The next entry in the Warner Brothers 50 Film Collection is the second Stanley Kubrick offering in the set: A Clockwork Orange. Yet, despite the unmistakably ambitious nature of the film, I found it had more in common thematically with the non-Kubrick Cool Hand Luke than it did 2001: A Space Odyssey.
Cool Hand Luke is, on one level, a backward-looking but contemporary analysis of the nature of prisons and rehabilitation—posing the question of whether penal institutions do more harm than good from the perspective of that rehabilitation.
Likewise, A Clockwork Orange is, among other things, a commentary on rehabilitation, and whether a cure can be worse than the “disease” of inherent sociopathy. In particular, it ponders whether aversion therapy of the kind depicted in the film (even when—no, especially when—effective) is moral. The story mulls this question both in terms of a denial of free will (the prison clergyman makes this part abundantly clear), but also from the perspective of whether the government can be trusted to wield this power in the first place.
We get hints of this idea throughout, with throwaway lines about political prisoners and so forth serving to underscore that the dystopian nature of A Clockwork Orange’s setting extends beyond violence and chaos and into the well-worn ground of soul-crushing totalitarianism.
In the midst of that, there’s Malcolm McDowell’s Alex, a charismatic sociopath who slips easily from setting to setting, behaving in whatever manner has the greatest chance of producing the outcome that will service his depravity. He maneuvers through a society steeped in hedonism and violent crime carried out by gangs of youth speaking in a bizarre type of future slang anchored in pigeon-Russian and Cockney rhymes, and McDowell plays him with transcendent precision every step of the way.
In Kubrick’s uniquely skilled hands, the movie becomes a visual and auditory masterpiece, akin to, but very different from, 2001. His deft use of a classical score, paired with futuristic Moog synth music, is brilliant. Also memorable is the use of slow-motion and fast-motion, the artistic value of which in Clockwork Orange is apparent even to a layman like myself.
Like many of the other films in this collection, Clockwork Orange is also based on a book. One thing I loved about this movie, though, is that it avoids the pitfall into which so many other novel-to-film translations stumble: it feels neither rushed nor as if it’s “missing” critical elements. Kubrick is able to manage the pace and density of the story perfectly.
The irony is that Kubrick, who also wrote the screenplay, based his script on the American edition of the Anthony Burgess book. That meant that version Kubrick read omitted the final, redemptive chapter (and we don’t see it reflected onscreen).
Yet, that doesn’t seem to matter. The strange, acrobatically stylized violence of the world Kubrick creates is perfectly illustrated, and Alex’s resilient and ultimately victorious trajectory soars and dips before the viewer’s eyes in a way that is as satisfying as it is, at times, disturbing.
Going from Willy Wonka to Dirty Harry practically gave me the bends.
I was eager to dive into the next film in the 
Bullitt, the next film in the 
For about 25 minutes, there’s not a single line of dialogue in Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey.
With my renewed, pandemic-commitment to reviewing the 
I thought there could be no better time to resume my on-again, off-again relationship with the 
About six minutes in, Paul, the primary player on this particular episode, stumbles across what appears to be a large present, complete with ribbon and bow. As a giant, Mode-7-ified question mark displays on screen, Paul, Nick, and Josh shriek in anticipation . . . before Plok suddenly reappears in a hunter’s outfit, carrying a large gun.
Untimely Movie Review: The Exorcist
That’s right—despite owning about 500 movies on disc, and seeing perhaps hundreds more over the years, this one escaped my view. This is the next in the Warner Brothers 50 Film Collection, and, based on the title screen, it’s the extended director’s cut. Not that I would know the difference.
One of the benefits of coming in fresh is being surprised by things, such as the film beginning in Iraq! I had also forgotten it takes place in Georgetown, right up the road from me. I was totally unaware that Regan’s (Linda Blair’s) mother, Chris (played by Ellen Burstyn), is an actress in a film-within-the-film.
I also didn’t realize that doctors were prescribing Ritalin back in ’73, but the movie nails the “we’re not sure what it is—here’s some mind-altering drugs, I guess?” mentality. The doctors continue to fumble through diagnoses, even when coming face-to-face with Regan’s bizarre behavior.
Anyway, it wouldn’t be exactly correct to say that this film “hasn’t aged well.” It’s fine. It doesn’t seem all that dated in most respects.
However, there is one key problem related to its age.
This film still has some shock value viewed with the perspective of a first-time viewer in 2020. But, first, shock value doesn’t do much for me, and, secondly, even if it did, the potency of it has dissipated considerably since 1973.
Seeing a little girl’s head turn all the way around, or hearing her speaking in strange voices, or seeing her projectile vomit is certainly creepy. But, to the jaded, cynical, world-weary contemporary audience (i.e. me) it isn’t particularly scary or compelling.
The only parts that are a little gut-wrenching are the arteriogram (genuinely the most uncomfortable scene) and the, uh, cross insertion scene (mostly thinking about the awkward conversation that must have preceded the filming of it).
Otherwise, it’s just a pretty taut thriller with an excellent Max von Sydow performance (playing 30 years older than he was due to some excellent makeup), a jaw-dropping Linda Blair performance, a few weird edits, a minor loose end or two, and a couple of decent jump scares. And it ends with the lesson that the exorcism doesn’t actually work until you just beat the demon out of the person!
It’s solid overall, but not among the best in this collection.
However, the behind-the-scenes documentary is downright fascinating. The Exorcist would be worth a watch in any case, but it’s absolutely must viewing purely as a preamble to the bonkers doc, which features, among other things, Friedkin talking with (disturbing) glee about how he got then-twelve-year-old Linda Blair to do some of the more gross or adult scenes using techniques like tickling her until she agreed. Yikes all around!
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