Eyes Wide Crossed

Jokes aside, I created a diagram a few years ago when I started seriously analyzing Eyes Wide Shut. It helped me visualize the narrative arc of the film, which I realized was chiastic in form. I also considered the "arc" to be inverted; the climax is actually a descent. More on this later. It took me probably seven or eight viewings to grasp the fact that Bill re-visits many specific places in the second half of the film. It isn't perfectly symmetrical or anything, but it is more rather than less. Kubrick masterfully disguises or cloaks the scenes in familiarity, confusing the viewer. Clearly, as the Kubrick obsessives well know, the Rainbow is across the street from the Sonata Cafe, creating a bizarre time/story hole when Bill takes a taxi to the costume shop. It is too glaring to be considered accidental. An alternate explanation might have something to do with quantum physics and single entities existing in disparate locations. But that's as far as I'll go here. Far more significant is the basic contradictoriness of the Rainbow being "there" and "not there," because the same storefront is altered and disguised for other sequences in the film. In a way, this one city block is where "it all happens." 

Anyways, the fact remains that, to a large extent, Eyes Wide Shut follows a chiastic structure. This is what this post was intended to discuss. "Chiasmus" means "crossing." Chiasmus is used not infrequently in the Bible, both in the Old and New Testaments. The general idea is that if I say "1, 2, 3," then I must finish my statement by saying "3, 2, 1." In other words, the elements are symmetrical. In poetry, this may mean certain words or certain concepts are mirrored, beginning, middle, climax, and end. In film, and in Eyes especially, we see this in myriad ways. Analyzing the chiastic structure in the film is something I have largely abandoned due to time constraints and competing critical perspectives of greater interest. This analysis would probably take years. Unlike films such as Memento, that seem to follow a reverse chronological narrative and probably chiastic structuring, and seem to be made to be picked apart by critics, Eyes is deceptively simple to the point of being opaque or dull. It answers its own questions and leaves the viewer withdrawn and excluded. Until you start watching it. 

I did manage to begin one spreadsheet which attempted to note the major chiastic scenes, and their beginning and end times. From this point, the problems start. Where to begin? Consider: colors, words, sounds, tempos, settings, character emotions, etc. There is no simple way to categorize the artistic variables which are potentially mirrored in chiastic structure in Eyes Wide Shut. Shot by shot analyses such as those from Kearns are invaluable tools. But offering a neat or clean symmetrical, chiastic analysis is bordering on impossibly complex. Insert: Charliekellypepesilviameme.jpg. I can only imagine that Kubrick was the kind of mad genius who thought about these things and actually made great use of them. Below is the not totally accurate diagram.

 

For one, I decided to add an additional pair of scenes when working in the spreadsheet: Bill and Alice in bed. The couple in their bedroom is repeated twice, if not more. But, this depends on the idea of shot vs scene. Kubrick sometimes makes a scene out of dozens of shots, such as in the billiards room scene. Or, he may use a tracking shot or simple pivots to capture an otherwise significant scene. I wanted to take a "macro" view if possible, and note the general setting, since the specifics can be mesmerizing.  

So, whereas the first picture has only eight paired scenes, meaning sixteen total, a more accurate reading suggests nine paired scenes and eighteen in total. I admit I am biased towards the numbers 9 and 18, as both appear in Eyes as well as 2001, and possibly in others. But I would challenge the critic to find other major pairs or doubles. Once you start looking for doubles, they tend to multiply. Scenes that don't seem to have obvious doubles I've numbered as ".5," suggesting they are fractions within the "whole" order of scenes which have perfect doubles. I.e., the pairing of Bill and Domino and Bill and Sally is a great example of obvious duality, the former occurring before the midpoint, and the latter occurring after. The "singular" scenes I also numbered past 9, up to 15. Bill sitting in Sharky's cafe drinking a cappuccino doesn't have a double, unless we count Bill sitting in Gillespie's cafe, drinking coffee. The problem here is that this "doubling" occurs after the midpoint of the film, which creates the problem of asymmetry. Maybe this isn't a problem, though. It could, I admit, be read as a fraction within a fraction. I.e., like trying to measure a shoreline. One has to measure the rocks, and then account for the tide, etc. There's no absolute perimeter of an island, just as there is no absolute circumference of a bagel. A more accurate measurement relies on more accurate data. When you measure more accurate data, you gather more metadata. The initial measurement then becomes obscured by the fact of metadata and subsequent meta-metadata, casting great doubt on the notion of "measurement." The logical conclusion of this is probably relativism. Big numbers speak to small things, and small numbers to big things. Natura maxima miranda in minims, I was reading: nature is the greatest in the smallest things.

If Zeno's thought were any help, it might suggest that Bill "started" in the film like Achilles, trying to overtake the hare, only to realize that each moment moving forward created a new distance making it impossible to "overtake" the hare. The "hare" would be many things: Ziegler, Somerton, Alice, Nick, Domino, Sally, the Rainbow, etc. Bill seems to be racing against the entire world. While I wouldn't conclude that motion is impossible because of our necessarily traveling "infinite" spaces every time we take a step, I would say to the contrary that we cannot accurately quantify our own movements, that we cannot quantify time, and that these are interdependent entities. The arrow traveling through space does occupy a certain space-time, but, we cannot know what it is to be an arrow. We can only observe. Maybe the arrow possesses an experience of space-time, or maybe not. Maybe nature experiences space-time, or maybe not. These are theological and metaphysical issues, not scientific issues. Therefore we make abstract generalizations about its movement via language. I think it reasonable that Bill is having thoughts and memories that mirror each other, and that these are "speeding up" by the end of the film, paradoxically so, maybe. But this, too, is speculation. A good critic would look at the evolution of the false "flashback" imagining of Alice and the Sailor in Cape Cod having relations. The action accelerates each time the flashback comes, and, it is shorter or longer in duration. Again, haven't looked at this in depth, but suspect that there's doubleness to be found here too. 

On the initial infographic - I haven't included pictures or completed a deep analysis of the chiastic structure yet. When I noticed it, I immediately created the graphic. The locations may be too specific; for example, Bill is at Ziegler's after the first scene. B and B2 could simply be labeled "Ziegler's" to simplify this. Ziegler's billiards room then might be a secondary specific location which mirrors Ziegler's bathroom, a secondary location in "B." But, like I said, this level of detail can only be accomplished with a spreadsheet and likely hundreds of hours of work. Which I'm not sure I want to do. One reason I might not want to is simple: consider that I placed Red Cloak/Somerton at a low point, representing evil, and the underworld. Now, this also means that Bill's "ascent" returns him only to the same "plane" he was before. Maybe it's ignorance, maybe it's his being deceived by people he knows and loves. It's uncertain whether he has learned anything. I can't help but wonder whether the chiastic structure connotes the cross and the idea of persecution. I also can't help but see that, for the viewer, Somerton should actually be at a high point, as it more or less symbolizes the climax of the film in the middle. Maybe the billiards scene is the climax, but it merely points directly back to the center of the film and hence, the conflict: Somerton. In this way, we can also elevate Somerton. 

Sadly and strangely, this reveals some clues regarding the extent to which Freemasonry (or other secret societies) is being alluded to in the film. Seen this way, literally, we have the idea of an inversion taking place. In the film, the feeling is very much linear without depth or height; the ambiguity and aesthetic tone remains very consistent. But, reading the story, considering the "depths" to which Bill falls, I think we can see the halfway point as an absolute low point. The sad irony is that, for these societies or groups, run by the wealthiest and most powerful people in the world, as is suggested by Victor, this is the high point. I think of the words in Philippians 3:19: "Their end is destruction; their god is the belly; and their glory is in their shame; their minds are set on earthly things." Mostly, the last two lines speak volumes about false or idolatrous worship, about disordered devotion. 

But man is not an end in himself. Masons may disagree. Secular humanists may disagree. Atheists may disagree. Malthusians and climate hysterics may disagree. And this, too, is the point. The point is materialism. Matter as the only certainty, and this one certainty elevated irrationally to the end of deification in the setting of the occult. Yet, we have to be careful here, too. Kubrick may have shown us the occult, be he also showed us the cult. Cult is public, unlike occult, which is kept hidden. The real puzzle here is deciphering what is cult and what is occult. Unsurprisingly, this is difficult to do, as the premise of Eyes so often seems to be that the cult is actually occult, and the occult is cult! Again, this may lead us back to the idea of inversion, of high and low, "as above, so below," as certain occultists say. 

I also can't help but notice the weird black and blue shadows on the wall above the stairs. The wall basically a down-pointing triangle positioned directly above an up-pointing stairway. In the same way as my experimental diagram, we seem to have a crossing of "above" and "below." 

The masonic logo incorporates a triangle and an inverted triangle. Imagined this way, we would see a Star of David in this logo.

And in this way, unhealthy conspiracy theories could abound. On this I can't offer much more, other than that these are some very curious notions that do not simply go away with the neutralizing of narrative chiastic structure. I.e., if we supposed that the story of Eyes has no climax, no descent, no ascent, then we could unsee the triangular form. But this would be unnatural, indeed, contrary to human intuition.

If we inverted the ascent and descent, we would see the above form. Notice that the "returns" do not happen exactly in order. But, it seems that "3, 2, 1" actually do occur in that order. It is important to note that the "toy shop" is not the Harford residence. But this all depends upon what we mean by "toy shop" and "residence," and "toy," and "holiday," and "gift," and "family," "marriage," "daughter, " etc. Again, Helena wants to watch The Nutcracker at home in 1., but is shopping for Christmas presents in a toy store in 1.2. So, this is a mirror, as one can imagine the Nutcracker dolls, the Christmas theme, etc. Again, with 2., we have "Ziegler's ball," which is a tongue-in-cheek way of saying "Ziegler's pool balls" when referring to the pool table in 2.2. The billiards table itself symbolizing Somerton, and the balls symbolizing the victims of the "magic circle," we realize that this is very much symmetrical insofar as the holiday ball was full of strange people, included a near-death, lust, etc. Ziegler's bathroom as 3 also involves an interesting transformation: when Bill is in the morgue in 3.2, Mandy is dead. Mandy is simply overdosed in 3, while Ziegler is there with them. In 3.2 Mandy is dead, eyes open, while Ziegler is absent. Bill is present both times. But, shortly after Bill leaves the morgue room, he receives a call from Ziegler. It's almost as if Ziegler needs to show his face. 

And I never thought of this before: Bill is attending to Mandy's body like Marion is attending to Lou's. The difference is that Marion calls Bill, but Bill receives a call from Ziegler. A topic for another post.

Disease and prophecy

1.

In the latter half of Eyes Wide Shut Bill returns to Domino's apartment. On the wall in the lobby area is a "for sale" sign with the name "Keith Haring" in all-caps. 

 

Keith Haring is the name of a New York City-based artist whose rise to fame in the 1980s was cut short by his death from HIV/AIDS. I realize this detail has been noted before, so I'll try to shed light on other less-touched-upon connections in relation to it.

Haring enjoyed acquaintanceships with Basquiat, Warhol, and countless other esteemed artists and counter-cultural figures, and was an advocate for gay rights. Some of Haring's inspirations include Dr. Seuss and Walt Disney cartoons, pop art, and graffiti. He was 31 when he died in 1990 from complications from HIV/AIDS. "31" may be the first obvious connection less talked about: it is a visual mirror of "13." 

This crafted sign is a subtle but literal, tongue-in-cheek example of "writing on the wall" that Bill is (tragically) unable to see. Haring, as a symbol, foreshadows the next scene: Domino is gone, but Sally, her roommate, is home. This reversal from the first visit, when Domino is home and Sally is away, might suggest the difference between Domino and Sally. The Introducing Sociology textbook seen on the dresser below the mirror when Bill answers Alice's phone call might point to Domino or Sally's status as a student. I think it also points to the tense relation between Bill and Alice. Bill is obviously hiding things from Alice, and we almost suspect that Alice knows it. 

Sally appears younger, maybe more studious, in comparison to Domino. But, both are smart and careful. Sally seems to be assuming that Bill and Domino had relations, and she holds back. She turns down Bill's flirtatious advances, explaining that Domino has tested HIV positive. The diagnosis foreshadows the newspaper line "Lucky to be alive," as in, HIV is the harbinger of death, and Bill has managed to evade it. Luckily. The smile on Bill's face when he speaks with Sally is disturbing - unlike Domino who relies on sex for an income, Bill dabbles freely in prostitution but escapes unscathed. 

Bill didn't anticipate Domino's absence, or her disease. But again, the layers: Domino's unfortunate absence is a suggestion of her looming death, if not a literal placement of death-as-human-absence. Also, Domino's salacious presence earlier in the film can actually signal Bill's descent towards the nadir that is Somerton at the half-way point of the film. It has been noted that there are no Christmas trees or decorations at the mansion. Many of the Christmas lights being multi-colored, resembling a rainbow, it could be suggested that Somerton is "where the rainbow ends," i.e., the supposed place where Nuala and Gayle want to take Bill at Victor's annual ball. Bill is hesitant, saying it "depends where that is." Nuala and Gayle press on, saying "let's find out." Bill exercises caution then, but later, with Nick, he exercises no caution. Even when it is a man, and not two women, who is luring him. This just goes into another thesis about the representation of women and how Bill's pursuit stems more from a masculine(?) drive to prove himself than from a feminine drive for pleasure. The women at Somerton are obviously stripped of personality and authentic being, reduced to idols or objects. The irony being that the many female roles are deeply personable, authentic, and seemingly a threat to Bill's masculinity: Alice and daughter Helena - Bill has no sons and apparently no doctor buddies. Nick says he's married with four boys - five men and one woman suggests a more masculine identity. Ziegler is married but obviously a philanderer whose masculine identity exists only through his wealth. He wouldn't personally lay a hand on Bill, but his secret guards might. 

Anyways, speaking of guards, one of Victor's guards interrupts Bill's conversation with the two models, leading Bill up the twisting staircase. The fact that Mandy appears in the next scene might suggest that Somerton is indeed where Nuala and Gayle want to take Bill, since Mandy will also be there. Ziegler's bathroom, if I recall, is not festive - it is cold and echoey. 

Domino has been discarded along the way, just like Mandy Curran and Nick Nightingale. Regarding Nick, one very overlooked deception occurs when an unnamed masked guard at Somerton alerts Bill that his taxi driver wants a word with him. The two begin walking, but the camera cuts to a different guard leading blindfolded Nick Nightingale through a ballroom with partially-clothed couples dancing, and down a corridor. The camera cuts back to the Bill and the other guard, who arrive not at the "door," but back in the great hall, where Red Cloak and the masked attendees/observers are assembled, just like when Bill first entered, except that there is no music or obvious "ritual," and they are specifically awaiting his arrival. Although it could be argued that Bill's unmasking is a ritual in itself of which he is not aware. This may be a ritual of humiliation. There's something medieval and sinister about Bill's "trial" and eventual unmasking. The crowds whisper violently, like a theater audience, as the trial proceeds. 

We don't see Nick seated at his keyboard back in the apse, so it seems Ligeti's theme is non-diegetic. The music is imaginary, perhaps playing in Bill's mind. This is somewhat interesting given that Pook's "Masked Ball" feels entirely non-diegetic, meaning, overlaid upon the film, and not coming from within the film itself. But, we see Nick, and take it that he is maybe playing along to a pre-recorded track. This feels cheap and phony, but it's certainly realistic. On the other hand, Ligeti's theme music is so subtle and fitting that it functions as a character in itself. I've often read it as the presence of fear, suspense, panic, or anxiety. The notes also mimic the stalker's footsteps when he follows Bill. So, the music, again, is a presence, like the sound of footsteps which insinuate a character. Ligeti's theme may even point to Nick's exit from Somerton, in which he, the piano player, is being followed out of the mansion - footsteps. 

2. 

Though effective treatments for HIV/AIDS were discovered in the late 1990s, the epidemic had been politicized for nearly two decades prior, causing widespread public panic. The word "paranoia" could also be used in place of "panic:" though the disease disproportionately affected (and affects) homosexual men, sex workers, and heroin abusers, key aspects of detection and prevention were thwarted on behalf of AIDS activists who lobbied to prevent the FDA from approving a home-use HIV test. HIV/AIDS testing had become politicized - a result of identity politics and fear - leading to it's stigmatization, while condoms were hailed as a new cure-all. In the defense of sufferers, however, involuntary quarantine was seen as a possible threat with draconian undertones: deportation, indefinite isolation, and in effect, imprisonment, all seemed to be on the table. Fear of the consequences of being infected accelerated the fear of being tested. In fact, Communist Cuba enacted a forced quarantine of all HIV/AIDS sufferers that lasted at least eight years, or until the USSR dissolved along with its Cuba funds. Supposedly, this wasn't the full extent of terror: the totalitarian Cuban government targeted "effeminate" men, and those suspected of being homosexual, and deported them to labor camps against their will. Strangely, or not, it was not until 2012 that the ban on home-HIV tests was dropped in the US. Many lives could have been saved, and lifespans extended. 

After Bill leaves Sally's apartment, he realizes he is being followed by the bald man in the tan coat. It has been noted that the same man - or his double - appears earlier in the film, at a table right-front of stage at the Sonata Cafe where Nick Nightingale is playing. Here's a problem: if the spy is at the Sonata Cafe long before Bill makes the potentially-fatal error of appearing at Somerton, is the bald man's presence considered fate or chance? At a symbolic level, the spy and spied-upon being in the same place suggests foreshadowing. Bill is seated higher than the spy, suggesting that Bill is the one in a position to spy on others. His appearance at the Sonata is in itself a suggestion that he is spying on his old friend, Nick. And certainly, Bill overtly peeks at a secret password intended only for Nick and other invited party-goers. Regardless, Bill is not the greatest spy.

It could be that the spy has been sent to follow Bill before Bill makes his clumsy appearance at Somerton. Why? Victor admits he had Bill followed, but he doesn't say when he gave this order. He says he had Bill followed after admitting he knew he showed up at Nick's hotel. Victor certainly seems to have an issue with Nick Nightingale - he calls him a "prick" and "cocksucker." It seems likely the stalker was also tracking Nick's movements. It could be that Victor's private intelligence had been given the go ahead to follow Bill once he approached Nick at Ziegler's party. Their short conversation is interrupted by a bodyguard who leads Nick away. Bill is interrupted twice at Ziegler's party, and at least two times at Somerton (the Columbus-masked man, and the guard). It could be a sort of contractual arrangement between Nick and Victor which prohibits Nick from conversing or socializing. Later, at the Sonata, Nick says to Bill, "I just play the piano," when referring to the secret performance. Indeed, this could indicate that the spy is primarily watching Nick, not Bill. Perhaps, when Nick walks away at Ziegler's party, he confesses to Victor and his personal KGB what he and Bill discussed. Of course, maybe Ziegler made a phone call first thing upon learning Bill was at Somerton - send a guy out and watch his movements as he leaves the mansion. This is believable enough and leads us back to the idea that the spy was following Nick, initially. 

The notion of the "panopticon" comes into play, as does the connotation of the Stasi or KGB (Soviet secret police). Bill is virtually imprisoned by Ziegler's omnipresence (like HAL). The simplest reading is that Bill is being watched in the beginning, and at the end - he is always being watched. I also read this is a way of hinting at another duality: heaven and earth. The camera on the gates of Somerton (hell) is high above Bill but represents something very sinister and dark. 

Maybe the spy is watching Nick, or maybe he's watching Bill, too. If Bill is paranoid, imagine Victor's evil reality - he can't trust his friends, his pianist, or himself. For example, when Bill enters the bathroom, he is confident and cool. Victor is the one who looks nervous and fearful ("scared child" before the painting of the pregnant woman). By the end, the tables have turned, and Bill is doubtful, while Ziegler is in charge. 

3. 

I wanted to keep this post short, but I find Eyes Wide Shut far too fascinating to attempt to gloss over. One very unsettling but seemingly innocuous fact is that Bill's long night of adventures (or misadventures) rests on the assumption that he is at the Nathanson apartment until four in the morning. 

Is it possible that Alice knows about the blonde Marion Nathanson, the daughter of Bill's elderly patient? The more unsettling thing is that by the time Bill gets home and discovers Alice laughing violently in her sleep, he maybe realizes that he hasn't fooled her. Of course, she is laughing at Bill in her dream, but the situation is different. If Bill doesn't realize she's asleep, then it seems Alice is laughing at his attempts not only to fabricate a story, but to pursue infidelities. Again, it seems Alice is not fooled by his story, nor by any suggestion that he has truly achieved any infidelities. This, in a moment, crystallizes the idea of Bill's emasculation. Even if he could have an affair, which he can, he can't commit to the act. There's a cruelty there that Alice seems to be more familiar with, and which Bill is more afraid of. 

We see this in Alice's dream: the orgy she describes mirrors what Bill has just witnessed at the mansion, playing a cruel game with Bill's mind. The question is: was Alice there? What if it had been Alice, wearing only a mask, in one of the libraries, or dining rooms, or parlors at the Somerton mansion, having relations with countless unknown men? So in fact she was there, because Bill can't determine whether Alice's dream was a Freudian example of "wish fulfillment," or whether it was an absurd nightmare. Maybe her tears are only an act of shame, and her dream is a representation of what she truly desires. Perhaps her dream is honest, but she unconsciously reacts with shame upon waking. In an inverse manner, Bill has witnessed an actual massive orgy but has also been unmasked, humiliated, and made to feel guilt or shame over his actions. 

Alice's indiscretions are insidious in that they are one step ahead of Bill's. If Bill is hurt by Alice's first confession, this is understandable. But he should be reassured by her call which serves as a hindrance to any precoital passions experienced with Domino. Had it not been for house-wife Alice calling him, perhaps Bill and Domino would have consummated their chance meeting, and Bill would likely have contracted HIV. In this way, it is practically suggested that Alice has some sort of omniscient power. 

Her dream (after Bill arrives home) suggests that she saw what Bill saw. Her call suggests that she is acting not only in Bill's best interest, but in her own, in that, we can figure that if Bill slept with Domino, he would eventually make love to Alice, passing on the disease to her. Alice not only wants to protect Bill, but herself, and Bill is something of a conduit of herself - sadly, it could be argued that she owns him, that she truly controls him. But, if this is so, does not this represent love absolute - laying down one's life for another? True, except that Alice may be cunning enough to hide her selfishness. The problem with all of this is that Bill and Alice are walking an extremely thin line between safety and danger, and they don't see it - or at least, Bill doesn't. This fact supports the disturbing theory that Alice is the true puppet master, and not Victor. Regardless, the newspaper headline seems to be a central truth of the story: Bill (and Alice, and perhaps Helena too) are "lucky to be alive."

The newspaper headline "Lucky to be Alive" symbolizes at least two instances in which Bill escapes fate: by abstaining from relations with Domino, and, by being pardoned for his trespassing at Somerton. 

But that's not all: the caption below the image in the newspaper tells of a bank robber named Anthony Norman who staged a hostage crisis at the Wyandanch Station of the Long Island Rail Road. 

The name "Anthony Norman" seems oddly familiar. One possibility follows: the name of actor Anthony Perkins can be conjoined with the first name of oedipal-complex killer, Norman Bates, the character whom the former played in Alfred Hitchcock's classic 1960 horror film, Psycho. The name in the newspaper is formed of the two first names of the actor and character, respectively. This may be pure coincidence, but there are more interesting cinematic connections. Perkins, who could pass for Kafka's dark Irish double, in fact played Josef K in Orson Welles' 1962 adaptation of Kafka's The Trial. Only two years after Psycho, and Perkins embodies another victim in a very different horror. Bill Harford's "trial" is at times similar to K's. The bakery next to Domino's apartment, named Josef Kreibich Knish Bakery, is a veiled reference to Josef K, and Kafka, as well a veiled reference to Jewishness. The latter film obviously has a Jewish connotation, while the former is less known. Nathan Abrams writes that Psycho was based on the 1959 novel of the same name by Robert Bloch. The story is based on Ed Gein, the real-life serial killer inspired partly by heinous Nazi crimes (ex: furniture or clothing made from human body parts). Bloch himself and many key figures involved in the production of the film were Jews, and the Freudian aspects obviously owe much to the contentious Jewish-Viennese psychoanalyst. Vienna takes us back to Schnitzler, Freud's supposed double. 

The name, Anthony Norman, seemed oddly familiar the first time I looked closely at the newspaper story. So, I read further: in real life, Perkins spent much of his life in homosexual relationships, though he married Berinthia Berenson, the model and photographer, in 1973 at age 41. Berenson claimed patrilineal Jewish heritage. Abrams also writes that "Norman" was an Anglo name adopted by immigrant Jews in America, the reason being it sounded neutral and normal, and not Jewish. In the semi-fictional news story, Anthony Norman is the name of a bank robber. So, there's a connotation of criminality. Again, being a Jew was borderline criminal for a very long time in Europe; being homosexual is still and was taboo and illegal in many places in the west. "Anthony Norman," at some level, plays at some taboo notion of ultra-criminality - a bank robber, possibly a Jew, possibly gay. Bill is paranoid when he realizes he is being followed - he doesn't know why he is being followed, and he doesn't know which aspect of his character or behavior is being scrutinized, hence the paranoia. 

Perkins was diagnosed HIV positive in 1990 and died two years later, or seven years before the release of Eyes Wide Shut. Berenson died aboard American Airlines Flight 11 during the September 11 terror attacks in New York, 2001, two years after the release of Eyes Wide Shut. 

R.I.P., L.W.

Not too long ago, somewhat bored, watching The Shining (or, not watching, but, rather, trying to "see"), I happened to notice something rather surprising. Having spent the long winter months reading various theological texts in conjunction (and in their own right) with the philosophical writings of L. Wittgenstein, some of the philosopher's questions have stuck in my mind (like mold, or, no, more like a pleasant lichen). Needless to say, entering into the Kubrickian universe, this isn't necessarily a bad thing. To the contrary, Kubrick's films - The Shining in particular - deal heavily in the promulgation of powerful imagery. I only hope my findings are not ordinary and underwhelming.

Let's consider the encounter with Danny and Tony in the mirror. The dialogue happens thus:

Danny: Tony, why don't you want to go to the hotel?

Tony: I don't know.

Danny: You do to know, now, come on, tell me.

Tony: I don't want to.

Danny: Please? ...

Tony: No.

Danny: Now Tony, tell me.

This dialogue ends somewhat abruptly, followed by a montage that Danny "shines." Below is the sequence of shots (1. Danny transfixed; 2. Blood comes through elevator doors; 3. Shot of the Grady twins; 4. Blood floods room and covers camera; 5. fade to black; 6. Psychologist examining Danny's eyes [or mouth?] after he evidently passes out. 

The camera zooms in to Danny in the mirror's image speaking to "Tony," the imaginary friend who lives in Danny's mouth for the duration of the dialogue. We should draw attention to the detail that Tony lives in Danny's mouth if we want to make full use of any references to Wittgenstein. Danny's eyes grow wide with fear (or wonder) after the last line and the scene cuts to a slow-motion shot of the elevator doors being flooded with what is a blood-like substance (the script, I think, says "blood," but, whatever). It occurs to me the ingenuity of this cut when I seem to recall something Wittgenstein said about what can be shown or told. The actual line is this, from his early "logical positivist" work, Tractatus:

    4.1212 What can be shown cannot be said.

So, what? Tony shows Danny his reason for not wanting to go to the hotel. He doesn't tell Danny. Showing is not the same as telling. We can't really describe what happens when we see Danny's vision. There is far too much happening, and far too much developed in the story thus far to provide a frame of reference, besides. This is the power of what can be "shown." 

Literally, Tony disobeys Danny by showing him why he doesn't want to go to the hotel. Danny wants to be told an ostensibly simple answer, but instead, receives a complex and frightening vision. This in itself proves that "showing" and "telling" are not the same. Notably - and I love this, on more reflection - we do not see foreshadowing of later events via literal re-cutting of the same film. We don't see Jack chasing Danny, or killing Dick, etc. We see creative, abstract, symbolic imagery that never "occurs" outside of the context of Danny's mind. Arguably, we say the images are all "true," or at least, semblances of what is true. Blood is spilled, the daughters "were" killed (or, "are" killed in the context of the telling of The Shining story itself in real time), Danny is terrified, etc. Yet, we never see these images actually take place. Obviously, some of these events are past, which makes sense. This must mean that Tony is worried or upset about what has already happened. This is very interesting, and supports the theory that the Overlook is timeless, or outside of time. 

Again, consider L.W.'s observations when thinking about Danny's expression. "Danny is terrified," we might say, but, we can't be satisfied with this. It looks as if Danny has seen Satan himself, or pure evil - something he has never seen. The look is not merely "terror." At the same time, the fact that Danny's face mirrors the elevator doors is a detail too disturbing to put into words: is Danny going to be "sacrificed?" Is the blood Danny's? Is it a coincidence? Does Danny understand this? Is he still looking into the mirror? Etc. Furthermore, contrasted with the well-lit bathroom scene, in which Danny almost seems hypnotized or "seduced" (which is creepy enough), the following shot of Danny's shrieking face is worth far too many words. 

It is interesting that Tony chooses to "reveal" to Danny why he does not want to come to the hotel. I admit I've never read King's novel, so I can't comment on the degree to which this scene is faithful to the events in the novel (if at all). Regardless, Kubrick's film is a creative work in its own right. And, we must consider that, at least in the filmic version of this encounter, Danny is speaking to Tony, who, mysteriously, lives in Danny's mouth. Tony lives in Danny's mouth. When Danny speaks to Tony, though, Danny also voices Tony. Again, I haven't read the novel, but from the film alone we can imagine notions like demonic possession - a demon overtaking Danny's speech and thought. Danny's voice is Tony speaking: Tony has taken control of Danny's body. Maybe. If this were the case, then Tony's home in Danny's mouth could be significant: Tony may be conscious of all of Danny's language. He may listen to Danny's words, and thoughts, for that matter. 

Another consideration: Tony lives in Danny's mouth, yes, just as speech lives in the body. We then must ask: who is speaking? Later in the movie, it is obvious that "Tony" overtakes Danny - most memorably in the "Redrum" scene. But, then this duality is one that we've already learned is problematic for Danny, Tony having been created only after the first time Jack abused him physically. Tony is an escape - a separate entity that eventually is given power over Danny's true identity - and this is evident in his speech. 

The twins (who are arguably the "true" victims in relation to the image of the bleeding elevator) flash for a second or near-second amid the bloody-elevator, followed by a shot of Danny in agony. The shot of Danny ties back pareidolically to the elevator, but also thematically, arguably, to Dave Bowman in the space-pod in 2001. This may be a bit of a coincidence, an intertextual similarity, or, it may be, as some have argued, a thematic similarity in the hypothetical seven-part series of 20th century life on earth that was Kubrick's last seven films. The theme would be: the modern, isolated individual. But more on this later.

It is especially funny given that these stills "randomly" inserted into the psychedelic star-gate sequence were not really "random," but were functional, serving the purpose of connecting the star-gate film strips. Yet, even if it was functional, the still shot obviously creates a break in the action, and offers a sort of hyper-meditative glimpse into Dave's cosmic exile. Clearly, Kubrick intentionally repeated this method with Danny's visions in The Shining, offering shots of the twins, or of the bleeding elevator, and more, to condense (or expand) the visual narrative. It seems these stills were not functional, but were/are indeed, powerful symbolic images advancing a narrative. Danny "shines" several times, and if I'm not mistaken, each time features the same still-shot "flashes" which fragment the montage. Not to go too deep down a rabbit-hole, but, these breaks in some ways are far more powerful at asserting a character's presence than by speech/dialogue alone. In other words, the fear or agony or terror Danny feels because of his ability to "shine" is best explained by showing us what he sees. This is an incredible and maybe banal tool in filmmaking that we could never hope to possess on earth - to actually see what/how someone else sees. 

Arguably, the images Danny sees aren't ordinary images, or scenes which we would readily imagine. Hence these images strengthen the idea of the individual, before they tell us about the supernatural, or other-worldly. In other words, the individual is whoever experiences the world as it is. It happens that, where words (and images) would often fail a character like Danny, a child, Kubrick sees this separation as an opportunity to show the actuality of Danny's seemingly childish fits and moods (it follows that there are images and scenes Danny witnesses which we, the audience, do not see, and we can only imagine what he might be seeing - not that we'd want to).

To the extent that we can say Danny's cut-screen and Dave's cut-screen are similar, we should also note the differences. One theory on the difference in positioning may be that Danny's horror is real/psychological whereas Dave's horror is cosmological/technological. There's also the sense that Danny's face is what the mirror sees, what "Tony" sees, and this is why he is seen full frontal. Dave Bowman's face is contorted due to the technological shortcomings of the pod on its mission to Jupiter, or at least, I think, this, in conjunction with travel in deep-space. I think it is said that Keir Dullea actually forced his body to shake under pressure when being filmed, with no outside-agitation present. And finally, there's something different here given the nature of the source of the horror: in The Shining, we know that the "former" caretaker murdered his family with an axe and shot himself. We might form an image of this if we thought about it.

But, in 2001 we have no reference for the horrors of space travel, let alone, to a planet as distant as Jupiter. These horrors are shown to us in the final segment, just as the horrors of the Outlook Hotel are revealed in real-time throughout the film. These horrors are imaginable, cognizable, not psychedelic; Kubrick leaves the horrors of space speculative. Light, color, form, stand in place for what is un-sayable, or, un-showable. And this is fine. What is showable, here, is equated with what is indescribable. Surely unsurprising to readers of his work, Wittgenstein made many remarks on color. Consider the excerpt from On Certainty:

    126. I am not more certain of the meaning of my words than I am of certain judgments. Can I doubt   that this colour is called "blue"? (My) doubts form a system.

[I think] what L.W. is saying is that I judge the perception of "blue" things by referring to them by their name, i.e., "blue." Now, this point is not really about color, but, we could say that there is no "explaining" a sensation like "blue" beyond the fact that whatever "blue" is, it is represented by the word-name "blue." This agrees with the sensation, unless someone has eyes that see more teal than blue, or more blue than green, and then we find it curious that someone says a blue t-shirt is teal. Since color-blindness is not color anarchy, we are surprised by these minor disagreements between judgment and word-meaning. But, assuming we are not color-blind, we do not ask a person what color their eyes are as we look into them. 

Dave Bowman's experience of horror reads as a horror which is interior and abstract. The problem is that we know it isn't - for he is likely the first and last person traveling through deep space alone. But, because we know this is an unknown, something about which we can only speculate, this creates an opportunity for the filmmaker and/or audience to "imagine" this horror. That this horror is "unimaginable" or "unconscionable" is arguably plausible: we lose sense of scale with the star-gate sequence - where are we? Who are we? The strange baroque room is our "saving grace" for human intelligibility. To be continued.

The horrors of The Shining, whether it be the axe-killings, or, the allusions to the Holocaust, Native American genocide, etc., are all "of this world." They are known, they are present, or past, but they are fleshy and "ordinary." The horrors of space remain abstract, matters for which we have no reference. It is quite interesting how we, the viewer, become a surrogate of Danny, the innocent viewer or passenger, whose clairvoyance affords us the vision of "things to come." This is clear, given that Danny is a child, that he cannot really choose to be somewhere else but with his parents, etc. In a similar way, Kubrick subordinates us to be the mere viewers or witnesses of a particular apocalyptic vision. But then again, what is film worth if not viewed, not critiqued, not discussed? An exegesis of Kubrick's work is an exegesis of our world - and that is what makes our task so difficult, yet so satisfying.

The Other Aleph: Film as Poetry

Though the word "Aleph" is nearly synonymous with the late Argentine author, Jorge Luis Borges, and makes a few appearances in acrostic Psalms (Ps 37; Ps 119) in the Old Testament, the alphabetic character, idea, and literary source could also figure into The Shining. This parallel may be the product of synchronistic, or, magical thinking, but, The Shining being an overtly psychological horror/thriller film, this idea should not be ruled out simply because it is unusual. Much of what makes The Shining unsettling has to do with the logical inconsistencies, vexatious plot holes, and the subtle but disturbing upheaval of conventional horror tactics ("meditative scares" rather than "jump scares," prolonged, terrifying "climax," etc). Critics often say it has all of the trappings of a typical horror film without being a horror film. 

Kubrick was influenced by Jung's archetypes - universal and indestructible images which hold powerful, unified meanings for all people. The word "synchronicity" itself was coined by Jung, a fact which suggests a mode of thinking that strives to understand disparate phenomena, whether psychological or physical. Jung's influence shows most visibly in Full Metal Jacket and The Shining. The "duality of man" alluded to in the former speaks to Jung's self-explanatory thinking on moral duality: any good attribute has its opposite. This theme is also very strong in Psalms, and very much so in Psalms 37 and 119 where the acrostic references the Hebrew alphabet, each letter introducing an aphorism or prayer that alludes to a conflict and resolution in a few short lines. This in mind, with the ancient notion of good and evil, you almost can't say "man" without meaning man in his duality.   

It isn't coincidental that I mention Borges; when it comes to themes of modernity, especially as it applies to architecture, we should consider that Kubrick had read Borges and Kafka prior to the production of The Shining, and mentions both writers' clear, simplistic style in a 1980 interview with Vicente Molina Foix. This is revealing, if only for the fact that Borges is forever associated with the labyrinth, while Kafka is arguably associated with the urban, alienated individual. The common criticism that Kubrick's films are cold, distant, and even cynical reflects at some level the filmmaker's inspirations. I could go on probably for hours about the implications of Kubrick's intentional employment of coldness, irony, and isolation in his films, but I won't.

Kafka's alienated characters attempt to navigate complex, inhumane, labyrinthine built environments in most of his stories and novels. These environments, such as early-20th century New York, which Karl Rossmann is confronted by in Amerika, are timeless. Before the young man disembarks from the Hamburg America Line (a coincidental reference to HAL9000 in 2001: A Space Odyssey) ship, he makes several missteps, including entrusting his only suitcase to a stranger, and, allowing himself to become embroiled in an argument between the ship's stoker, to whom Karl is sympathetic, and the ship's upper management. Karl Rossmann almost mirrors Dave Bowman, who takes issue with his spaceship's management, namely, the supercomputer HAL. Karl wanders through the dark and winding interior of the ship, which is almost entirely empty of people, just as Bowman and Poole are virtually lost within their spaceship in 2001, only able to communicate with supercomputer HAL, while the other three astronauts hibernate in their coma-pods. By the third and final part of the film, Bowman dismantles HAL and propels the ship through an infinite, dark space, entirely alone. "HAL" mirrors the shipping line in Kafka's novella - both are distant, bureaucratic entities. More could be said of this connection, surely.

But, I was here to talk about The Shining. It doesn't hurt to point out that Kubrick focused on themes of isolation, group dynamics, and individualism many times before. Even Full Metal Jacket, with all of its group dynamics, is still very much about the individual experience of those dynamics, dramatized by a war-time setting (further - in the late '60s, when "group" dynamics would have coincided with communalism, socialism, hippies, etc). Barry Lyndon, too, is about one man making his way to his idea of success in 19th century Europe. In Lolita, the story of Humbert Humbert reflects the dual-natured reality of a single, very troubled man's obsessive (taboo, and illegal) pursuit of a teenaged girl. The Killing could be read through the character of George Peatty, who has been taken advantage of by his wife, friends, and employment - the conspirators representing yet again a rogue group dynamic. A Clockwork Orange centers on the experience of Alex, and Eyes Wide Shut focuses on Bill, yet there are significant examples of group dynamics in both too. 

Back to Borges. In "The Immortal," Borges uses first-person narration to describe the journey a Roman soldier (an alienated individual) makes to a mysterious city.

I had made my way through a dark maze, but it was the bright City of the Immortals that terrified and repelled me. A maze is a house built purposely to confuse men; its architecture, prodigal in symmetries, is made to serve that purpose. In the palace that I imperfectly explored, the architecture had no purpose. There were corridors that led nowhere, unreachably high windows, grandly dramatic doors that opened onto monk like cells or empty shafts, incredible upside-down staircases with upside-down treads and balustrades. Other staircases, clinging airily to the side of a monumental wall, petered out after two or three landings, in the high gloom of the cupolas, arriving nowhere. I cannot say whether these are literal examples I have given; I do know that for many years they plagued my troubled dreams; I can no longer know whether any given feature is a faithful transcription of reality or one of the shapes unleashed by my nights.

Similarly, purposeless and immense structures figure into Amerika in the form of skyscrapers, country estates, hotels, and ships. Like many of Edward Hopper's paintings, individuals, not groups, are camouflaged within the loneliness of large natural, urban, and domestic environments. From the introductory helicopter shots in The Shining, the Overlook Hotel appears enormous, imposing, and castle-like. It is ostentatious, sitting completely isolated on a rugged mountain range. The main idea that can be distilled from the excerpt above is this single line: 

A maze is a house built purposely to confuse men; its architecture, prodigal in symmetries, is made to serve that purpose.

Mirrors, symmetries, dualities - this is what Borges suggests is the basis of confusing, deceptive architecture. Literal mirrors and symbolic "mirroring" is at the core of The Shining and much of Kubrick's work. For instance, consider that Stephen King and Stanley Kubrick have the same initials. "SK" mirrors "SK." King's extreme dislike of Kubrick's interpretation of his novel only exacerbates the idea of dualities or mirrors: King = good, Kubrick = bad. Note also that if we wanted to assign numerical values to these initials, we would arrive at something like: S = 19, K = 11. We can read "SK" like a year: "1911." In the film, the final image we see is a framed photograph showing Jack at the center of a ritzy ball at the hotel, July 4, 1921. This would be 10 years after 1911. As others have noted, 19+11 = 30, and, 1+9+1+1 = 12. Both numbers are of some significance. If, for example, "SK" is "12," then the dual "SK" of King vs. Kubrick spells "12" and "12." Night and day. "24" in total, like hours in a single day. 

As a note on the strangeness of mirrors - when Danny writes "Redrum" in red lipstick on Wendy's bedroom door, he spells the "D" and "R" backwards. When reversed, however, the first four letters "MURD" are correctly spelled, leaving the "ER" backwards-facing. "M" and "U" are symmetrical.

During Jack's first visit to the Gold Room where he imagines a bartender named Lloyd, he refers to the bills he's carrying: two $10s, and two $20s. Jack wants to get rid of these bills. If we add these numbers, we get 60. 60 can be divided in two, to get 30 and 30. But, if we add 60 to 1921, we get 1981 - one year after the film's release. If we presume the film takes place in 1980, when it was released, then we can subtract 60 from 1980 and arrive at 1920. Does Jack want to go back in time? Perhaps. Rob Ager of Collative Learning points out that President Woodrow Wilson placed all American banks under the auspices of the Federal Reserve in 1921, allowing for the banishing of the gold standard. A line of thinking is that the Federal Reserve's refusal to lend money worsened and prolonged the depression. The topic has been subject to many conspiracy theories. Ager has written a good deal about the theme of gold - as color, symbol, and subtext - in The Shining. It appears Kubrick was concerned about the reliability of banks and cash, and at some point advocated buying gold, so it isn't out of the question. If we break apart 1921 and add it's individual figures (1+9+2+1) we arrive at 13. 13 is one more than 12, which is the sum of 1911. 1911 also gives us 11, so we see a similar sequence emerging. In 10 years, we advance 1 step (1931: 1+9+3+1 = 14, etc). 

The pacing of The Shining largely reflects the novelty of steadicam which allowed for long, balanced tracking shots. For this reason, the pacing and visual language of The Shining is architectonic in nature. The rectilinear, maze-like halls of the Overlook Hotel dictate how characters (and the camera) moves. There are certainly exceptions: when Jack intimidates Wendy, forcing her to walk backwards up a large set of stairs, the movement does not follow a straight line. The excessive size of Jack's "writing room" is cartoonish: thirty-foot ceilings, gothic "wheel" chandeliers, Native American tapestries, furnished sitting areas, fireplace, enormous windows, etc. 

13 is a loaded number whose relevance and significance in the film Fell Ryan has shown in a number of instances. If we add 1981 in a similar manner (1+9+8+1) we get 19. 19 mirrors the century in which 1921, 1980, 1942, and 1981 all took place (though we would say twentieth century, not nineteenth). Still, we have 20 and 10 and 19. A lot of bad things happened in years beginning with "19," arguably, too many events to list. 

Consider the office of Stuart Ullman with the impossible window where Jack interviews for the caretaker position. But first, a note on the window: the window is considered impossible because the office is located in the interior of the Overlook Hotel; however, I would speculate that there is a similarity between the office's impossible window and the maze's possible center. Perhaps the Overlook Hotel has a hidden courtyard, like, say, the Pentagon in Arlington County, just across the river from D.C. The Pentagon is a very strange, powerful, and physically enormous example of American Federal architecture. It is, oddly, or not, a modern version of a colonial "star fort," a military fortress built in geometric pattern to maximize defense from invasion. 9/11 would "prove" the compound's weaknesses in a modern warfare environment. Ullman appears very presidential behind the mahogany desk with the small American flag and fountain pens. The White House doesn't have a courtyard, but the Pentagon does. "Caretaker," while a euphemism of "gravedigger," could also be read as "defender" or "protector." It seems Ullman wants Jack to protect and preserve the Overlook. The Pentagon, of course, houses the Department of Defense. Ullman's appearance has been compared to JFK, an idea that, in 1980 as well as now, hints at the dark, dirty story of the late president's assassination. Since his televised, public assassination in 1963, countless conspiracy theories have gained near-mainstream status. 

It would take too much time to recount the significance of the Aleph. But I'll give an overview: the maze as reality and concept is explored several times in The Shining. We are reminded of the Ancient Greek myth of the minotaur in the maze. The mini-epic poem "Catullus 64" by Roman poet, Catullus, is as labyrinthine as the labyrinth at Knossos which it depicts. Theseus, the hero, will slay the minotaur in the labyrinth, and marry Ariadne. Her love has helped him to defeat the minotaur. 

Jack follows Danny into the maze at the Overlook hotel to murder him. Danny outsmarts Jack and reunites with his mother, Wendy, after hiding, and retracing his steps. To the left of Ullman's head is an eagle carving which almost looks like the letter "X."  

Or, does it look like the Aleph?

As has been noted before, the eagle, which appears on Jack's "Stovington" t-shirt, and indirectly, in the Adler typewriter ("Adler" being the German word for "eagle") he uses to type hundreds of pages containing the same 10 words (and 42 characters), is a small but blatant reference to the literal embodiment and representation of the eagle as a symbol of total power and terror. It is less well-known that the Nazis found inspiration in American notions of Eugenics which proliferated with popularity in the early twentieth century. But the eagle does allude to Nazi Germany. The number 42 figures into The Shining in a variety of ways, pointing to the fact that the Final Solution was carried out in 1942. The freezer Hallorann shows the Torrances during the tour of the Overlook Hotel has been compared to a photograph of concentration camp barracks. The resemblance is uncanny. 

"Adler" begins with the letter "A." "A" is the Aleph, and so "aleph" is also "eagle." The eagle carving coincides aesthetically with the Hebrew Aleph. The Aleph was descended from the Phoenician alphabet. The ancient linguists based the shape of the letter on the head of an Ox, which is quite similar to a bull or Minotaur (part bull, part man), as it is a horned cattle/bovine animal. We also have the strange skier poster in the game room where Danny has a vision (of the twins) that may suggest the presence of a minotaur. 

 

The poster is also given the title "Monarch" which suggests the idea of Kings, Kingdoms, and castles. "A" is mighty, and close to God. The Overlook is itself a maze of the Escher kind: the stairs lead down and up simultaneously, depending on our perspective. Wendy ascends or descends; Jack follows or leads; Danny escapes or deceives. 

Mystical Maze

 

Dick Hallorann flies to Colorado once he senses or "shines" that bad things are beginning to happen at the Overlook Hotel. Dick calls his friend, Larry, who owns a gas station and auto-shop, asking to rent a Snow Cat. The telephone dialogue includes the following exchange. 

D: Hi Larry, this is Dick, Dick Hallorann.

L: Dick, how you doing? How's the weather down there?

D: I'm not in Florida, Larry, I'm calling from the Stapleton Airport.

L: What the hell you doing down there?

At first glance, there is little unusual going on here. But, maybe we notice that regardless of whether Dick is in Florida or at the Stapleton Airport in Denver, Larry refers to Dick's location as "down." "Down" is a vernacular term. It doesn't necessarily mean "south" or "below," but conveys familiarity. I seem to remember linguist John McWhorter speaking on a podcast about the word "down" as used in American Southern Black dialects, and how it denotes familiarity. But that's enough. We could also study the words "hell," and, "down." First, though Dick is in Denver, it's a long way to Durkin's garage. He says he is five hours away. Not to get sidetracked, but, we can note the number 5 which I took a bit of a deep dive into in the previous post. In the Book of Genesis, God creates animal life on the fifth day. Animal life is distinct from humanity, or, man, which is created on the 6th day. 5 is the letter "heh" or "e" in Hebrew: ה. And we can guess what follows: the association of Dick, a black man, with the idea of "animal." From a long view, we can see Africans as the more recent ethnic group afflicted by slavery. But even the Jews suffered centuries of slavery at the hands of Pharaoh (and, essentially all other ethnic groups on all continents at one time or another). 

We also have the suggestion that Dick is five hours from Durkin's garage, at which point he will be able to get the Snow Cat and ascend to the Overlook. 5, then, also symbolizes the Overlook, or, the Snow Cat, if the snow vehicle is thought of as an animal. The Overlook is Jack's lair, so, Jack-as-beast/bull becomes reinforced again by the number five. Dick's answer to Larry seems to be unconscious and natural; five is a number (like other odd numbers) used in design to stimulate the eye and to create interesting symmetries. It is also a number that is intuited naturally, supposedly because of human anatomy - the five fingers and five toes we have on each hand and foot. 

Dick has flown from Miami and is going to rent a car to get to Durkin's garage, from which point he will use the Snow Cat to drive up the snowbound road to the Overlook. This is a treacherous voyage - an odyssey of sorts - which could very well also insinuate the idea of wandering in a maze. It may be synchronistic or uncanny to suggest, as others have, that the car Dick drives is an AMC Matador. My primary source here is Idyllopus Press and IMDCb.org. I wouldn't have known, or suspected, this, had I not begun to read Kearns's (Idyllopus P.) review of Killer's Kiss (1955), Kubrick's first non-documentary feature film. Assuming the car pictured is in fact a Matador, then we have the association of Dick Hallorann with a matador, that is, one who fights and/or slays bulls. But, five hours isn't a mere estimate: it is fate itself, a sort of countdown for Dick. Now, it could also be argued that a sort of "metamorphosis" takes place after Dick arrives at Durkin's Garage. That is, Dick "becomes" an animal when he takes the Snow Cat. Also of interest is the fact that the Overlook is pictured as a mountain. Think of sacrifices, visions, and burnt offerings in the Bible - the Binding of Isaac by Abraham on Mount Moriah, Jesus Crucified on Golgotha (literally, Skull), Elijah on Mount Carmel, the Transfiguration of Jesus on Mt. Tabor, etc. Some of the most important events occurred on high places. Symbolically, the Overlook arguably borrows from the Judeo-Christian tradition. If Dick is transformed, then Jack also becomes a beast, or minotaur, that is, half man/half beast. 

I was compelled to read Kearns's review after observing some uncanny and unsettling symbols in the film which dovetail with nearly all of Kubrick's films. For my purposes here, I'll just note that the first title card in Killer's Kiss reads "A Minotaur Production." It almost seems too good to be true: a sort of dead giveaway to what the viewer is entering into - and I don't mean the world of Killer's Kiss, but, arguably the filmic fictional universe Kubrick spent his whole life creating. But, again, this topic is best suited for another post. Returning to the (definitely not Freudian) idea of Dick's odyssey, we can see from the shots of the runway, and from Durkin's Garage, that the weather resembles a frozen hell. 

A note on the name, "Hallorann." This nine-letter name (with the unusual double "n") is a rendition of "O'Halloran," an Irish/Gaelic surname (also with nine letters; Hallorann and O'Halloran would combine to be 9+9=18). The roots of this surname trace back to County Galway as well as County Clare in Ireland. A Wiki entry suggests the name means "stranger," or, "from across the sea," as this ancient family worked importing goods. This is an interesting choice for Dick's surname for several reasons. The prefix "Hallo-" recalls "hallow," as in the word "hallow," meaning saint, or, "hallowed," meaning something that is sacred. "Halloween" is a way of saying "All Hallows Eve," which is a Pagan-adapted Christian celebration of departed saints, martyrs, and all of the dead. From this, we have the association of Dick Hallorann with something sacred or saintly. He is, after all, murdered, or martyred (interesting that these two words are near-homophones) by Jack, or, the Overlook. And, this is a minor problem: who is the killer - Jack, or, the Overlook? Grady, I think, will shed some wisdom on this matter, which I will come back to shortly.

Another note on Dick's name as it relates to Kubrick's catalog: Redmond Barry, the grifter of "low birth," as his step-son, Lord Bullingdon, notes (again, the idea of "down"), later known as Barry Lyndon, hails from Ireland. Redmond is an outsider or "stranger" who also crosses the Irish Sea and the English Channel in his journey - O'Halloran/Hallorann would fit Redmond just as well. Philip Stone, who plays Grady, the caretaker, in The Shining, also plays Graham, who manages Barry's debts in Barry Lyndon. Graham/Grady are somewhat familiar names beginning with "G," and, Graham is something of a "caretaker" for Barry's failing estate/peerage. It may be a stretch, but it could probably be suggested that, just as Grady appears in Jack's imagination, only to become "real" once Jack looks in a mirror in the red bathroom, Graham appears in the film only when Barry seems desperate to escape from reality. The narrator tells us: 

Barry was now bound up in an inextricable toil of bills and debts, of mortgages and insurances, and all of the evils attendant upon them, and Lady Lyndon's income was hampered almost irretrievably to satisfy these claims. 

After these lines the camera cuts to a frontal shot of Graham which is emotionally neutral. From this introduction of Graham, the camera cuts to a shot of Barry, son Bryan, and a Labrador retriever fishing from a small rowboat in a pastoral river - a very English take on escapism. Like countless other shots in the film, the stillness of the scene mimics that of a painting. The scene looks dreamlike, as if taken from a Constable painting. The camera slowly zooms out to capture a complete landscape. The shot is about thirty seconds long. Most impressive probably is that the dog remains mostly still for the entirety of it, and, that there's a swan in the river in the background. Lastly, its possible that the river is the "mirror" in this scene, as a reflection of the boat can be seen in the water. This ties back somewhat to Jack (in red coat) looking into the mirror in the (red) bathroom after being confronted by Grady, the double of Graham.

In The Shining, the confusion of identities, reinforced by the presence of mirrors in the red bathroom, approaches its zenith when Grady states that Jack has "always been the caretaker." Grady says "I should know sir, I've always been here." Jack is clearly looking to the right of Grady, into the mirrors. The word "here" is problematic coming from Grady (or, more accurately, Jack's concept of Grady). It could refer to the mirror in which Jack is looking. I think, at first glance, we take it that he is referring to the Overlook. And this is fine, but, we arrive at some disturbing and complex ideas when we consider that Grady is confronting Jack. If Grady has always been "here" in the mirror image of Jack, then this is a final call to violence. Grady clearly addresses Hallorann and Danny, while Jack blames Wendy. In a sense, Grady is an image projected out from the mirror. At Jack's left, this could very well suggest the idea of an immoral, evil influence. What becomes disturbing is that this confrontation only arises when Jack looks into a mirror. In this way, Jack is his own worst enemy; his greatest evils are accomplished only when he first considers himself. This is disturbing: that the mirror arouses or reignites a homicidal persecution complex in the looker - at least, when it is Jack. Note that Wendy and Danny "see murder" in mirrors, but do not will it. 

We also have a delicate layering of facts and symbols that relate to the Jack/Overlook duality I mentioned earlier. If Jack has always been the Caretaker, is this role exclusive to the Overlook? This would mean that Jack, too, has always been here, like Grady says. And, again, if Grady in this scene is a projection (or reflection?) of Jack's imagination/will, then perhaps Jack wishes to believe that he has always been at the Overlook. Interesting also is that Grady is called Charles and Delbert in the film. Are there two Gradys? This confusion may point to the idea of family and offspring, or father/son. This parallels the Jack/Danny dynamic as well, except that Danny appears to want to escape the cycle of violence. Grady-as-Jack's-worst-self positions Jack as a sort of "captain" or "director" at the helm of the Overlook. And yet, we know Jack has had a violent past - his abstaining from alcohol while at the Overlook seems to induce psychosis, whereas, his abuse of alcohol led to a rash outburst of violence against Danny. So, Jack is violent regardless of his location. Whether or not the Overlook causes violence per se is unclear.  

Yet we have another connection: Clare Quilty, the shapeshifting villain played by Peter Sellers in Kubrick's Lolita, is a third link back to Ireland, County Clare, and the idea of a "stranger." Although Clare gives the impression of being an insider, he has multiple disguises, rendering his true identity a mystery. Also, "Quilty" is the name of a fishing village in County Clare. The word "Quilty" is taken from a Gaelic word "coillte" that means "forest" or "woods." "Quilty," of course, is related to "guilty" when it comes to Lolita. The next question is the relationship between "guilt" and "woods." I think if we look at Hallorann's first name, and remember the teddy bears of The Shining and Eyes Wide Shut, we can make some Freudian connections. 

Hallorann and Clare Quilty are two very different characters, of course. The contextual information ties the different films together, suggesting that these works all share a common language. Begin listening to dialogue in Kubrick's films, and it becomes clear that many, many times, words are chosen for their symbolic and connotative power. It is difficult to imagine researching the connections in a time before the internet - researching the films, the cast, and various contextual clues would be a task far more difficult than it is today. The ease of access to information from times near and distant may distort our reading, maybe, but, it could be said that Barry Lyndon is a very modern, relatable story equal parts coming-of-age, and family drama/tragedy. Likewise, The Shining, in a less direct way, uses contemporary familiarity to frame history, particularly, American history, but also world history. 2001 features similar universal themes - imagining the future, imagining interplanetary travel, etc., but also imagining the past, and the very distant past. 

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At first, Larry thinks Dick is calling from Miami, indicating that he thinks Dick is somewhere hot. Again, we have the word "hell," which will tie back to Miami. I mean, their NBA team is the Heat. But, Dick is in Colorado. Simply put, we have the idea of "hell freezing over" when Larry learns Dick is at the Stapleton Airport. Larry seems somewhat shocked by this information. Is Colorado the symbolic frozen hell Dick has unknowingly escaped into? I tend to think so. And, is hell a maze? It could be - it doesn't hurt that Dante's vision of hell is highly complex, gruesome, and labyrinthine. 

The Overlook itself is a "maze" inside of which Dick becomes trapped. Unlike Danny who re-traces his steps and hides from Jack within the hedge maze outside, Dick is not so lucky. Dick, then, has found the "beast" within the real maze, while Danny has evaded the beast in a symbolic maze. The best clue I have to support the idea of the hedge maze's unreality is the cut from Jack looking at the model maze in his Great Hall/writing room to an aerial shot showing Wendy and Danny walking in the middle of the maze. The camera zooms slowly, convincing us that Jack has a sort of omniscient eye (or third eye - like some kind of... beast). Also, interestingly, is that a zoom shot from an aerial view leaves a considerable amount of directional ambiguity: are we going downward, or are we going into, or through? Like the "stargate sequence" in 2001, the camera is zooming toward a fixed center point, creating a one-point perspective. It's almost a cliche except that it isn't.  

This directional or spatial ambiguity brings me back to the words "hell" and "down" which Larry uses when talking to Dick. Is hell a place we descend into, or, that we move through? Hell as imagined by Dante is somewhat labyrinthine, not unlike the strange labyrinths in the works of Kafka and Borges, whose stories Kubrick had been reading during the production of The Shining. The genius of the Overlook is that it becomes a maze, or labyrinth, almost from the instant we see it. After the Gold Room and Room 237, do we really want to know what's lurking in all of the hotel's many other rooms? 

The first image below is a fade from Wendy and Danny in the maze to Jack walking in the "Great Room" of the Overlook. There's a lot more going on in this shot I won't get to here. If Danny's three-wheel journeys aren't convincing enough, this fade surely suggests symbolic continuity between the literal maze and the Overlook. 

Jack walks over to the model maze and begins to look at it.

The subsequent shots build tension with the last shot ending with a slow zoom inward, towards the center. There are many mazes at play. First is the actual hedge maze. Second, there is a map of the maze just outside the maze. Third, there is a model of the maze - noticeably different from the map - in Jack's writing room. Fourth, there is the maze in which Jack sees Wendy and Danny walking. Clearly, the maze Jack sees is not the model maze. It also does not resemble the map of the hedge maze. But it does look realistic. Assuming it is the real maze, then obviously, Jack's vision isn't possible. Yet, there it is. The paradox of Jack's omniscience endures. 

There are some minor or major problems I will also address now, to get them out of the way. 

1. If Jack can see the maze, does Jack know where Danny is hiding when he is searching for him? It might be suggested Jack only sees the real maze when he looks at the model. But the initial cut from Jack to the aerial shot of the maze suggests Jack has omniscient abilities. 

2. Does the aerial shot represent Jack's imagination? If so, what kind of imagination does Jack have? There is nothing "imaginative" about the vision. It's impersonal and robotic - as if it were actually HAL who was looking. Films often use flashbacks or stylistically embellished cuts to suggest a character is imagining something personal. This makes it easy for the audience. Kubrick doesn't do this. The steady zoom is sort of like a crosshair - not a good sign. Wendy's red coat, some critics and viewers have noted, might resemble a drop of blood while the center of the maze appears to be the top of a pyramid - indicating sacrifice. So much is going on here it can be difficult to order the layers of symbols. 

3. If Jack knows where Danny is hiding, is Jack intent on self-destruction? If Jack won't be loved by Danny, then Jack will be feared by Danny. As Machiavellian as it sounds, we see Jack offer very polarized behaviors, either deep suspicion or deep love towards Danny. If Jack knows where Danny is hiding, then his searching is just a show, or "charade" to make sure Danny remains afraid. We can recall too that Jack's conversation with Grady hints at the idea that Jack is receiving secret and important information or intelligence about a conspiracy against him. Jack does seem guilt-ridden after his dream he confesses to Wendy about killing her and Danny and cutting them up. Or, is this a play to win himself some more time? But, maybe the guilt of killing Dick drives Jack to purge himself. I'm not convinced by this, because Jack seems unconsciously blood-drunk - he isn't speaking or thinking, but groaning and howling like a beast. 

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In other news, I was recently reading up on the former Stapleton International Airport. One of the last times I watched The Shining, I realized that Dick says "Stapleton" and not, "Denver Airport," or "Denver International," etc. This cued me in to consider the history - were there two airports, or, was Stapleton older? Both are correct. The Stapleton International Airport operated from 1929-1995, and before 1944 was called the Denver Municipal Airport. Like the current Denver International Airport, Stapleton was near the top of the list for busiest airports in the world. Due to space constraints caused by suburbanization and the growth of the flight industry, the Denver International Airport was planned in the 1980s, though the history of DIA is spotty at best. The DIA is about 17 miles northeast of Stapleton, which is about 7 miles east from Downtown Denver. DIA is about 25 miles from Downtown, which means it can be a bit of a drive to and from the city. At 52 square miles, DIA is the biggest US airport, at almost twice the size of the Dallas Fort-Worth Airport, which is a very large compound. 

Stapleton was named after Benjamin Stapleton, a man who held multiple government positions including two periods (five terms) as mayor of Denver (1923-1931, and, 1935-1947), as well as State Auditor. He helped establish the VFW after the Spanish-American War, in which he fought, and later had a hand in the creation of Red Rocks Amphitheater, Denver Civic Center, Denver Mountain Parks, and of course, the municipal airport. Stapleton was also to become a member of the Denver Ku Klux Klan in the early 1920s. As the Klan helped raise funds for his mayoral campaign, Stapleton made overtures to the organization. But this unity wouldn't last: in the nineteen-teens until about 1925, the Klan had considerable influence in Colorado civics, only to dissolve after legal troubles involving local Klan elites. The western state of Colorado was overwhelmingly white and protestant, and the message of the Klan took root, specifically targeting Jews and Catholics, as traditional southern blacks were seldom found in that arid mountain state (though there are stories of "freedmen" who came to Colorado and the mountain West). The degree to which Stapleton was involved in the group is not so clear, but, it is clear that he "renounced" the group's influence after 1925. The Klan in Denver was already experiencing a decline, so it seems that Stapleton was merely playing politics. 

Stapleton was a Democrat, but this doesn't mean the Klan didn't hold sway for Republicans - Republican Senator Lawrence Phipps from Colorado benefitted from the long arm of the Klan during the same time period. There are plenty of other examples - political party was of little importance when it concerned the interests of the Klan. Which, I guess, brings us to today: Stapleton's grandson, Walker Stapleton, has been sort of pre-cancelled for trying to scrub from the records his grandfather's maybe dubious moral character. This was in 2018, when he ran unsuccessfully on the Republican bill for Governor of Colorado. Walker has also served as State Treasurer, and is a second cousin of George W. Bush. Ironically, Walker might be one of the least threatening figures on the political right.

Most politicians with known ties to the KKK, it must be noted, were southern Democrats. And, of course, Lincoln, a Midwesterner and a Republican, who is credited with enacting the Emancipation Proclamation, virtually ending (or phasing out) slavery, was rewarded with a mortal gunshot wound. The ironies remain fascinating: these liberal and progressive ideas were coming from the then "right," while restraint and caution was being exercised from the "left." Of course, then, the "right" would have been the true "left," and vice versa. At least, until we expand the notion of "white supremacy" to mean segregation, hierarchy, economic and cultural separation, "one drop" laws, etc. The South at that time, in this way, starts to appear like a vestigial remnant of the British Empire, clinging to its old hegemony. It is only ironic that places like Colorado, Washington, and Oregon are current strongholds for liberalism and progressive policy, given their historic and current high concentration of white caucasian people, exclusionary laws, and white nationalist groups. 

After the Stapleton Airport was demolished, the area was developed into the eponymously named neighborhood. After the George Floyd riots of 2020, the year of absolute, perfect hindsight, residents voted to change the name from "Stapleton" to "Central Park." A small victory, I suppose.

Progress of Flight mural

I remember hearing about the Denver International Airport conspiracy theories shortly before flying there several years ago. Numerous facts highlight the unusual nature of the airport. The footprint of the airport is vast (as stated above, 52 square miles, which, coincidentally, is the reverse of the number of miles to the city center of Denver - 25). Supposedly, five buildings were constructed - and subsequently buried - for reasons unknown, meaning there are several navigable stories underground. There is a rail system beneath the airport, as well as a light-rail connection to downtown. There are surreal, apocalyptic, revelatory paintings by Leo Tanguma, a Mayan painter, inside the airport. There are "white peaks" on the airport roof - a Masonic connection - not to mention a dedication stone which mentions Freemasonry. There is a sculpture of a blue horse with red eyes called "Blucifer" (that supposedly killed the sculptor, Luis Jimenez, while it was being constructed) visible from Pena Boulevard. Driving on 470 through an introduction to the arid plains of the Denver Basin, the white peaks - and strange horse - appear as if out of nothing. From an aerial view, there are clearly four runways that form a compass - north, south, east, and west. It also resembles a swastika, which, long before the Third Reich claimed it, was a traditional symbol of peace and harmony in myriad ancient cultures across all major continents. 

Still, after having researched the stories of DIA, Stapleton, and the Klan, I only feel a mistrust towards any speculation. I should probably also mention the story of Alan Berg, the Jewish atheist talk radio host who was murdered in cold blood in 1984 by members of David Lane's white supremacist group The Order. Berg was working at KOA, an AM talk radio station in Denver, at the time of his murder. Upon arriving home and exiting his black Volkswagen Beetle, the gunmen approached and shot him twelve times. The motivation is disturbingly simple: his killers and their leader believed that Jews were evil and needed to be eliminated. The gunmen and co-conspirators were convicted, but, surprisingly, not for homicide - much less, murder. I begin to wonder about the concepts of law, liberty, and justice, in theory and in practice. 

This incident was several years after The Shining played in theaters. The VW beetle in Stephen King's novel, and the two beetles (yellow and red) in the film, become unlikely and unintended portents of hate-driven violence. It has long been noted that Kubrick changed the color of the Torrance's VW beetle from red - as it is in the novel - to yellow. He then stages a red beetle smashed by a semi-truck on the side of the interstate during Dick's long ascent to the Overlook - possibly a subtle way of shrugging off King's authorial control. These details only frame the Berg assassination more ominously. Berg's beetle was neither red, nor yellow, but black - seemingly, the color of void, finality, death. 

All of this in mind, I would like to know whether Kubrick researched much into Colorado state history, Denver history, and the status of the Klan in America during his lifetime while working on films like The Shining.