Consider two examples. The Johann Strauss waltz Blue Danube,'' which accompanies the docking of the space shuttle and the space station, is deliberately slow, and so is the action. Obviously such a docking process would have to take place with extreme caution (as we now know from experience), but other directors might have found the space ballet too slow, and punched it up with thrilling music, which would have been wrong.
We are asked in the scene to contemplate the process, to stand in space and watch. We know the music. It proceeds as it must. And so, through a peculiar logic, the space hardware moves slowly because it's keeping the tempo of the waltz. At the same time, there is an exaltation in the music that helps us feel the majesty of the process.
I attended the Los Angeles premiere of the film, in 1968, at the Pantages Theater. It is impossible to describe the anticipation in the audience adequately. Kubrick had been working on the film in secrecy for some years, in collaboration, the audience knew, with author Arthur C. Clarke, special-effects expert Douglas Trumbull and consultants who advised him on the specific details of his imaginary future -- everything from space station design to corporate logos. Fearing to fly and facing a deadline, Kubrick had sailed from England on the Queen Elizabeth, doing the editing while on board, and had continued to edit the film during a cross-country train journey. Now it finally was ready to be seen.
The bone is thrown into the air and dissolves into a space shuttle (this has been called the longest flash-forward in the history of the cinema). We meet Dr. Heywood Floyd (William Sylvester), en route to a space station and the moon. This section is willfully anti-narrative; there are no breathless dialogue passages to tell us of his mission. Instead, Kubrick shows us the minutiae of the flight: the design of the cabin, the details of in-flight service, the effects of zero gravity.
The sequence on the moon (which looks as real as the actual video of the moon landing a year later) is a variation on the film's opening sequence. Man is confronted with a monolith, just as the apes were, and is drawn to a similar conclusion: This must have been made. And as the first monolith led to the discovery of tools, so the second leads to the employment of man's most elaborate tool: the spaceship Discovery, employed by man in partnership with the artificial intelligence of the onboard computer, named HAL 9000.
Life onboard the Discovery is presented as a long, eventless routine of exercise, maintenance checks and chess games with HAL. Only when the astronauts fear that HAL's programming has failed does a level of suspense emerge; their challenge is somehow to get around HAL, which has been programmed to believe, This mission is too important for me to allow you to jeopardize it.'' Their efforts lead to one of the great shots in the cinema, as the men attempt to have a private conversation in a space pod, and HAL reads their lips. The way Kubrick edits this scene so that we can discover what HAL is doing is masterful in its restraint: He makes it clear, but doesn't insist on it. He trusts our intelligence.
There is never an explanation of the other race that presumably left the monoliths and provided the star gate and the bedroom. 2001'' lore suggests Kubrick and Clarke tried and failed to create plausible aliens. It is just as well. The alien race exists more effectively in negative space: We react to its invisible presence more strongly than we possibly could to any actual representation.
2001: A Space Odyssey'' is in many respects a silent film. There are few conversations that could not be handled with title cards. Much of the dialogue exists only to show people talking to one another, without much regard to content (this is true of the conference on the space station). Ironically, the dialogue containing the most feeling comes from HAL, as it pleads for its life'' and sings Daisy.''
Developed by writer Arthur C. Clarke and director Stanley Kubrick, '2001: A Space Odyssey' begins with an extended vignette about human evolution. A bestial group of pre-humans live their daily lives in fear until they stumble upon a black, rectangular monolith. After encountering this otherworldly device, one of the creatures inexplicably invents the first tool and uses it as a club to protect his tribe. The film suddenly leaps forward to the future where man inhabits space in ships and orbiting stations. On the surface of the moon, a dig uncovers a deliberately buried monolith that's identical to the one the man-apes found at the beginning of the film.
Two years later, two pilots -- Dave Bowman (Keir Dullea) and Frank Poole (Gary Lockwood) -- escort three scientists to Jupiter on the spaceship Discovery One. The ship is run by HAL 9000 (voiced by Douglas Rain), a supercomputer that represents the pinnacle in human-created artificial intelligence. Treated like any other crew member, HAL talks to the pilots and mimics human behavior and intelligence. Everything is seemingly routine until HAL stumbles upon information on the secret excavation on the moon. When Dave questions HAL's reliability, the computer stages a mutiny.
In fact, the only segment of the film that relies on a familiar genre scenario (HAL's mutiny) doesn't gain momentum until the final act. But even then, this classic clash of wills doesn't constitute the climax of the story -- that comes a bit later as Dave is confronted with a metaphysical journey across time and space that makes for a most intriguing twist in the story.
Fine detail sets a new bar for high definition catalog releases. Facial imperfections are a cinch to spot, hair is crisply defined, and the star fields are flawless. I paused on several occasions to note actors' naturally splotchy skin and chipped fingernails. There are even scenes in this transfer that I completely re-watched just to have another chance to explore the intricacies of the sets and props. For the first time, I was able to read all of the small text Kubrick strategically placed across the film. Call me obsessed, but I found myself completely fascinated by these minor details that I'd previously been unable to enjoy. Pay close attention to the barren wilderness in the opening scenes, the space station electronics, and the slightest etchings on the ships floating above Earth. My apologies for sounding like Captain Adjective, but this transfer is just that beautiful.
The classical music in the film opens up the soundfield and resonates with solid bass and stable trebles. Dialogue is crisp and perfectly prioritized, with HAL's soothing tones dominating the soundscape to good effect. Sharp sounds like bestial grunts and mechanical hisses have a distinct impact, while quiet scenes on the ship are layered with a careful level of naturalistic ambiance. This was the first time I'd noticed the subtle and comprehensive intricacies of the sound design -- small whirs, echoes through the ship, and the cooling fans inside the heavy space machinery were new to my ears. Like the clarity of fine elements in the video transfer, this high definition audio package revealed details that had escaped me so many times before on home video. I was also pleased to hear that the tracks sound much fuller than the mix on the newly released 2-disc Special Edition DVD.
Rounding out the exploration of the film are three more featurettes. "Vision of a Future Passed: The Prophecy of 2001" (22 minutes) is an entertaining look at the technologies that the film predicted (or inspired) and the visions that have yet to transpire. "A Look Behind the Future" (23 minutes) is an archive bonus that examines the sets used during production. "What is Out There?" (21 minutes) includes a discussion about space and the possibility of intelligent life existing somewhere other than Earth. While each of these three featurettes are cute, overall they didn't strike me as particularly worth the time. Completists will appreciate their inclusion, but I found them to be dry and a bit repetitive.
According to Warner Bros, the original 70mm camera negatives were given a true remaster and restoration, requiring little cleanup or digital wizardry, and from the looks of things, the elements appear to be in superb mint condition. The 2160p transfer is notably sharper with better clarity of background information, exposing every nook and cranny of the still-extraordinary stage production. Viewers can better make out the individual hairs on the bodies of the hominids, each pebble, and crevice in the rock formations is plainly visible, and the fine lines in the minimalist, sterilized design of spaceships are a bit more striking. Facial complexions are highly revealing, and the lettering on screen monitors are more distinct and legible, even from a short distance. Of course, as would be expected from a film of this vintage, there are a few soft, blurry moments, but they are related to special optical effects and therefore, forgivable. On the other hand, keeping the picture just short of perfection are several instances very mild aliasing along the sharpest lines and a bit of video judder in some panning shots.
Presented in its original 2.20:1 aspect ratio, the 4K video's best feature is the significantly enhanced contrast levels, making the entire film seem sparkling new and rejuvenated. Whether aboard the massive space station or the Discovery One spacecraft, the hallways shine a brilliant, immaculate white, while clouds illuminate the skies with splendor, and the stars twinkle against the darkness of space with vivid radiance. Specular highlights provide an intense but also tight and narrow glow around the brightest spots, such as around the 52-minute mark when the scientists approach the monolith on the moon. In previous editions, the large lamps come with a yellowish tint and glow, but they now beam an intense, true-to-life white. Giving home theater enthusiasts an awesome collection of demo-worthy scenery, the movie continuously shows inky, opulent blacks throughout, showing distinct gradational differences between the various shades and articles of clothing. Every scene set in space is bathed in a velvety, rich blackness that splendidly contrasts the sharp, shining cleanliness of the spacecrafts.
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