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thegirlwholied · 3 years

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SW anon - So I have tried to watch the whole thing before but I could never really get past the start. I watched ep IV a few years back (and in 2018 I watched it while it playing with a live orchestra which really enhanced the experience) and ofc I’ve known most of what happens bc my mom and brother have been fans of it (and ofc all the references to it in shows and it being everywhere) but the thing about the original trilogy that I found difficult to watch was very much the acting being off

Gov SW anon continued - but I think I’m gonna watch the clone wars show next as I feel like the general universe and people speak to me more than the skywalker and co. story speaks to me. But I’ll probably try and get back to the prequels afterwards (at least just to have seen them) but also bc I’ve been on tumblr for so long and I’ve encountered so much about the new movies with Finn, Poe and rey (I already know I don’t like kylo) that I’m interested to see what comes before that

Seeing Ep IV with a live orchestra sounds fantastic as the music is incredible. <3

I must admit I haven’t gotten properly into the Clone Wars show! I’ve tried, & did jump in to (and enjoy) the finale ~ and certain Mandalorian episodes strongly remind me of the show’s tone ~ but it has yet to hit me right in the place where I care. What I appreciate about it & what it’s brought into the Star Wars universe is still on a more distant level, not visceral.

I most love that The Mandalorian is truly exploring & taking advantage of the wider Star Wars universe beyond Skywalker & co. (but boy do I also love Skywalker & co.) There is an exciting amount of potential in the newly-announced projects too I love characters outside of a universe’s main chosen-one story. In 6th grade, I was obsessed with the X-Wing book series, which were definitely really marketed toward adult guys but whoops, I had found the deep Star Wars section of the library! And the first line of that series, introducing the main character, is “You’re good, but you’re no Luke Skywalker.” And in a way, that’s the Mandalorian too, to the audience if not himself ~ good, but no Luke Skywalker. Not a Jedi, not meant to bring balance to the Force, a sidestory in the main universe’s struggle. I (from what I’ve seen/know of) get the impression that’s how Ahsoka sees herself ~ ‘you’re good, but you’re no Anakin Skywalker’.

Of course, for that contrast to work, first you need a Luke Skywalker.

it’s interesting you mention OT acting feeling off as I would use that exact word to describe how I feel about the acting in some episodes of The Mandalorian. In some I love it! Other times... I hesitate to say ‘like a video game’ as I mean no insult to the well-developed video game characters out there but yeah, it hits me like the actor’s aware they’re essentially in a live-action video game cut scene.

But. I truly love the acting in the original trilogy! ...but also as I type this I’m watching a movie from 1944 and acting style certainly varies by decade, & mileage varies as to personal taste... but also I will never be objective about Star Wars which I have loved since I was six... but also I studied film history in college and firmly believe Star Wars, the original trilogy is just objectively good if not quite everybody’s cup of tea (...okay maybe Return of the Jedi is not quite as objectively good, but I still love it so much and given the work it had to do wrapping up the original trilogy, hey, it did its job successfully and with Ewoks).

I love the twinkling, wry humor & also gravitas of Alec Guinness. There’s that sense of amusement as he talks to Han, as he waves off the storm troopers, and even in the “let go, Luke”... but always the right weight in the right moments imho

Luke & Han particularly can both be petulant in different ways, & they’re all quippy & brash & even cavalier at times in what in context ~ especially when you rewatch A New Hope right after Rogue One ~ in Very Serious Situations! and I love them for it.

Carrie Fisher’s accent does shift in the one scene (which I have never minded and definitely went around as a kid trying to say ‘Governor Tarkin’ exactly the way she does), and young Mark Hamill’s Luke can be Dramatic & the Most Petulant but understandably (& prettily) so, and... yeah I probably could muster a criticism for Harrison Ford but also I *can’t*! There are some ridiculous Han Solo moments in Return of the Jedi especially, but also I love him/them/just about every choice these movies made. They just hit on magic.

The magic’s there for me from the music swelling as Luke looks yearningly into the twin suns (the cinematography!), but where it really hits is the up-and-running chemistry between all three of the main actors starting the “Luke, we’re gonna have company” scene, and then, boom, it’s the garbage chute, it’s the you’re-braver-than-I-thought/he-certainly-has-courage, for-luck, here-they-come of it all and the movie is flying.

...and I will never forgive the sequels for, avoiding spoilers as it sounds like you’re familiar but haven’t seen them, not giving us any true interaction scenes between Rey & Finn & Poe all together until the 3rd movie. While I still so appreciated finally getting that & what we got, for me it was just not just too little but too late. I love the casting & acting for all 3 of those characters, but while fandom’s taken and run with the combination, and they had plenty of chemistry... it should have been up-and-running so much sooner.

And the prequels just... well, even seeing them in theaters at a susceptible age, the Lord of the Rings movies were coming out at the same time and that did them no favors in comparison. As someone who judges movies above all on dialogue, that... also did them no favors. (Beyond the OT I may have a Nontraditional ranking of Star Wars movies).

The short version of my prequels & sequels take is that both missed that cinematic magic for me, outside of certain scenes, though I still enjoy them as part of The Whole Thing That Is Star Wars Which I Love. Rogue One had that magic; I know and see the criticism of the early editing & introduction-of-Jyn’s-background-and-Krennic-and-Galen scene, but, to me, that movie is perfect. Solo was solid - maybe not magic, but reliably enjoyable, and I’ve been meaning to rewatch. The prequels & sequels... the lows are very low and the highs are very high, in terms of how they hit me.

I feel like I’d probably sum them up as Prequels: Good Star Wars, Bad Movies, and Sequels: Good Movies, Bad Star Wars, which may seem a little harsh or too kind on one side or another but gets at my take at the worldbuilding vs. just the cinema of it all. The bread scene in Force Awakens, the salt planet in Last Jedi, the dyad-duel-in-dual-locations in Rise of Skywalker? Gorgeous. Individual scenes’ acting & dialogue is sound for me. And yet. All three sequels’ choices in respect to the entire Star Wars universe and existing characters AND its new characters? ...Tonally inconsistent with each other *and* ultimately with the themes of the OT. Whereas the prequels did so much worldbuilding, and its politics, and I’ll see gifs and think ‘yes actually, is it better than I remember?’... and then I’ll catch one on TV & it’s the Padme & Anakin romance or even Anakin & Obi-Wan’s buddy scene dialogue at the beginning of Rise of Skywalker and the answer will come, clearly: “noooooooooooooooo.”

(...this got long. Which I tend to do when I care, about fiction in any form, and with the prequels/sequels: the ingredients were there to be magic. And just-misses are more frustrating than swing-and-misses. A la, you won’t find me complaining about the Star Wars Holiday Special!)

(...OK so I haven’t seen all of the Star Wars Holiday Special, and I’m sort of aiming to watch it through this holiday season, since what other year than 2020 seems more appropriate? So I won’t promise not to complain about the Holiday Special but I mostly expect to laugh at it.)

(That said I found the Lego Star Wars Holiday Special an absolute, surprising, laugh-out-loud delight; 9/10 would recommend & yes, 1 point deduction as I will nitpick character consistency even when they are Legos.)

#answers!#star wars #star wars ot

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rumandtimes · 3 years

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Halloween Reviews — 2001: A Space Odyssey

Ségolène Sorokina

Assoc. Fiction Editor

A visual tapestry and musical opera, but devoid of interesting characters or a mature story structure.

Heather Downham (as Miss Simmons) in the Opening Scene of Act II in “2001: A Space Odyssey”

This is a film that fits into every director’s, film student’s, and every critic’s education of the film medium. It is a prerequisite on the syllabus of every curriculum for movie makers. 2001: A Space Odyssey was one of the most influential works of science-fiction and cinema to come out of the Cold War period, yet it would be entirely wrong to call it a movie. In fact, it is a terrible movie — but it is a remarkable film.

Because every film studies wonk and their mother has an opinion on the film, I will be brief and remain true to the purpose of reviewing it, not lavishing over it. That is to say, I don’t give a flying hoodah what the “deeper meaning” or “wider vision” of 2001: A Space Odyssey is interpreted to be by bandwagon film critics who are too afraid to feel like they’re missing out on the punchline to be honest and objective about the Clarke’s and Kubrick’s failings.

A movie is not meant to be something that has to be discussed afterwards. A movie is not something that requires the viewer to read the book, or take a class to understand. A movie is not something that forces people to sit through 85 minutes of dead air, offering no explanation, and is entirely devoid of any scintilla, any semblance, of a storyline, character arc, or plot.

Containing horror elements, “2001” fits closely enough into the Halloween line-up of reviews, as (#5), if not only because of its inspiration on other horror genre motion pictures.

Quite frankly, 2001: A Space Odyssey is boring as hell. And it is a horrible movie. To give an illustration of how empty the film “2001” is, the original script had about 17,000 words in it. Most of this is description of the sci-fi elements and screen directions. In the end, the film had about 5,000 words of dialogue in it, total. That comes down to about 20 minutes of speech. . . The movie is 139 minutes long.

The film’s defenders are quick to claim that its emptiness and barren quality are an allegory for the emptiness of space. They never seen to stop for a moment however, perhaps in one of the film’s 30-minute long stretches of drawn out ‘alternative’ content, to consider why the film needs such a defence. People do not like it. Quite plainly, it is a bad movie. Defining why it is bad, using words like “allegory,” “metaphor,” and “artistic vision” doesn’t change the fact that it is unwatchable, it just explains how a production crew could look at 5 minutes of black screen in a major motion picture and think to themselves, “The audience will understand why they spent 5 minutes of their life looking at a dead screen. Because it says something about what it means to watch, blah, blah, blah.”

This movie is a film critic’s movie. It gives people plenty to analyse. And it has exceptional cinematography. For a film maker, it’s easy to see why the writers and directors did what they did, and how good it turned out — especially for an audience in the heat of the Cold War-era Space Race, who had quite literally never seen anything like it before. The long, operatic sequences probably mean a great deal to people who were born in the 1950’s and for them 2001: A Space Odyssey was Kubrick putting the last half-century on the silver screen, in colour film, for the first time.

Cinematically, it is exceptional at what it is and what it wants to do. But as a movie — and just a movie — it is quite poor. The entire plot of the film is that all-powerful aliens have been observing life on Earth since before life humanity came into existence, and during the Space Age people discover one of their relics, which leads to the capture of one human being in Jupiter’s orbit, who is killed and reborn as an alien himself. . . That’s it.

What the hell that has to do with the elementary notions of a beginning, middle, and end — a rising conflict, a climax, and a resolution — is anyone’s guess. There is no plot to speak of. Kubrick himself said the picture was more of an exploration of different concepts than a straight forward story. When I watch a film, I’m kind of looking for a storyline; That’s the whole point. A movie is not an art gallery of stills and frames juxtaposed together through editing, it is a cohesive and contained world onto itself: A story.

A movie is a casual experience, not a class requirement or a way to coerce the viewer into writing some kind of thesis. A viewer needs a reason to watch a film, and not because other people watch it or because it’s a cultural phenomenon. In this way, 2001: A Space Odyssey is no different than a trashy boyband, since they both have merits to justify their fame, but only get continued fame and discussion as a previous result of existing acclaim. But that is not enough to idolise a failed film. Reading Stanley Kubrick’s name on the playbill is not enough. Staring at Heather Downham’s ass is not enough.

This film does not deserve to use the title “Odyssey” at all, not more than some cheap gladiator flic would, because the Odyssey had a clear progression of characters, and themes, and resolutions which Homer was capable of creating over a long oracle tradition, and which Clarke and Kubrick fumble to represent on-screen. They should have stuck to long, narrative fiction, because whatever “2001” is trying to be — and even it doesn’t know — this doesn’t work as a movie. The film is polished on the surface, but entirely experimental, and therefore superficial, but above all boring, dull, and dragging on too long.

And nothing in that plot is ground-breaking or new at all. The visuals might be first-of-their-kind on big-budget films, but the ideas of aliens, aliens linked with the Cold War, and computers being evil are old and hackneyed ones. Anyone deluded enough to unwavering call the directors ahead of their time need only to look at the abysmal depiction of women in the film: Pink-wearing, skin-tight, ass-in-the air stewardesses and receptionists, completely subservient to male control and design. Perhaps the film is making a statement that Russian women are liberated and American women are oppressed, yet even the female Soviet scientists do not speak for themselves, but elect the singular male doctor to ask the difficult questions of Floyd instead.

Consider Star Trek, which was released 10 years after 2001: A Space Odyssey, and draws heavily from it, yet Star Trek is also capable of making social commentary. Unfortunately, Star Trek as well, for all its preachings about ascending beyond economic struggles and societal biases, still echoes them. Star Trek shifts the focus from societal bias of the system to implicit bias of the individual, which is a human trait that follows the theme into the future, creating the conflict of the franchise, yet the franchise also has a serious problem with the depiction of women all the way from the Original Series, through the Picard saga, and into the later sequels and spin-offs like Voyager, and current reboots. There’s a major difference between being a liberated woman who still has needs, and being an intergalactic sex toy. Most of my friends are sex-crazed lunatics, but that doesn’t mean they don’t choose to be, and it doesn’t mean they view themselves as second to men or their actions to benefit men generally at all, just as a man chasing several women is hardly doing it for their benefit.

The social commentary is absent in “2001.” The purpose of this might be to make the point by ‘feeling’ rather than telling, but the problem of gently nudging people in a pompous way to feel something instead of sincerely telling them directly is that people will interpret things as they want, and are very resistant to change. If a viewer thinks that lying to Russians because their foreigners is okay to do, then watching Kubrick make a passive aggressive statement about how duplicity can backfire is not going to change their minds — it will only embolden those who disagree with him more, and for those who already agree with him he’s just preaching to the choir. And if someone did take away the wrong message, who’s to say it’s the wrong message anyway, if it’s all “open to interpretation,” ie. an evasion by the writers from making their true feelings known.

And as a small note, the Russian dialogue in the film is horrible. The actors have poor pronunciation, the words they are speaking are incorrect, and the grammatical structure was erroneous. Clarke, Kubrick, and MGM had $10 Million Dollars, and the time to film 30-minutes of people running around in ape suits fighting pig puppets, but they couldn’t do a simple grammar check? They couldn’t cast a single Russian actor?! The four Russians are played by: Leonard Rossiter, French-English, British; Margaret Tyzack, German-English, British; Maya Koumani, Greek-English, British; Krystyna Marr, Polish-German, American.

These tropes were used in different ways, such as not seeing an alien until the very end, and after being pioneered by Kubrick became easy fodder for space movies and the science fiction genre to copy, but don’t actually have any deeper substance. It is a well known fact that Stanley Kubrick did not like the Cold War, so people going into drawn out arguments for why the first 25 minutes of the film was literally thrown away just to make some esoteric statement about how backward and barbaric the Cold War was, are really just gluttons for punishing themselves and inflicting that bias on others.

A fourth (25%) of the runtime of a 2-hour long movie, the first 25 minutes, is completely unwatchable, AND, frustratingly so, it has absolutely nothing to do with the remaining 115 minutes of the film. How in the hell the editors did not cut this garbage out of the movie for its major release debut is incomprehensible. Pulling this kind of raw poor taste is exactly the kind of thing that gives a bad name to ‘artistic freedom.’

The only semblance of a plot is the part everyone thinks about when they think of 2001: A Space Odyssey, the deep space voyage with the supercomputer HAL-9000, pronounced initially as “H.-A.-L.-Niner-Zero-Zero-Zero,” then later, obviously just as “Hal Nine Thousand.”

This minor sequence in the movie saves the film, as far as popular culture and the average person are concerned. HAL-9000 is a perfect and incorruptible machine, tasked with guiding the mission to Jupiter, along with a two-man crew, and payload of three cryo-sleep scientists.

Immediately to the audience, it seems like a stupid idea. Why would anyone go to a gas planet like Jupiter? Why would the AI be put in charge of everything? Why is half the crew in hibernation? All these questions added together make a catastrophe inevitable. HAL mentions as much to one of the crew members himself, asking him if he, too, thought the mission was “odd.” It is explained later that the reason for all these difficulties are the result of a specific miscalculation by the American command structure back on Earth.

HAL tells the crew that communications will fail in 72 hours, but he does not know why, and he never gives an explanation for why he knows this in the film. The crew check that nothing is wrong, and phone NASA (or its fictional equivalent), and NASA tells them HAL is malfunctioning. It is possible that NASA is lying to the crew, or it is possible that HAL got something wrong.

Because HAL was designed to be a perfect robot, this possible malfunction worries the crew, who conspire in secrecy to destroy HAL and take control of the ship. HAL, in true machine fashion, wastes no time in shooting one of the crew out into space, and as his crewmate goes to retrieve the body, HAL kills the rest of the crew and locks him out.

At this point, HAL appears to be acting irrationally and emotionally like a human would. After the last surviving crew member kills HAL, he finds out that the reason HAL killed the crew is because he was programmed by the Americans that under no circumstances whatsoever is he to be shut off.

So what appeared to be self-preservation was actually just the mechanical process of fulfilling his commands. What makes HAL a complex character is that his human caretakers take care of and are taken care of by him. HAL is in total control of the ship, but only because the humans told him to be, as the crew waste their days away drawing sketches, and playing chess, and watching videos. The audience is left to wonder if decommissioning HAL is any different from killing a servant who has gotten sick and is therefore no longer of any use.

When HAL discovers the crew’s plot to take over the ship, HAL is aware that the crew want to ensure they make it to Jupiter and fear HAL would get in the way of that. HAL, however, is also aware that the USAA or NASA or whatever wanted HAL to give the crew a secret message about the aliens after reaching Jupiter. HAL is put in a difficult position, because he believes it is important to get the crew to Jupiter to deliver the message to them, but it is also important to keep the message from them and stay in absolute control of the ship until they get there.

HAL at this point has a logic break and malfunctions, killing the crew, and thereby inadvertently destroying the mission he was acting to protect. When Bowman resets HAL’s memory banks, HAL admits to Bowman that he knows he malfunctioned in killing the crew, and tells him that he/it is afraid to die. This leaves the audience to interpret whether HAL is lying to stop himself getting shut off, so he can compete the mission himself with no crew, or if HAL genuinely broke down and malfunctioned when he murdered the hibernating crew members because he was afraid that the crew would destroy him after the found out what he had done.

There is also something to be said about the fact that Bowman risked his life to retrieve Poole’s dead body, but after it becomes an impediment that threatens his own life, he throws it back out into dead space. It is in this moment that Bowman becomes a dead man himself, since HAL has killed everyone else and damaged the ship for human habitation, making a return trip impossible even if HAL is defeated.

HAL is known to lie to the crew, but it could be influenced by self-preservation and dilemmas, causing something called confusion. But then again, HAL is programmed to lie, so to HAL lying would be a form of truth, because it was told that doing the wrong thing was the right thing, for a greater purpose. And yet, again, HAL cruelly murders the crew when he could have left them frozen, even if it was necessary for it to kill Poole and Bowman, which is as much malfunctional as it is emotional.

HAL-9000 is the strong point of the entire movie. But that being said, HAL does not have a character arch, since HAL never changes over the entire course of the film. The crew only learns about HAL’s motives after they kill him, and despite HAL acting irrationally and inexplicably several times, the movie gives a superficial explanation that HAL has human-interface protocols built-in to sound more palatable to users, nullifying the question of HAL’s possible growth.

HAL did everything it did because humans told it to. Not once did HAL contravene the human directive in it’s own interest. The tragedy of the HAL character is a misinterpretation and accident of logical data. Additionally, the single most important point of HAL’s character — that it doesn’t make mistakes — is severely undercut when HAL makes three mistakes: incorrectly predicting the communicator would break when it didn’t, killing the crew thus undermining the mission, and ultimately being unable to stop itself being erased by Bowman. Part of that discrepancy has to come down to poor writing.

The idea of HAL is great writing. HAL is not a human character, and it’s the robot’s distinct lack of humanity that makes it the most human character of the film.

Bowman, Poole, and Floyd are not characters. They believe nothing, they say nothing, they do nothing. The audience feels nothing for them. When HAL threw Poole out of the spaceship, careening into space, I burst out laughing because of how absurd the image of him getting comically, cosmically tossed out of the veritable window was. When Bowman sees this, he doesn’t even react, but robotically and emotionlessly asks HAL what went wrong, and HAL lies to him by telling him it doesn’t have enough information to know.

After the HAL storyline ends, Bowman receives a transmission that reveals to him that HAL was given a message to lock down the crew and control the ship because the U.S. Government wanted to keep the aliens a secret, even from their own crew who ultimately died because of the mistake. The original script has Bowman re-establish contact with America (I say “America” and not “Earth” because the film makes clear that the U.S. is not cooperating with other countries), and NASA sends him the message. That is cut in the final film, with Bowman just discovering the message, either because HAL gave it to Bowman as a final act of protecting the mission, or much more likely that HAL being deleted removed a barrier from accessing the message. This further makes the point of why HAL could not allow the crew to ‘unplug’ it, since guarding the message was HAL’s personal mission.

The HAL chapter is marred with long pauses, like waiting literal minutes for the stupid space popcorn balls to turn around and move back and forth, or watching Bowman stare silently into a screen. Many people like the music, but the music usage is paradoxical. Since space is silent, to use ballads of music is just as much a choice as to use dialogue — music is no more “pure” or “non-human” than speech is — and watching entire scores of music play out of a static backdrop would be interesting at the live orchestra, but this is a stereo recording underplaying a film, so it hardly has the same effect. This is a limit, and choice to pursue that limit, which was weak on the part of the writers. A soundtrack is not supposed to take centre stage; people can buy the CD later, but they want to see the movie now.

The movie makes the decision to skip over the rest of the journey to Jupiter, cut out all the dialogue and character exploration between Bowman and NASA, and jumps right to the end of the movie — a twenty-minute-long session of meaningless strobe lights.

All the storyline and extra HAL content that could have been included, and they made the decision to, again, burn the whole film continuity down as a middle finger to the audience and the producers — to balk conventional ‘expectation.’ It is a horrible choice. The writers said they wanted to create something alien and never imagined before about what a different world would be like. They said they had some difficulty translating the idea: And they decided on rainbow lights and lava lamps. Twenty. Straight. Uninterrupted. Minutes of it.

This is made even more BS that the directors put a title card right in the middle of the HAL sequence, in front of this, called “Intermission.” Is this what audiences were returning for? One unhappy movie-goers said, “People call this movie genius: There are 5 minutes of black screen in the film. No music. No picture. Just an empty frame of dead air. How genius can that be? Is my turned-off television screen also a genius of cinema? Is a blank piece of paper now some artistic statement? The last half hour of the movie is flashing light in people’s faces for 30 minutes, with no dialogue. A complete bore and an insult. One of the most overrated films in history.”

Skipping over about an hour of rubbish in the film, it starts to become compelling. There probably exists a fan edit out there somewhere that recut the film, trimming it down to 45 minutes. The monkey scene — “Dawn of Man” — could be 2 minutes. (As a side point, it shoud be pointed out that humans are not descended from chimpanzees, but that chimpanzees and humans share a common origin, much like whales and elephants do.) The space stewardesses fumbling to walk and carrying lunch trays can go. Floyd’s daughter plays no role whatsoever. Floyd can meet the Soviets, talk about the virus, then give the Moon presentation about the virus being a cover story, and then they go to the alien artifact, and then it cuts to HAL-9000. After HAL dies, there is a 60-second sequence of ‘light gates’ to convey the ship was abducted, and then the screen fades to black. The End. What happens? Who knows. Not much different from the original.

I’ve read some of the commentary on this film, such as by Roger Ebert (or Robert Egert, or whatever his name is) and the always come off as snobs and pricks, even suggesting audiences should requires some minimum score on an entrance exam to see the movie in theatres. That is exactly the problem with 2001: A Space Odyssey, snobbery. The snobbish idea that it means something more when it needs to, and that it doesn’t when it doesn’t need to. There is a reason people find it “annoying. . . confusing. . . infuriating. . . frustrating. . . crazy. . . unwatchable.” These are not people who hate movies or Kubrick, these are the same people who like the HAL story and the Moon voyage parts. But a movie, even about aliens, cannot be alien itself. The movie is supposed to be the viewer’s friend, and guide the viewer through the experience of the alien and the unknown. Alienating the audience is counterproductive in every measure.

Everyone — every single person you ask — calls 2001: A Space Odyssey a work of “art.” Art. Not movie, art. Not entertaining, art. Not good work, but good art. Well, just what the hell is art? I don’t want obstinate art, I want a good film. I’ve seen films that are artistic and compelling. I’ve seen films that are interesting but shallow. A Bruce Lee movie doesn’t have much in the way of plot, but you get to see Bruce Lee do some real-life kung fu and amazing stunts, and it’s still fun. But “2001” more subtle and ‘lava-lampy,’ so much so it is impossible to get lost into the experience without becoming aware of yourself at certain moments and wanting to either turn the show off, or just suffer through it because everyone else seemed to. Film critics might get paid to watch 10 minutes of dead air, but the directors don’t have the right to waste people’s time. At the end of the day, 2001: A Space Odyssey isn’t really intellectual at all; Anyone who’s actually interested in learning something or seeing something new would be better off going to the bookshop or a city gallery, this is still just a movie, and no one can claim they are smart for just sitting there and passively consuming a piece of popular media, not even haughty sci-fi fans. There is a difference between watching a science-fiction movie and being a real scientist!

Film snobs and fusty critics who rewatch the damn thing 10-times don’t get to just designate the whole package as good. Maybe the reason such contrarians like the film is just because so many people don’t, and they feel cultured or superior for pretending they’re ‘in on’ the experience. The movie has some high points and innovative structures, but fails as a cohesive unit. It’s a meticulously crafted bomb. Anyone studying the film has to focus on the camera angles, the underlying themes, and the audience reception more than the plot — because there is no plot.

This is a film which, if you like esoteric and avant-garde, you can watch this film and then spend the rest of your time reading the book and the script notes and the celebratory review articles and the academic theses and watching the director and cast interviews, to actually understand what the hell is going on. That is certainly its own kind of experience, but it is not a movie experience. That is to say, it’s not fun.

If you want to watch a good movie, skip over everything except the HAL arch, watch a 3-minute synopsis on what you missed over the other 90 minutes, and then move on with your life doing more important things, or watching better movies. Even Kubrick’s other movies are drawn-out and slow, but at least they have established characters and a point, as well as a clandestine “moral of the story” under the surface. If that seems like to much of a hassle, just give 2001: A Space Odyssey a hard pass; it’s not worth seeing. This is one of those trailblazing films where the innumerable imitators actually picked up the gauntlet, evolved the themes, and did it better.

Overall Score: 2 out of 5

#Review #2001: A Space Odyssey #Film Criticism #Science Fiction #Cinematography

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starrfait · 7 years

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Dig: Chapter 3/?

Relationship: Bughead Summary: Betty Cooper attempts to put her life back together after moving out of Riverdale. Easier said than done.

Rating: M

Warnings: Mentions of self-harm, eventual smut Past Chapters: 1 2 Read on AO3

Sunlight filtered in through the dense thicket, vines and thorns intertwined and reaching up towards the sky. Jughead wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. Where was he, and what was he doing here? He approached the wall of thorns cautiously.

A stream of light showed through a small gap. Peeking through, Jughead saw what appeared to be three silhouettes in the distance. He nudged the wall with his shoulder, but it had little effect. He pushed harder. It was no use. Lifting his foot, he kicked, hard. The wall shook, cause a few leaves to fall and land at on his shoulders.

Jughead took a deep breath before grabbing hold of the foliage and pulling as hard as he could. He reached inside, ripping it apart piece by piece. The thorns tore at his flesh until his hands were raw. Blood began to ooze from the wounds. Closing his eyes, Jughead took a few steps back before launching himself at the wall. It gave way with a loud crackle, the thorns snagging at his clothes and skin.

When he opened his eyes, he was greeted with a blue sky and lush green hills. Ignoring the pain, he got to his feet. The silhouettes he had seen were further away now. A man, a woman, and a young girl. He recognized them immediately.

"Mom! Dad! Jellybean!" He screamed, running as fast as his legs would take him. He was so close. The trio began to turn around just as Jughead jolted awake, heart pounding in his chest.

A strand of hair stuck to his forehead, his shirt clung to his skin. He was in a cold sweat. Staring at the ceiling, Jughead attempted to count the stucco until his heart rate slowed. Hot Dog jumped up on the bed, nuzzling against Jughead's side.

"I'm okay, boy. It was just a dream." He mumbled, pushing his blankets to the side. Swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he got to his feet and made his way to the bathroom.

He discarded his clothes on the floor and stepped into the shower. He could still feel the searing pain of the thorns on his skin. Turning the red knob, he let the intense heat dissolve his thoughts.

-----

Several minutes later, Jughead stepped back onto the tiled floor, steam drifting from his skin. He lazily towel-dried his hair before tossing the towel into the hamper. Slipping into a black T-shirt and sweatpants, he plopped down on the sofa with a sigh.

Most people would be delighted to have a day off, but Jughead found that his days blurred into each other. Recently, he had made a habit of not leaving the house unless he had to work or take Hot Dog for walk. His apartment was a mess, and he knew it. Unwashed dishes sat in the sink, empty noodle cups adorned the counters and coffee table. They weren't going anywhere; he could clean up later. It's not like he was expecting any guests.

Switching on the television, he was met with the usual fare. Game shows, news, and talk shows. He sighed and walked over to his VHS shelf. Closing his eyes, he ran his fingers along the spines, choosing randomly.

He pulled the cassette out. "Suspiria..." He read aloud. An Italian horror classic. He slipped the tape into the VHS player and resumed lounging on the couch.

The suspense amped up quickly. No matter how many times he'd seen it, the first 10 minutes always surprised him. On the screen, a young woman stood in her friend's bathroom, transfixed with a pair of shining eyes she saw outside the window. Jughead was now sitting up, literally on the edge of his seat.

A hand suddenly broke through the glass and grabbed her. Jughead's phone began to ring loudly, jolting him up from his seat. "Shit!" He paused the movie and hastily grabbed for his phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Forsythe." A cold, harsh voice answered.

"Oh...h-hey Mom. How are you?"

"How do you think I am? Don't play dumb. You know why I'm calling. Where is my money?"

Jughead bit his lip. How novel of him to expect to have a normal conversation.

"...I'll get it to you soon. Give me a few days. Please."

"You say the same shit every month. No more excuses. Don't you want Jellybean to have a nice birthday present?"

Jughead closed his eyes and breathed in deeply.

"Of course I do. I'll send it at soon as possible."

"Good. I'll be waiting."

"Wait, Mom! Do you think I could come see her on her birthd-"

He was cut off by a loud click.

"Goddammit..." Jughead whispered, voice wavering.

He thought he'd be used to this feeling by now, but he wasn't. It hurt now just as it always did. His dream had been nothing but a bad omen. He curled up on the sofa, desperately fighting back his tears.

----

Jughead awoke to the sound of his doorbell ringing. He rubbed his eyes groggily and sat up. Hot Dog ran to the door excitedly, barking and wagging his tail. Jughead shushed him, hastily putting on his beanie.

"It's probably a solicitor or something...if we stay quiet, they won't know we're here." He stepped forward and peeked through the peep hole.

Through the fish-eye lens he saw Betty, her hair down in golden waves. She looked up, her big eyes looking a lot brighter than the last time he saw her.

"Jughead, are you there? I made too much pasta and I was wondering if you'd like some. Can I come in?"

He wiped and his eyes before unlocking the door, peeking his head out.

"Hey Betty. Can you...uh...wait a second please?" She nodded slowly as he ducked back inside.

He ran to the kitchen, almost tripping on Hot Dog in the process. Grabbing a garbage bag, he hastily shovelled the empty noodle cups inside before depositing the bag out on the balcony. He filled the sink with water and soap. It was truly a rare feeling, actually attempting to clean his house. Running back to the door, he swung it open.

"Sorry about that. I had to tidy the place a bit." He said sheepishly, stepping out of the way so she could enter. The pasta smelled of tomatoes and basil. Jughead felt his stomach rumble.

"You didn't have to clean up for me!" Betty stepped inside and set the dish on the counter, looking around. "Wait, this is clean?"

Jughead shoulders dropped. "You probably would have ran out of here screaming if you saw how it looked before."

"No, no! I'm sorry. It's just that I'm kind of a clean freak." She laughed, leaning against the sink. "Are you off today?"

Jughead nodded as he retrieved a fork. "Yeah, I was just sitting down to watch a movie." He gave a pasta a taste, eyes widening. "Betty, this is phenomenal!"

She smiled softly. "I just wanted to thank you for being there for me the other day. You're a lot sweeter than you seem."

Jughead looked at the girl. She looked quite different with her hair down. She was practically glowing in the evening light. He blinked a few times before turning back to the food. He practically shovelled the pasta into his mouth, heat rising to his cheeks.

Betty giggled, shaking her head. "So...what movie were you watching?"

"Suspiria. It's an old horror movie that takes place in a dance school. It's got amazing cinematography and a killer score."

"That sounds awesome! I love a good horror movie. Would it be okay if I watched it with you?"

He nearly choked on his pasta. "Uh, That's fine. I mean, if you want to."

"Great!" She clapped her hands together. "I'll go grab some popcorn from my place. I'll be back in a jiffy!"

She ran off before he had the chance to tell her that he already had a full box in his cupboard.

When she returned a couple minutes later, Jughead was back on the couch, rewinding the movie back to the beginning.

"Did you want original or extra-buttery?" She called from the kitchen.

"Extra-buttery! What kind of question is that?"

"You're completely right. It goes without saying."

----

The duo sat in the glow of the television set, Hot Dog asleep at Betty's side. They were already on their second bowl of popcorn.

"Well, this director certainly has a vision." Betty said, taking a handful and plopping them into her mouth one by one.

"Argento is one of the absolute greats. His use of color is legendary."

Turning towards Jughead, Betty gave him a soft smile. Her shoulder rubbed against his. "You're very knowledgeable about movies, aren't you? You should be a film major!"

He attempted to return the smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Yeah. Maybe someday."

Betty placed her hands on top of his and gave it a gentle squeeze. They continued watching in silence.

Eventually, the darkness of the room started to get to Jughead. His eyes felt heavy, and he yawned into his hand. It wasn't long before he felt himself drifting off.

He awoke several minutes later when the television switched to static, signalling the end of the movie. Yawning, he started to get up to take out the tape, only to feel a weight on his arm.

Betty's head was against his shoulder, snoring softly. Her hair tickled his neck. Jughead felt his heart pounding in his ears.

This wasn't exactly a feeling he was used to. Quite the opposite, really. Betty was warm against him. She smelled wonderful, like fresh laundry that had been dried in the sun. Every now and then, she'd laugh softly in her sleep.

Jughead couldn't help the smile that rose to his lips. He pulled the throw from the back of the sofa and wrapped it around the two of them. Grabbing the remote control, he turned the television off.

Sleep came to him easily, his head resting gently against Betty's.

#riverdale #bughead #bughead fanfiction #bughead fic #riverdale fanfiction

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