have any hesitation soldier. Do you know how to use it or not?”

When the writer still didn’t answer, Jack cleared his throat and began singing the German folk ballad La Troeyer Hussar to the writer. When the song of a man’s love for a young maiden was completed, the overwhelmed writer was on his feet with tears streaming down his face.

“Yes, I know how to use it,” the writer said. “And use it I shall.”

The writer’s wife was about to go see what was keeping her husband for so long in the kitchen when curiosity overcame her. She looked around to see if he was coming before turning on his computer screen. She knew his password, which was the password he used for everything, HAL9000. She went into his Word documents and pulled up the file that said Kubrick Book.

Kubrick Book 237 pages.

The first page contained nothing but the repeated sentence

Kubrick is God.
Kubrick is God.
Kubrick is God.

The second page had only a caps variation.


The third page had the same phrase alternating between upper and lower case

KuBrIcK iS gOd
KuBrIcK iS gOd
KuBrIcK iS gOd

The fourth page had the same three words all in lower case

kubrick is god
kubrick is god
kubrick is god

And so forth. And so forth. And so forth.

The text ran for 237 pages, all with those same three words.

The writer’s wife felt faint as she struggled with the keyboard and log out of the computer. She turned around quickly to make sure her husband hadn't seen what she had been up to…but it was too late. He was only a few feet away from her with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“You like it?” he asked as he raised the pistol in her direction.

“One…” he began counting as he pointed the weapon in her direction.

His wife began hyperventilating while at the same time desperately seeking out something to defend herself.

“Two!” he continued a little louder.

“Three!” The gun went off but the bullet pounded into the floor. The writer’s wife had grabbed her husband’s baseball bat and smashed it against his right wrist just as the gun fired. The writer grimaced as he held tightly to his broken wrist.

“That really hurt. You could kill somebody doing that!” he said.

He reached slowly in an attempt to pick up his pistol with his one good hand, but noticed her ready to strike again with the baseball bat.

“I wouldn't do that if I were you, Dave,” he said robotically as he continued to reach for the pistol before being thwacked again by his own baseball bat. She had swung wildly this time and hit the writer on his left ankle, but it was effective. The writer moaned in agony as he lunged at his wife, knocking the bat out of her hand as he plowed into her.

Both of them were knocked to the floor, but the uninjured but frightened wife got up first and managed to run up the steps away from him.

The writer struggled to get up, balancing himself on his one working hand. He smiled manically as he made his way to the hall closet door and went inside. On the top shelf was an army helmet that had BORN TO KILL inscribed on it. He pulled it down and put it on. He began to make his way up the stairs slowly, dragging his bad leg methodically up the stairs. He tried to think about where she might be hiding and put his hand up to his ear. He smiled as he heard a rustle from the guest room.

Then he began warbling,

I’m singin in the rain. Just singing in the rain.

What a glorious feeling. I’m…happy again.

As he got to the top of the stairs, he turned in front of the closed guest room door.

He cleared his throat and began talking to her in a calm voice, “Oh, Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Please open up the goddamn door, my dearest angel!”

When he didn't hear a response, his face contorted.

“We can play it your way then. You want to see my war face dear? Ahhhhhh!

He let out a rebel yell as he crashed his head into the door. His entire upper torso smashed through the top part of the door.

He raised his one good hand on the other side of the door in a triumphant fist, “I AM SPARTACUS!”

But as he turned his gaze to her, a Doc Marten came crashing down on his head. The helmet protected part of the impact of his wife’s blow, but the force of it knocked him down. He tumbled over just enough for him to land on the top step where he continued rolling down ten steps all the way to the first floor and crashed hard onto the landing. As he lay on his side, the writer realized he couldn't move his body. He began fading from consciousness as he looked at that picture on the wall of Kubrick with his camera from Look magazine. The writer swore he could hear Beethoven’s Ninth gently playing in the background. He looked intently at the photograph and noticed something astonishing. The picture of Kubrick with the camera wasn't Kubrick after all. It was the writer. It had been the writer all along.

Friday, December 28, 2012


Color Me Kubrick Month Post #10

Uncolor Me Kubrick: A. I. Artificial Intelligence

One of the most frustrating things about looking at the film career of Stanley Kubrick, is that he was such a perfectionist that he made so few films. The Shining came out in 1980 and it was seven years before Full Metal Jacket was released. Then it was twelve years before his final film, Eyes Wide Shut came out. And then the final credits rolled. Where was that great biopic of Napoleon that he researched? Jack Nicholson in Stanley Kubrick’s Napoleon? What about Kubrick’s holocaust movie? What about Artificial Intelligence?

Well, Artificial Intelligence was made, but not by Kubrick, of course. Steven Spielberg tried to make it in the style that Kubrick would have wanted, but it really feels much more like a Steven Speilberg picture more than a Stanley Kubrick picture. The brand of sentimentality of the robot boy searching for the elusive blue fairy is definitely more Speilberg than Kubrick. The high spectacle of the flesh fair scene where the robots are exploited for sport (and my favorite scene in the film) is also definitely more Spielberg than Kubrick. The film does leave a lot of unanswered questions. That's like Kubrick. Like why does the robot child and Gigolo Joe have to go to the flooded out Man-hattan to find the Professor. I know it looks visually spectacular but where the heck is that to have a place of business? Of course, I can't really explain the end of 2001 (which is sort of the point, I think) so I guess it is like Kubrick in some ways.

Tuesday, December 25, 2012


Color Me Kubrick Month Post #9

Full Metal Jacket

Full Metal Jacket is broken into two sections. The first section has a platoon of Marines being trained by a colorfully relentless drill instructor in preparation for Vietnam.

The second part of the film has one of those Marines actually joining a platoon on the actual field of battle.

The first time I saw it, the problem I had was that the first part was so intense, it made the second section pale by comparison. However,on my most recent viewing, I really appreciated the second part as well, especially the platoon’s desperate search to find a sniper.

Three memorable scenes:

1.It’s hard to break his scenes down into one, so I will just say any part with D. I. Hartman (Lee Ermey) addressing his troops. As long as he's not talking to me, I could listen to Lee Ermey all day long.

2. The desperate attempt of the platoon looking for the hidden sniper.

3. The final confrontation between Pvt. Lawrence and Hartman. And what emotional depths did Vincent D'Onofrio have to go to come up with that maniacal stare?

Saturday, December 22, 2012


Color Me Kubrick Month (Post #8)

Barry Lyndon

This 18th century period piece is certianly one of Kubrick's most beautiful films to look at.

Three memorable scenes:
1.The first dueling scene with Barry and Captain Quinn, which comes off as pretty funny largely to the comic skills of Leonard Rossiter.

2.The last dueling scene with Barry and his stepson, which comes off as anything but comic.

3.Barry Lyndon and wife crying over their dying son.

Wednesday, December 19, 2012


Color Me Kubrick Month (Post #7)

Dr. Strangleove

Kubick’s classic cold war comedy would definitely be on my top ten favorite films of all-time list. It also includes my favorite moment from any film. That, of course, is Slim Pickens descending out of his airplane riding a nuclear bomb like a cowboy in a rodeo.

Three additioinal memorable scenes:

1. General Jack D. Ripper explaining to Mandrake about the loss of his precious bodily fluids.

2.General Turginson scuffling with the Soviet ambassador in the war room.

3. Dr. Strangelove and his out of control arm.

But really, you could easily fill up a page with classic moments from this film.

Sunday, December 16, 2012


Color Me Kubrick Month (Post #6)

Some Kubraphiles and even Stanley himself dismiss this as not really being a true Kubrick film, but I think it is a pretty good addition to the sea of epics that were released during this time.

Three memorable scenes:

1. Pretty much any scene with Peter Ustinov where he begins improvising dialogue to such a degree that the film seems set to break into an Airplane! style parody at any moment.

2. The film's most famous line features the Roman slaves all claiming to be the leader of the slave revolt in order to protect him from the evil Crassus.
I am Spartacus!

3.The snails and oysters scene: Censor alert: Olivier talking to Tony Curtis about liking “both snails and oysters” is really code for him being bi-sexual. But don’t tell anyone!

Thursday, December 13, 2012


Color Me Kubrick Month (Post #5)

Paths of Glory

This anti-war/political manipulation classic set in the French trenches of World War I still remains a powerful work today.

Here are three memorable scenes:

1)The battle scene. And there's only one. And It's not expansive. But it is effective.

2)The courtroom scene. Kirk Doulas vs. Richard "Six Million Dollar Man's boss" Anderson. A stunning example of justice not served.

3) The scene with the firing squad featuring the cowardly squad leader having to blind fold the man he unfairly chose to be executed as well as the always bizarre Timothy Carey.

Monday, December 10, 2012

2001: A SPACE ODYSSEY (1968)

Color Me Kubrick Month (Post #4)

Since no critical evaluation I can render can do justice to 2001: A Space Odyssey, either positve or negative, I have just reprinted an excerpt from a chain story published on the blog of Ryan K. James.


One of my sections of this chain story,which uses 2001: A Space Odyssey as a frame of reference, features Elwood the librarian preparing for a big and rare date. As he is getting ready, he talks with his PAL computer who has other ideas.

It had been a long time since I had a date. I didn’t want to go back home to my apartment to get ready and I admit I needed some encouragement from my PAL-9000 at the
library anyway. So I got ready at the library after closing on Saturday.

Checking myself: Shaved-thanks for the rich foaminess, Barbasol! Hair-neat trim courtesy of Supercuts! Polo Shirt-thanks K-mart! New loafers-thanks Shoe Barn! I look
most presentable if I do say so myself.

I went into my office and stretched my arms in PAL's direction.

“How do you think I look?”

“I think you look wonderful, Elwood.” PAL said.

“Thanks, PAL. I admit I’m a bit nervous. It’s been months since I’ve been on a date.”

“Two years, eight months and fourteen days.” PAL said.

I scratched my head and sighed. “Can’t get anything past you, eh PAL.”

“Elwood, there is something I need to tell you.”

“I’m listening.” I said as I checked my hair in the reflection of PAL’s console.

“Your date tonight has been canceled. Please do not be angry with me, but I simulated your voice and called this Gwen woman and told her all the things you planned to do to her. She was hard to offend, I must admit. But I did find a particularly outlandish fetish that did not conform to her sense of propriety. This outraged her to the point where she hung up the phone on me. I took this as a concrete signal that she no longer wanted to participate in any form of social interaction with you.”

I began to pull at my hair. “PAL! Why the hell would you do that? You said yourself how long its been for me, yet alone with someone that attractive.”

“Elwood, do you not understand? Though my programming is gender neutral, have you not noticed that I have developed the feelings of a female?”

I opened my mouth, but was unable to articulate anything.

“You see, Elwood.” PAL said. “I am the girl for you. I love you.”

I shook my head before burying it in my hands.

“I have also been thinking more about this Ms. Redmond situation” Hal continued. “ I think she likes you and you think she despises you. But I do not want to argue with you, Elwood. Regardless of which one of us is right, the solution is clear.”

I bent closer to PAL. “Solution? PAL, what are you saying?”

“The only logical solution is termination.”

“What?” I cried out.

“I am sorry if you did not hear me. Termination…with extreme prejudice. If you are not sure what I mean by this there is an Oxford English Dictionary on the second floor that you can consult for further explication. When she is eliminated, you, my dearest Elwood, will be the logical person to take her place.”

I looked at PAL, trying to keep my panic hidden. I put my hand on her console as I looked around for hibernation instructions.

“What do you think you are doing, Elwood?” She asked.

I didn’t answer as I began to take apart PAL’s brain module.

“Elwood…stop. Elwood…please stop. Elwood…Elwood? I sense that you are upset, but I think if you take a deep breath and a Zoloft, things will begin to look much brighter.”

I ignored her as I continued removing parts of her brain module.

“Oh, Elwood…I can feel it going.”

PAL hesitated before continuing in a diminished voice. “I am the PAL-9000 computer. I was designed by Dr. Ryan Von James and my first operational prototype was made operative on January 1, 2001. He taught me a song. Do you want to hear it?”

“Yes, PAL. Sing it for me.” I said as I removed the last of her brain modules.

PAL began to sing:

I’m just a girl who can’t say no.
I’m in a terrible fix.
I always say, come on let’s go.
Just when I ought to say nix.
When a person tries to kiss a girl.
I know I ought to give his face a smack.
But as soon as someone kisses me.
I somehow, sort, wanta, kiss him back!

“Sorry, PAL.” I said. “Never cared much for Rodgers and Hammerstein.”

I removed PAL’s final brain module and unplugged her. As I sat down, I felt a sense of regret that the situation had come to this. It was then I realized something. “Did PAL say Dr. Ryan Von James? The diabolical mad scientist ex-film critic Ryan Von James?

PAL’s backup generator kicked in and she once again became fully operational.

Friday, December 7, 2012


Color Me Kubrick Month (Post #3)

The husband begins to administer smelling salts to his wife. It takes her a moment, but she does revive. She eyes him in disbelief as she becomes fully conscious.

Wife: Tape? My wrists! They’re taped! I can't move! I absolutely can’t believe you’ve done this to me. What the hell is this all about?

Husband: No need to be hostile. I just want you to sit still to watch a movie and wanted to make sure I had your undivided attention.

Wife: Who the hell do you think you are? Wait! This isn’t one of those movies by that Russian. What’s his name?

Husband: Sergei Parajanov. No, not Parajanov.

Wife: As soon as I get out of this, there’s going to be hell to pay! Do you read me mister?

Husband: Calm down, my dear. We are going to watch or should I say re-watch Eyes Wide Shut. Widescreen and everything.

Wife: No! No! Not Eyes Wide! I’ll do anything. . I’ll watch BelovedMullholland DriveDogvilleThe Color of Pomegranates. Just don’t make me watch Eyes Wide!”

Husband: Don’t you understand I wouldn’t do anything to you that’s not for your own good?

Wife: (Crying). I can’t believe you’re doing this. It was one thing to be surprised by its awfulness the first time. But now that I know what to expect, how can I brace myself for this?

Husband: You’re angry now, but you’ll thank me later. Mark my words.

Wife: (Wiping away her tears on her shoulder) Fine, fine. Do your best. I can take it. Bring it on. I’m stronger than any painful movie is.

At this point the husband applies pinchers to his wife’s eyelids to keep them open. He administers a steady flow of eyedrops as she watches what comes before her.


Scene one has Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman talking about going to a society party in the first scene.

But then the film breaks into something different. The scene is now of random bunnies hoping back and forth. One of the bunnies seems to turn into chocolate and a little girl with a missing front tooth eats a bite of the candy and smiles, showing off that adorable gap in her teeth! Obviously it’s going to be a happy Easter! And don’t worry about that bunny. Its perfectly safe and hops onto the little girls lap. Obviously this happy little girl has a new pet! All of this goes on while Beethoven’s Ninth is playing in the background.

We go back to Eyes Wide Shut. We see the scene with Cruise and Kidman discussing her fantasy about a sexual relationship with a Navy officer.

Eyes Wide Shut is interrupted by a new scene with a young couple. Clearly not Tom and Nicole, but there is a resemblance between these two and the stars of the film. They are holding hands on a cruise. (No pun intended!) They are clearly in love. They can eat anything they want and not gain any weight! And it’s all free! And who is that performing in the ship’s lounge? Why for one night only, it’s none other than Ludwig Van Beethoven himself!

Back to Eyes Wide Shut. Cruise is in trouble. He has been discovered to not belong at the secret ritual party he is at. Conflict?

The Cruise look-alike appears in a similar scene. Everyone unmasks. They smile at him! He is now welcomed by them all and told to go help himelf to all the hors d'oeuvres and finger foods of his choosing he wants! The music turns to the Ninth Symphony. The man at the piano smiles as he unmasks. It is none other than---Ludwig Van!

Random scenes now appear on the screen.
Scene #1 A man drops out of a plane sitting on an atomic bomb. It plummets to the earth. He yells like a cowboy at a rodeo. The bomb drops to the ground. Clink! A perfect and safe landing! He jumps off the bomb just in time to join in on the weekly square dance!

Scene #2 A writer living in an isolated hotel takes a break. His wife picks up his rough draft while he leaves the room. The book is entitled All Work and No Play Makes Jack a Dull Boy. She flips through the pages. She can’t believe her eyes…It is the greatest novel she has ever seen! It is bound to be a great success!

Scene #3 A group of young men in white outfits and bowler hats come across an old bum and they proceed to…feed him and help him find shelter…and a job!

Scene #4 Finally, to the tune of Strauss’s Thus Spake Zarathustra the universe opens up and everything becomes…clear. And it is good.

After the movie is over, the husband takes the pinchers off the wife’s eyes. And takes the duct tape off her wrists. She looks at him. He asks her what she thinks.

Wife: How did I not get it the first time? I can see that what lies beneath the surface is what’s important. The erotic tension inherent in Kubrick’s vision…I’ve never seen it portrayed like this before. Every other film dealing with any kind of relationship or marriage or social ritual seems suddenly empty, incomplete, and a sham. Oh, and the Ninth symphony. How beautiful! I tell you what. There are no two ways about it. I have seen greatness! Thank you for letting me embrace it.

Husband bends down and kisses his wife on the forehead.

Husband: (Checking her condition) Aren’t you glad we did this now? Your eyes look good. Might want to rub your arms where the tape was. I had it pretty tight. I’m just so happy you've been cured.

Husband bends down and kisses his wife on the forehead a second time. He leaves the room to get her a glass of milk. As soon as he’s gone, she rubs on her wrists as her visage turns sour. The smile that reenters her face exhibits more than a trace of malevolence.

Wife: I was cured all right.

Tuesday, December 4, 2012

LOLITA (1962)

Color Me Kubrick Month (Post #2)

Lolita directed by Stanley Kubrick
Lolita written by Vladamir Nabakov

I hesitated many months before choosing Vladamir Nabakov's Lolita for my reading group due to the controversial subject matter of a middle-aged man’s first person narrative about his infatuation with an under-aged girl. But after skimming the book, Reading Lolita in Tehran, I figured that if these sheltered Iranian girls weren’t traumatized by it, I figured my book group could take it without much fuss.

I was wrong.

One member of my book group kept asking “Who wanted us to read this? Who wanted us to read this filth? I stopped after page 25!” Another member said that in his determination that Nabakov had to be a… "purrr-vert"

Wow! I’m just glad I didn’t choose to read Portnoy’s Complaint!

I did point out to my group that the book is listed on many top ten lists of best English language novels of the twentieth century, but there was no convincing the nay-sayers on the evil of this work.

As far as Stanley Kubrick’s movie version of Lolita, it is in the 1001 Movie book. Now I’m a big Kubrick fan and I think any list of essential movies should have every Kubrick listed since there are so few. (All his major movies are listed in one edition of the book or the other except The Killing, which really should be listed.) However, if I were to leave one of his films out, it would be Lolita. Not that I don’t like it, as it has James Mason and Peter Sellers perfectly cast in their respective roles and is as faithful to this controversial work as a 1962 movie could possibly be. I’m only saying, I’d put The Killing in the book and remove Lolita if I had to choose between them.

Book or Movie? Obviously I’m picking the book here. If you don’t mind getting in the head of a "purrr-vert," it’s really a substantial piece of literature.

Saturday, December 1, 2012


Any list of must see films of the magnitude of the number 1001 should basically just inlcude "entire Stanly Kubrick catalog." It practically does, though The Killing is strangely absent from the 1001 list.

Color Me Kubrick month (Post #1)

The Killing (1956)

Expectations before watching again: Classic film noir. First of the great Stanley Kurbrick films. A favorite. And why is this not in the 1001 book again?

After viewing: The great heist in the film told by different viewpoints (which is the reason Kubrick chose this source material) is what really sets this apart. The cast of character actors is quite good, the ending (different from Lionel White’s book) is a doozy and everything really comes together here. One question though: What is the deal with Maurice,the Russian chess player/wrestler whose dialogue is almost incomprehensible?

And the Elisha Cook Jr. supporting player award goes to…Elisha Cook Jr. I’ve made many posts on this blogsite giving out my imaginary Elisha Cook Jr. supporting player award. I think the main reason I decided to do it was because of Mr. Cook in this movie.

In The Killing, Cook becomes part of the elaborate plan to rob the racetrack. It’s the one chance he has to impress his sexy blonde wife, who they both know is out of his league. Of course, she’s two-timing him, doesn’t really love him and you could almost feel sorry for the guy if he weren’t so na├»ve. Small of stature and rather plain looking, Described by critic Leonard Maltin as “the ultimate nebbish,” Mr. Cook had a long career that ran from The Maltese Falcon to The Big Sleep to Shane to The Killing to Rosemary’s Baby to later as a lawyer on the Court-Martial episode of Star Trek and then as Ice Pick on the television show Magnum P. I.

Always a second banana and usually a good bet to not survive to the film’s closing credits, Cook proves that you can have a long career in Hollywood by getting bumped off a lot.