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It was inevitable that Stanley Kubrick's
Eyes Wide Shut would be the most misunderstood film of 1999. Kubrick died four months prior to its release, and there was no end to speculation how much he would have tinkered with the picture, changed it, "fixed" it. We'll never know. But even without the haunting enigma of the director's death--and its eerie echo/anticipation in the scene when Dr. Bill Harford (Tom Cruise) visits the deathbed of one of his patients--
Eyes Wide Shut would have perplexed and polarized viewers and reviewers. After all, virtually every movie of Kubrick's post-U.S. career had; only 1964's
Dr. Strangelove opened to something approaching consensus. Quite apart from the author's tinkering, Kubrick's movies themselves always seemed to change--partly because they changed us, changed the world and the ways we experienced and understood it. And we may expect
Eyes Wide Shut to do the same. Unlike Kubrick himself, it has time.
So consider, as we settle in to live with this long, advisedly slow, mesmerizing film, how challenging and ambiguous its narrative strategy is. The source is an Arthur Schnitzler novella titled
Traumnovelle (or "Dream Story"), and it's a moot question how much of
Eyes Wide Shut itself is dream, from the blue shadows frosting the Harfords' bedroom to the backstage replica of New York's Greenwich Village that Kubrick built in England. Its major movement is an imaginative night-journey (even the daylight parts of it) taken by a man reeling from his wife's teasing confession of fantasized infidelity, and toward the end there is a token gesture of the couple waking to reality and, perhaps, a new, chastened maturity. Yet on some level--visually, psychologically, logically--every scene shimmers with unreality. Is everything in the movie a dream? And if so, who is dreaming it at any given moment, and why?
Don't settle for easy answers. Kubrick's ultimate odyssey beckons. And now the dream is yours.
--Richard T. Jameson
A stiff, alas. The late Stanley Kubrick's last movie, based on Arthur Schnitzler's novella "Traumnovelle" (1926), is about a New York doctor (Tom Cruise) whose wife (Nicole Kidman) unexpectedly confesses her sexual interest in a young naval officer she spotted during a vacation. This revelation sends the doctor out into the streets of New York at night, where he is approached by a variety of women, undergoes perverse adventures, and finally winds up at an enormous, preposterous orgy, at which men in cloaks and naked masked women disport themselves without apparent pleasure or energy. The doctor's adventures are perhaps meant to be a voyage through the unconscious, but they remain unconnected visually to the early marital scenes. Instead, they float free, and all the details seem wrong. Kubrick's direction-ponderously deliberate and distant, lacking in the intimacy that the movie would seem to be crying out for-never gets a firm grip on either fantasy or reality. The maddening two-note piano composition during the orgy is by György Ligeti. The adaptation is by Kubrick and Frederic Raphael. -David Denby
Copyright © 2006
The New Yorker