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BFI Film Classics
2001: A Space Odyssey: Peter Kramer
Stanley Kubrick's 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) is widely regarded as one of the best films ever made. It has been celebrated for its beauty and mystery, its realistic depiction of space travel and dazzling display of visual effects, the breathtaking scope of its story, which reaches across millions of years, and the thought-provoking depth of its meditation on evolution, technology and humanity's encounters with the unknown. 2001 has been described as the most expensive avant-garde movie ever made and as a psychedelic trip, a unique expression of the spirit of the 1960s and as a timeless masterpiece. Peter Krämer's insightful study explores 2001's complex origins, the unique shape it took and the extraordinary impact it made on contemporary audiences, drawing on new research in the Stanley Kubrick Archive to challenges many of the widely-held assumptions about the film. This edition includes a new afterword by the author.
122 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2010
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May 14, 2025
2001: A Space Odyssey remains a landmark in world cinema, a quarter-century after the year 2001 passed into history. Director Stanley Kubrick took a considerable creative risk in taking what had originally been a relatively straightforward science-fiction premise and moving it firmly into the realm of the mythic and the mystical; but his risk-taking paid off, and film-studies scholar Peter Krämer provides a helpful look at how 2001 became a seemingly unlikely classic in his 2010 book 2001: A Space Odyssey, an entry in the British Film Institute’s BFI Film Classics series.
Krämer, a senior lecturer in film studies at the University of East Anglia, begins by setting forth what some might regard as a counterintuitive thesis: that 2001, in spite of Kubrick’s reputation as a pessimistic purveyor of stories about dehumanization, is actually an optimistic and hopeful story – in contrast with Kubrick’s prior film Dr. Strangelove (1964), which ends with atomic bombs destroying all life on Earth while Vera Lynn’s song “We’ll Meet Again” plays on the soundtrack.
Kubrick and science-fiction author Arthur C. Clarke were certainly both worried about the prospect of global thermonuclear war when, in March 1964, they began a correspondence about developing what Kubrick called “the proverbial good science-fiction movie.” In this case, however, both of these creative minds found themselves focusing upon how humankind might avoid atomic war – even if they thought the help of wise and benign extraterrestrials might be needed to keep foolish or malicious humans from pushing that red button.
Drawing in large part on Clarke’s novel Childhood’s End (1953), the film project, with an initial title of Journey Beyond the Stars, held from the start many of the elements of plot and theme that were of interest to both Kubrick and Clarke: “alien encounters in the distant past leaving their mark on human history; a twentieth-century humanity headed for nuclear self-destruction; further alien encounters facilitating global peace and the next stage in humanity’s evolution; the end point of all evolution being an immaterial, purely mental existence, which…one might call spiritual” (p. 28).
Situating the 2001 project within the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer studio’s penchant for producing big-budget blockbusters that could be screened via the studio’s extra-wide-screen Cinerama technology, Krämer makes clear what Journey Beyond the Stars might originally have been like. It would have had narration, to help audiences through the parts of the film that might have seemed somewhat difficult. It would have had a conventional musical score, to indicate how the audience is supposed to feel about the events unfolding on screen. And it would have had a very direct message about the importance of nations working together to avoid nuclear war.
In short, Journey Beyond the Stars might have been a film much like Peter Hyams’s later 2001 sequel 2010: The Year We Make Contact (1984). 2010 is a good film, with effective performances from an excellent cast (Roy Scheider, Helen Mirren, John Lithgow); but it’s a fairly conventional film, and no one would ever mistake it for 2001. Had 2001 been a film more like 2010, I think it would have garnered respectful reviews and respectable box-office receipts, and then largely dropped from sight.
That didn’t happen, obviously, with 2001: A Space Odyssey. What ultimately made 2001 something fundamentally different, Krämer suggests, is a series of creative decisions that Kubrick made as he re-thought some of his original ideas about the project. Kubrick seems to have focused on those areas of the Journey Beyond the Stars script that showed human beings fascinated and transfixed by their encounters with the extraterrestrials and their technology – hominids at the dawn of humankind, Dr. Floyd and other astronauts beholding a monolith buried beneath the lunar surface, David Bowman on his trip through the Star Gate. And on that basis, he fundamentally transformed the film.
[A] new conception of 2001 could be derived which focused not on what was in the film but on the effect it was meant to have on its viewers. It became possible to imagine that cinema audiences in front of huge Cinerama screens…would be “spellbound” and transformed by the experience of 2001, and that such an effect might best be achieved precisely by emptying the film of its “contents” and instead concentrating on the creation of “hypnotic” images….Of course, this would constitute a dramatic departure from the conventions of mainstream narrative film-making…but this was precisely the point. Within the film, hominids were transformed by their encounter with an alien artifact, something way beyond their horizon of expectations; if there was any chance that 2001 could have a similarly transformative effect on its viewers, then it, too had to become wholly alien. (p. 50)
Were you puzzled the first time you watched 2001? I know I was. I had no idea what I was watching, but I found it mystifying and infuriating and wondrous and beautiful. In short, I no doubt had a look on my face something like one of those hominids around the “Dawn of Man” monolith, or Dr. Floyd looking at the lunar monolith in the Tycho Crater, or David Bowman travelling through the Star Gate. And that, Krämer suggests, is exactly what Stanley Kubrick wanted to achieve.
Toward that end, he changed the direct, straightforward Journey Beyond the Stars title -- one that might have fit just as well for a Cinerama documentary -- to one that referenced a specific, near-future year (2001), invoked Greek mythology ("Space Odyssey"), and invited prospective viewers to consider the extraordinary changes that a new millennium might bring. He dropped the Ten Commandments-style narration. He got rid of the more literal images – e.g., a shot of “Dawn of Man” hominids looking into a transparent cube and seeing images of how to build fire and make weapons. The direct references to Cold War nuclear tension between the U.S.A. and the U.S.S.R. were dismissed, in favour of an outwardly cordial but subtly tense conversation between U.S. and Soviet scientists aboard an orbital space station. And Alex North’s score (available on DVD, or for download, and quite good) was tossed out, replaced by everything from a Johann Strauss waltz to a Khachaturian ballet suite to contemporary avant-garde orchestral music by György Ligeti – and, of course, the C-major cadence from Richard Strauss’s Also Sprach Zarathustra.
The effect, consistently, was to compel the audience to enter imaginatively into the film, pay attention, engage with it actively, in order to understand what’s going on. Viewers who spent too much time at the popcorn stand might return to find themselves lost in space.
Chapter 6, “The Film,” provides a very fine close reading of 2001. In the process, Krämer makes as good a try as I’ve ever seen at describing the Star-Gate sequence: “First, colourful and ever-changing, abstract patterns rush past, followed by a display of what might be gracefully unravelling celestial events, before forward movement picks up again, now above strangely coloured planetary surfaces” (p. 77)
2001 was, as Krämer makes clear, much more of a critical and commercial success than much of the folklore about the film would seem to indicate. While a number of New York critics dismissed the film, not all did, and in other cities the critical response to the film was overwhelmingly positive. And in terms of box-office receipts, 2001 was one of the biggest hits of the year 1968. That pop-culture image of the film’s audiences consisting largely of zoned-out hippies, timing their dose of LSD to take effect right at the beginning of the Star-Gate sequence, is simply not valid; moms and dads all over North America took their kids to see 2001. Even if they didn’t fully understand it, they enjoyed and appreciated it, and they knew that they had seen something important.
Krämer suggests that a central reason for the success of 2001 was that “its story about the birth and rebirth of humanity, and its very willingness to leave the conventions of mainstream cinema behind, interacted positively with the firm belief – shared by many people at this particular historical moment – in the possibility of fundamental personal, cultural, and social change” (p. 101). He sees the film as influencing the development and the approach of later science-fiction blockbusters like Star Wars (1977) and Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977), as well as the countless other SF films that have, since that time, become a staple of modern cinema.
I particularly appreciated author Krämer’s suggestion that 2001: A Space Odyssey conveys a message of hope. So many of Stanley Kubrick’s films do indeed focus on the theme of dehumanization – the idea that human beings can lose their ability to behave humanely, whether dehumanization occurs because of society’s political and military structures, or supernatural forces, or the sexual and violent drives that are part of human psychology.
Does 2001 suggest that technology can have a dehumanizing effect on human beings? That argument has been made. It has been pointed out, accurately, that human characters in the film generally use language to deceive, to manipulate, to maintain control — not to communicate. The technology shown in the film virtually runs itself, and humans are left with little to do but look at various computer screens (rather like today, come to think). Human beings generally avoid expressing their emotions, while it is left to a computer — the malfunctioning and murderous HAL 9000 on board the spaceship Discovery — to talk about how he feels (“I’m afraid”).
Yet it’s not that simple. 2001 also has a human character who is capable of empathy — Mission Commander David Bowman. Bearing as he does the names of two kings who defeated killer giants — David of Israel, and Odysseus the Bowman of Ithaca — David Bowman can also express feelings and wonder about how others feel; when the possibility of disconnecting Hal is discussed, David Bowman says, “I’m not so sure what he’d think about it.” And it is David Bowman who finds a way to defeat the seemingly all-powerful Hal — and who, arguably, is chosen to lead humankind on the next step forward in human evolution.
In other words, 2001 shows human beings overcoming their limitations and achieving the ability to move on to a higher stage of human development – even if we need a little help from our extraterrestrial friends in order to do so. I am grateful to author Krämer for emphasizing those elements of the film.
Krämer, a senior lecturer in film studies at the University of East Anglia, begins by setting forth what some might regard as a counterintuitive thesis: that 2001, in spite of Kubrick’s reputation as a pessimistic purveyor of stories about dehumanization, is actually an optimistic and hopeful story – in contrast with Kubrick’s prior film Dr. Strangelove (1964), which ends with atomic bombs destroying all life on Earth while Vera Lynn’s song “We’ll Meet Again” plays on the soundtrack.
Kubrick and science-fiction author Arthur C. Clarke were certainly both worried about the prospect of global thermonuclear war when, in March 1964, they began a correspondence about developing what Kubrick called “the proverbial good science-fiction movie.” In this case, however, both of these creative minds found themselves focusing upon how humankind might avoid atomic war – even if they thought the help of wise and benign extraterrestrials might be needed to keep foolish or malicious humans from pushing that red button.
Drawing in large part on Clarke’s novel Childhood’s End (1953), the film project, with an initial title of Journey Beyond the Stars, held from the start many of the elements of plot and theme that were of interest to both Kubrick and Clarke: “alien encounters in the distant past leaving their mark on human history; a twentieth-century humanity headed for nuclear self-destruction; further alien encounters facilitating global peace and the next stage in humanity’s evolution; the end point of all evolution being an immaterial, purely mental existence, which…one might call spiritual” (p. 28).
Situating the 2001 project within the Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer studio’s penchant for producing big-budget blockbusters that could be screened via the studio’s extra-wide-screen Cinerama technology, Krämer makes clear what Journey Beyond the Stars might originally have been like. It would have had narration, to help audiences through the parts of the film that might have seemed somewhat difficult. It would have had a conventional musical score, to indicate how the audience is supposed to feel about the events unfolding on screen. And it would have had a very direct message about the importance of nations working together to avoid nuclear war.
In short, Journey Beyond the Stars might have been a film much like Peter Hyams’s later 2001 sequel 2010: The Year We Make Contact (1984). 2010 is a good film, with effective performances from an excellent cast (Roy Scheider, Helen Mirren, John Lithgow); but it’s a fairly conventional film, and no one would ever mistake it for 2001. Had 2001 been a film more like 2010, I think it would have garnered respectful reviews and respectable box-office receipts, and then largely dropped from sight.
That didn’t happen, obviously, with 2001: A Space Odyssey. What ultimately made 2001 something fundamentally different, Krämer suggests, is a series of creative decisions that Kubrick made as he re-thought some of his original ideas about the project. Kubrick seems to have focused on those areas of the Journey Beyond the Stars script that showed human beings fascinated and transfixed by their encounters with the extraterrestrials and their technology – hominids at the dawn of humankind, Dr. Floyd and other astronauts beholding a monolith buried beneath the lunar surface, David Bowman on his trip through the Star Gate. And on that basis, he fundamentally transformed the film.
[A] new conception of 2001 could be derived which focused not on what was in the film but on the effect it was meant to have on its viewers. It became possible to imagine that cinema audiences in front of huge Cinerama screens…would be “spellbound” and transformed by the experience of 2001, and that such an effect might best be achieved precisely by emptying the film of its “contents” and instead concentrating on the creation of “hypnotic” images….Of course, this would constitute a dramatic departure from the conventions of mainstream narrative film-making…but this was precisely the point. Within the film, hominids were transformed by their encounter with an alien artifact, something way beyond their horizon of expectations; if there was any chance that 2001 could have a similarly transformative effect on its viewers, then it, too had to become wholly alien. (p. 50)
Were you puzzled the first time you watched 2001? I know I was. I had no idea what I was watching, but I found it mystifying and infuriating and wondrous and beautiful. In short, I no doubt had a look on my face something like one of those hominids around the “Dawn of Man” monolith, or Dr. Floyd looking at the lunar monolith in the Tycho Crater, or David Bowman travelling through the Star Gate. And that, Krämer suggests, is exactly what Stanley Kubrick wanted to achieve.
Toward that end, he changed the direct, straightforward Journey Beyond the Stars title -- one that might have fit just as well for a Cinerama documentary -- to one that referenced a specific, near-future year (2001), invoked Greek mythology ("Space Odyssey"), and invited prospective viewers to consider the extraordinary changes that a new millennium might bring. He dropped the Ten Commandments-style narration. He got rid of the more literal images – e.g., a shot of “Dawn of Man” hominids looking into a transparent cube and seeing images of how to build fire and make weapons. The direct references to Cold War nuclear tension between the U.S.A. and the U.S.S.R. were dismissed, in favour of an outwardly cordial but subtly tense conversation between U.S. and Soviet scientists aboard an orbital space station. And Alex North’s score (available on DVD, or for download, and quite good) was tossed out, replaced by everything from a Johann Strauss waltz to a Khachaturian ballet suite to contemporary avant-garde orchestral music by György Ligeti – and, of course, the C-major cadence from Richard Strauss’s Also Sprach Zarathustra.
The effect, consistently, was to compel the audience to enter imaginatively into the film, pay attention, engage with it actively, in order to understand what’s going on. Viewers who spent too much time at the popcorn stand might return to find themselves lost in space.
Chapter 6, “The Film,” provides a very fine close reading of 2001. In the process, Krämer makes as good a try as I’ve ever seen at describing the Star-Gate sequence: “First, colourful and ever-changing, abstract patterns rush past, followed by a display of what might be gracefully unravelling celestial events, before forward movement picks up again, now above strangely coloured planetary surfaces” (p. 77)
2001 was, as Krämer makes clear, much more of a critical and commercial success than much of the folklore about the film would seem to indicate. While a number of New York critics dismissed the film, not all did, and in other cities the critical response to the film was overwhelmingly positive. And in terms of box-office receipts, 2001 was one of the biggest hits of the year 1968. That pop-culture image of the film’s audiences consisting largely of zoned-out hippies, timing their dose of LSD to take effect right at the beginning of the Star-Gate sequence, is simply not valid; moms and dads all over North America took their kids to see 2001. Even if they didn’t fully understand it, they enjoyed and appreciated it, and they knew that they had seen something important.
Krämer suggests that a central reason for the success of 2001 was that “its story about the birth and rebirth of humanity, and its very willingness to leave the conventions of mainstream cinema behind, interacted positively with the firm belief – shared by many people at this particular historical moment – in the possibility of fundamental personal, cultural, and social change” (p. 101). He sees the film as influencing the development and the approach of later science-fiction blockbusters like Star Wars (1977) and Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977), as well as the countless other SF films that have, since that time, become a staple of modern cinema.
I particularly appreciated author Krämer’s suggestion that 2001: A Space Odyssey conveys a message of hope. So many of Stanley Kubrick’s films do indeed focus on the theme of dehumanization – the idea that human beings can lose their ability to behave humanely, whether dehumanization occurs because of society’s political and military structures, or supernatural forces, or the sexual and violent drives that are part of human psychology.
Does 2001 suggest that technology can have a dehumanizing effect on human beings? That argument has been made. It has been pointed out, accurately, that human characters in the film generally use language to deceive, to manipulate, to maintain control — not to communicate. The technology shown in the film virtually runs itself, and humans are left with little to do but look at various computer screens (rather like today, come to think). Human beings generally avoid expressing their emotions, while it is left to a computer — the malfunctioning and murderous HAL 9000 on board the spaceship Discovery — to talk about how he feels (“I’m afraid”).
Yet it’s not that simple. 2001 also has a human character who is capable of empathy — Mission Commander David Bowman. Bearing as he does the names of two kings who defeated killer giants — David of Israel, and Odysseus the Bowman of Ithaca — David Bowman can also express feelings and wonder about how others feel; when the possibility of disconnecting Hal is discussed, David Bowman says, “I’m not so sure what he’d think about it.” And it is David Bowman who finds a way to defeat the seemingly all-powerful Hal — and who, arguably, is chosen to lead humankind on the next step forward in human evolution.
In other words, 2001 shows human beings overcoming their limitations and achieving the ability to move on to a higher stage of human development – even if we need a little help from our extraterrestrial friends in order to do so. I am grateful to author Krämer for emphasizing those elements of the film.
March 16, 2024
Apar og geimurinn og monolithar og HAL-9000!
June 12, 2024
Korisne male, ilustrovane sveske Britanskog Filmskog Instituta (BFI) dužine između 20-30,000 riječi zašle su u dvadesetu godinu objavljivanja i broje stotinjak poznatih naslova (od nedavno su ovaj koncept obogatili i temama o znamenitim TV-serijama).
Katkada se upošljavaju i poznati ljudi. Svesku o filmu Čarobnjak iz Oza potpisao je Salman Ruždi.
BFI sveske nisu korisne zbog nepretenciozne kritike, koliko zbog, generalno gledano, opširnijeg tretmana datog filma kroz njegov fizički postanak, tako da pomenuti vodiči mahom podsjećaju i na komentare tzv. eksperata na DVD kopijama starih filmova. U ovom slučaju, teorija je samo nominalno bitna, dok prednost dobija uveliko zanimljivija metamorfoza sjemena jedne priče u remek-djelo koje naposljetku imamo prilike da gledamo do besvijesti i smišljamo bezmalo konspirativne teorije o njegovim značenjskim vrijednostima.
Pored Hičkoka kome opus broji daleko više naslova, Stenli Kubrik je drugi reditelj čiji – ako je vjerovati teoriji, ali i zavjeri – doslovno svaki kadar sadrži skriveni simbolizam (da bi više saznali o ovom fenomenu pogledajte dokumentarac, Room 237) .
Na svu sreću, Kramerov BFI esej se ne zadržava na polju fantazmagorične dedukcije, već ide prirodnijim putem; od Kubrikovog interesovanja da se okuša u naučnoj-fantastici u eri tenzičnog Hladnog rata kad je svaki SF film bio nalik prethodnom, preko tvorbe Odiseje, do njenog svekolikog uticaja na američki, a time i na svjetski film.
Najzanimljivije od svega jeste upravo putešestvije jedne naizgled banalne ideje do finalnog reza, gdje je lako uvidjeti da Kubrik svoj neviđeni i donekle i misteriozni uticaj da u potpunosti ontroliše produkciju skoro svakog svog filma koristi da bi se služio tipičnim književnim minimalizmom ne bi li završio sineastički projekat.
Odisejasvakako nije bila prvi čovjekov film gdje je najznačajnije intervencije u montaži reditelj odradio bukvalno u posljednjem trenutku. Najzad, kroz njegov neurotično ozbiljan tretman SF teme, saznaćemo mnogo više o reditelju nego o samome djelu. Zbog toga su Kubrikovi filmovi naposljetku namjerno nedorečeni i dvosmjerni, jer je, kao svaki dobar pisac, i te kako svjestan da (umjetnička) vrijednost svake poruke leži u njenom dvosmislu.
Tako je Kubrik pisac ništa manje nego što je reditelj, a tada ne mislim da je istovremeno bio i scenarista ili ko-scenarista vlastitih filmova. Naime, on je pisac kao što je i Vilijem Tekeri bio pisac, a njegovi filmovi gledaju se na isti način na koji se čitaju najveće knjige (većinom je svoje scenarije ionako pisao u prozi, a na filmovima je najviše sarađivao upravo sa pravim književnicima).
Beri Lindon (1975), njegov najfascinantniji film, je upravo takav projekat. Kubrikova adaptacija Tekerijeve knjige sigurno može ući među deset najimpresivnijih scenarija.
Ruku na srce, činjenica da je Kubrikova očigledna distanca od filmskog svijeta, a ponajviše od ljudi, vremenom u medijima napravila od reditelja neku vrstu ludog naučnika i boema, nipošto ne drži vodu. Na koncu, čovjekov perfekcionizam sigurno nije bio za uzor, dok su poruke njegovih filmova nadasve jasne. Natprosječno načitan kreativac koji toliko voli svoje kućne životinje sigurno ima štošta toga reći o čovjeku i civilizaciji. Skoro fetišistički opčinjen istorijom i međuljudskim konfliktom, on se odvažio na korak da pronikne u naše najveće animalističke porive i ukaže na vječitu nestalnost besciljnih ljudskih emocija.
Dobri primjeri za ovakvu tvrdnju je njegova drama Putevi slave (1957) i horor Isijavanje (1980). Prvi govori o besmislu ratnog okršaja kao i o tome da u ljudskoj životinji, doduše skrivena, ipak postoji potreba za mirom, dok nas Isijavanje prosvijetljava po pitanju muško-ženskih odnosa, a pogotovo braka; kasnije će se istoj temi Kubrik vratiti u posljednjem filmu, Oči širom zatvorene (1999).
Uostalom, Rozmarina beba (1970), horor Romana Polanskog govori o trudnoći, isto kao što Kronenbergova Muva (1985) govori o košmarima starosti. Zaista je smiješno reći da se samo radi o pukim filmovima strave.
S druge strane, za Olivera Stouna je film o Vijetnamu, Vod (1986), bio opsesija; zato su Vod i Apokalipsa sada (1979) snimani na Tajlandu, prevashodno zbog uvjerljivosti. Kubrikov Full Metal Jacket (1988), sniman nedaleko od rediteljeve kuće u Engleskoj, njemu je došao poput još jedne platforme na kojoj je mogao da izgrađuje ideje i skladišti montenjovske misli o čovjeku i ratu. Za 35 godina Kubrik je snimio tri ratna filma; četvrti, o Napoleonu, isuviše grandiozan reklo bi se, jednostavno se rasplinuo početkom 1970-ih, dok su pripreme za peti, o nacizmu i holokaustu – Aryan Papers – prekinute čim je Spilberg režirao Šindlerovu listu, 1993.
Zvuči nadrealno, međutim, vojni sukobi su doslovno komunicirali sa Kubrikom, koji na svu sreću nikada nije povjerovao u kredo Ane Frank da je čovječanstvo u suštini dobro. Bolje reći, Kubrik je držao da je zlo u takozvanoj civilizaciji i te kako živo i zdravo – i, prije svega, raspojasano. Neizlječivi pesimista i ateista, reditelja je jednostavno privlačila mračna strana čovjeka, a ona je najvećma dolazila do izražaja u oružanoj borbi. Nazrio je to u kopljima u Spartaku (1960), u atomskoj bombi u Doktoru Strejdžlavu (1964), vojnim čizmama i skulpturi penisa u Paklenoj pomorandži (1971), u onoj telećoj kosti koja hominidima služi kao prvo oružje u Odiseji... i tako dalje.
Otuda ne treba da čudi što Kubrik postaje fasciniran pojavom vanzemaljaca jedinim posmatračima u prilici da ljudima ukažu na njihovu nestabilnost i neprilagođenost. Koliko mu je ta simboličnost daleko naprednijih posjetilaca sa druge planete bitna, govori i pojedinost da je u prvobitnoj verziji Strejndžlava satirična hladnoratovska priča trebala da počne naracijom međuzvjezdanog došljaka koji pronalazi Zemlju opustošenu nuklearnim ratom.
Prema mišljenju autora ove BFI sveske, Pitera Kramera, Kubrik je u skoro svakom trenutku bio ubijeđen da će u sljedećih desetak godina doći do svjetskog sukoba.
Istaknutog naučnika i pisca SF-a, Artura Klarka kontaktirao je 1964. godine u nadi da će uz njegovu pomoć uspjeti da iskonstruiše scenosljed koji bi istovremeno poslužio kao zabavna priča, a i kao opomena civilizaciji na rubu samouništenja. Štaviše, Odiseja (prvobitno nazvana Put izvan zvijezda) je, nakon Strejndžlava, trebala da ispadne „optimistični“ Kubrikov film, u maniru Klarkovog najboljeg romana, Kraj djetinjstva (1953), o uticaju superiornije rase na ljudsku civilizaciju. Ubrzo su se usredsredili na ideju iz Klarkove pripovijetke „Stražar“ (1948), o otkriću vanzemaljskog monolita na mjesecu.
Počele su da se nižu verzije draftova scenarija, u kojima su poruke bile pretjerano simplifikovane za kreativca kakav je bio Kubrik (prvi draftovi su sadržavali i scene sa čovjekolikim vanzemaljcima, a Zvjezdano dijete, na samom kraju, je trebalo da uništi sve nuklearne silose na Zemlji). Zato se Klarkov istonaslovni roman, publikovan malo poslije filma (jula 1968), osjetno razlikovao od Kubrikovog scenarija, međutim to nije dovelo ni do kakvog trvenja između dva autora; najzad, Kubrik je često zahtijevao društvo imaginativnih ljudi kako bi lakše mogao da oblikuje sopstvenu viziju, tako da ni sa Klarkom nije bilo ništa drugačije ni poslije troipogodišnje saradnje, iz koje je jedan zaradio film, a drugi roman. Svakako je scene gdje su njihove poruke bile prenaglašene, nakon što su odležale neko vrijeme, Kubrik nazvao „blesavim pojednostavljenjima“ i naposljetku ih sve odstranio, smatrajući da su dostojne nekog romana, ali ne i filma.
Tako je Odiseja, iako je trebala da obiluje pozitivnim pojedinostima, postala gravidna idejama o nesavršenom čovjeku. U nezaboravnim početnim scenama koje se odvijaju u praistoriji (po uzoru na Klarkovu priču, „Ekspedicija na Zemlju“, 1953), pratimo krdo prvih izgladnjelih majmunolikih ljudi kako sa prvim zalogajima mesa postaju krvožedne ubice. Evolucija će takvog čovjeka dovesti i do visokog tehnološkog napretka kao što je izgradnja kompjutera HAL 9000, koji će neminovno steći čovječiju podijeljenu ličnost i zatim pokušati da pobije vlastite kreatore.
O ljudskoj životinji, reditelj nije imao blagorodno mišljenje: „čovjek nije plemeniti divljak, on je nemilosrdni divljak. On je neracionalan, okrutan, slab, luckast, u nemogućnosti da bude objektivan po pitanju onoga gdje leže njegovi interesi – i to ga otprilike sumira cijeloga. Mene zanima brutalna i nasilna priroda čovjeka jer ne postoji istinskija slika od te. A svaki pokušaj da se stvore društvene institucije proistekle iz manjkave perspektive o njegovoj prirodi praktično su osuđene na propast. Dakle, apropo Odiseje, sve što čovjek napravi osuđeno je na propast, osim ako ga do tada, kao malo neiskusno dijete, ne prosvijetli neko superiorniji i naveliko strpljiviji od njega.
O završnici Odiseje dabome da samo možemo da nagađamo. [Ili ne moramo: pročitajte apendiks na kraju teksta.]
Izmjene na filmu izvođene su i za vrijeme, kao i poslije premijere u odabranim američkim gradovima, aprila 1968. Prvih desetak minuta finalnog reza nisu počinjali segmentom „Zora čovjeka“. Film je zapravo počinjao prologom intervjua s prominentnim naučnicima koji su upozoravali čovjeka na njegovu tehnološku autodestruktivnost. Kao i u većini Kubrikovih filmova, sve je to odstranjeno doslovno u posljednjem času.
Istu sudbinu je doživio možda i najkrupniji i do tada najbitniji segment ovog projekta – a to je bila sveopšta naracija. Ukinuta je nekoliko sedmica prije premijere, jer je onakvom vizuelnom ugođaju, kad bi se utisci sabrali, očito prijala taman koliko i naracija Harisona Forda u prvobitnoj verziji Blejd Ranera. Dijalozi su takođe drastično skraćeni. Reditelj je znao da je dovoljno dobar zanatlija da njegovim slikama nije potreban nikakav uvod.
U intervjuu pomenutom u biografiji Vinsenta LoBrutoa (1997) Kubrik je kazao sljedeće o svom viđenju filmskog narativa: „Oni ljudi koji nemaju nikakvih odgovornosti prema tome da objašnjavaju i formulišu kristalno jasne izjave o filmu dva sata nakon što bi ga pogledali neće imali nikakvih problema [sa mojim projektima].“
Sve su ove izmjene značile da, dok je prvobitna priča i dalje bila na svom mjestu, gledaocima uopšte neće biti omogućeno da shvate njenu suštinu i svrhu, a još manje šta povezuje sve te naizgled nepovezane segmente od kojih se sastoji Kubrikov film.
Znači, poslije promjena, Odiseja nije više prikazivala, niti je pominjala, inteligentnu vanzemaljsku rasu čiji eksperiment na Zemlji motiviše većinu onoga što se odvija na filmu, a pogotovo edukativnu svrhu drevnih artefakata koje su ostavili za sobom.
Film takođe ne pretenduje da poveže scene iz praistorije sa XXI vijekom; čak je i veza zbivanja na mjesecu sa misijom na Jupiter objašnjena tek na kraju. Takođe nije pružen nikakav eksplicitan razlog zbog HAL-ovog manijakalnog ponašanja – pa je ipak, ili se stiče takav utisak, sve kristalno jasno. Time što nije razotkrio čitavu misteriju, Kubrik je samo pojačao transformativno iskustvo gledaoca, na neki način ga uzdignuvši do većeg nivoa svijesti.
2013
[Apendiks 2018: u julu 2018 godine, na pedesetogodišnjicu Odiseje 2001, pojavio se video-snimak gdje Stenli Kubrik u telefonskom razgovoru sa izvjesnim japanskim dokumentaristom i producentom objašnjava značenje svršetka svojeg filma na čelu sa misterijom Zvjezdanog djeteta:
„Izbjegavam ovu vrstu priče još otkako je film izašao. Kada vokalizuješ svoju ideju – one u generalnom pogledu zvuče tupavo, međutim, ako se dramatizuju, čovjek ih počne osjećati onako kako trebaju da izgledaju, ali ću se svakako potruditi da pojasnim.
„Glavna zamisao je trebala da bude da su astronauta oteli božanski entiteti, stvorenja satkana od čiste energije i inteligencije, bez ikakvog oblika ili forme. Oni ga zatim stavljaju u ono što pretpostavljam da možete imenovati zoološkim vrtom za ljude kako bi ga izučavali, tako da čitav njegov život protiče iz te tačke u datoj prostoriji. On takođe nema nikakav osjećaj o vremenu. Sve što se dešava izgleda taman kao na filmu.
„Oni odabiraju upravo tu prostoriju, a ona je sasvim neprecizna replika francuske arhitekture (namjerno je neprecizna) zato jer je neko od njih možda mislio da ima ideju o nečemu, a što bi astronaut trebao da smatra kao vrlo lijepo i ukusno, ali ni tada nisu bili sigurni. Isto kao što ni mi nismo baš sigurni sa zoološkim vrtovima kad životinjama pokušavamo da pružimo sav onaj ugođaj za koji mislimo da im može pružiti utisak kao u svom prirodnom staništu.
„U svakom slučaju, kad završe s njim, kao što se inače dešava u brojnim mitovima unutar svih svjetskih kultura, on je transformisan u neku vrstu superbića i poslat je na Zemlju, u potpunosti transformisan i skoro nalik natčovjeku. Stoga nama preostaje samo da pretpostavimo šta se dešava kad se on vrati nazad. To je, uostalom, matrica dobrog dijela opštepoznate mitologije, te je to ono što smo i pokušali da sugerišemo (onim svršetkom).“]
July 15, 2012
I must admit, I was quite dissapointed with the criticism (or lack thereof) of Peter Kramer. He does a wonderful job of diggin into the archives and bringing into light the history of the production of this movie. Nevertheless, I found his bland and general criticism of "hope" a rehash of what has been written about before of Kubrick's science fiction masterpiece.
January 28, 2017
It's a quick overview but there's a lot of good information here. He did a good job dispelling some of the myths surrounding 2001's original release. The analysis of the film itself is fairly basic, but the discussions surrounding it have some great insights
October 26, 2019
Peter Kramer's book on "2001" is an enjoyable, quick read. I found it an informative resource about the production and release of the movie that dispelled the mythology surrounding it. Contrary to popular belief, the movie didn't bomb only to be saved by hippies and drug-users. In fact, despite a polarized response from critics the movie did tremendously well with mainstream audiences and became a massive financial hit thanks to word of mouth. Young viewers certainly played an important role in the movie's success, but as Kramer points out the popular history of "2001" is not entirely accurate.
Kramer also provides some interesting insights into why he thinks Kubrick made "2001," and what the movie ultimately means. I can't say I agree with all of his points, but I loved reading his discussion of one of the greatest movies ever made. On the whole Kramer's "2001" is easy to recommend for movie buffs of all stripes.
Kramer also provides some interesting insights into why he thinks Kubrick made "2001," and what the movie ultimately means. I can't say I agree with all of his points, but I loved reading his discussion of one of the greatest movies ever made. On the whole Kramer's "2001" is easy to recommend for movie buffs of all stripes.
March 5, 2026
Very interesting on the what and the why of the film, less on the how. So while its pre-production genesis and post-production impact are analysed, the film is described in a 30 page section which skips on the how it was shot detail. So we are told the shot opening a section of the film is taken from behind Jupiter, looking back at the Earth. But how was this achieved? That is what is missing from this otherwise fascinating tome.
April 28, 2022
one of the most monumental movies in science fiction - and general fiction - that has ever graced cinema screens. Peter Krämer beautifully discusses the films' production, success, meaning, and the blueprint for what would come of this masterpiece. very enjoyable read if you're even mildly interested in learning more about this film.
November 17, 2018
Good introductory overview, covering the genesis of the film, the unique collaborative process with Clarke, and the standard readings of the movie itself. Nice corrective to some of the more populist accounts of the film's reception.
November 26, 2021
enjoyable to read, comprehensive and detailed for someone who is interested in the film.
April 12, 2024
The making of 2001 is almost as fascinating as the film itself. This slim volume is invaluable as a guide to what is great about Kubrick's great sci-fi classic.
September 3, 2025
Another insightful yet short glimpse into the making of a classic by a respected institution.
July 20, 2014
This was the first critic I read on this movie and since I saw it just recently I wanted to understand the film's impact. If you can get past the dry tone the information is very helpful in learning about the whole process of what it took to make it all happen to the after effects of the film's lasting impressions.
2001 was a movie that changed so much in the world because it was the first time a sci-fiction movie created a realistic portrayal of space travel and what that would be like in the future. It would not be surprising to learn how many kids (especially boys) went back and watched that movie over and over again. Movies like this change lives, so many grew up to become astronomers, scientists, inventors, and even film makers. Movies that resonate with it's audience leaves an impact that it felt later on by the work that the people do because of certain movies, and 2001 is one of those movies.
When you look at all the films that Kubrick did, knowing that he never went to film school, it is amazing the talent he had for seeing stories come to live on screen. This was no easy task during his time so you can only imagine what kind of movies he would be able to make today with software that has cut the costs of making movies now down to nothing.
2001 opened the doors to real science fiction movies that people took seriously. If it wasn't sure 2001, space adventure movies would probably have taken another 20 years to develop, which means that Star Wars and Close Encounters might not have been made or made in a way that didn't have the influence that 2001 gave them. Every movie made has some kind of influence from it but out of all its influences previous films count the most.
This book has encouraged me now to go back and read the books that pushed the minds of audience members to except a whole different story. This book explains that Clarke made the novels to also help fill in the gaps but they do differ a lot at certain points. Now that I understand how the film was made, the impact it had, and everything else that came after it the next time I watch this amazing work of art I will see it in a new light.
If you have never seen 2001 sit down with your family and enjoy what Kubrick made back in the 60s that still resonates today.
2001 was a movie that changed so much in the world because it was the first time a sci-fiction movie created a realistic portrayal of space travel and what that would be like in the future. It would not be surprising to learn how many kids (especially boys) went back and watched that movie over and over again. Movies like this change lives, so many grew up to become astronomers, scientists, inventors, and even film makers. Movies that resonate with it's audience leaves an impact that it felt later on by the work that the people do because of certain movies, and 2001 is one of those movies.
When you look at all the films that Kubrick did, knowing that he never went to film school, it is amazing the talent he had for seeing stories come to live on screen. This was no easy task during his time so you can only imagine what kind of movies he would be able to make today with software that has cut the costs of making movies now down to nothing.
2001 opened the doors to real science fiction movies that people took seriously. If it wasn't sure 2001, space adventure movies would probably have taken another 20 years to develop, which means that Star Wars and Close Encounters might not have been made or made in a way that didn't have the influence that 2001 gave them. Every movie made has some kind of influence from it but out of all its influences previous films count the most.
This book has encouraged me now to go back and read the books that pushed the minds of audience members to except a whole different story. This book explains that Clarke made the novels to also help fill in the gaps but they do differ a lot at certain points. Now that I understand how the film was made, the impact it had, and everything else that came after it the next time I watch this amazing work of art I will see it in a new light.
If you have never seen 2001 sit down with your family and enjoy what Kubrick made back in the 60s that still resonates today.
July 12, 2019
A quick and insightful overview. Would be a perfect reference for teaching the film in class. However, I wish it gave more detailed and colorful portraits of Kubrick and Clarke (more anecdotes and biographical material). Though, to be fair, that’s not really the aim here.
I was particularly impressed by the author’s interpretation of the movie’s ending, proposing that the film itself is a sort of monolith—an opaque, mysterious, transformative object, which has an audience looking up in confusion and awe. (If you rotate the monolith 180 degrees, it begins to resemble a movie screen.) As the author writes:
“If the film shares the monolith’s mysteriousness, may it also share its transformative power? This opens up another approach to understanding the Star-Child. Throughout Bowman’s final journey and during his stay in the alien room, the film places a lot of emphasis on the act of looking, and thus equates Bowman with the film’s viewers, who have been concentrating on this act all along. During his journey through space, Bowman is frequently reduced to the image of his eyes, and in the alien room, his most important action is to look at older versions of himself, an act which is followed by the disappearance of each younger self. At the end, the very old man’s look at the monolith leads to his transformation into the Star-Child, who eventually directs its gaze at us, the viewers. Does the subsequent disappearance of the Star-Child mean that it turns into what it last looked at? If so, the Star-Child becomes us; we become the Star-Child—this transformation the result of our encounter with this monolithic movie.”
Mind = blown!
I was particularly impressed by the author’s interpretation of the movie’s ending, proposing that the film itself is a sort of monolith—an opaque, mysterious, transformative object, which has an audience looking up in confusion and awe. (If you rotate the monolith 180 degrees, it begins to resemble a movie screen.) As the author writes:
“If the film shares the monolith’s mysteriousness, may it also share its transformative power? This opens up another approach to understanding the Star-Child. Throughout Bowman’s final journey and during his stay in the alien room, the film places a lot of emphasis on the act of looking, and thus equates Bowman with the film’s viewers, who have been concentrating on this act all along. During his journey through space, Bowman is frequently reduced to the image of his eyes, and in the alien room, his most important action is to look at older versions of himself, an act which is followed by the disappearance of each younger self. At the end, the very old man’s look at the monolith leads to his transformation into the Star-Child, who eventually directs its gaze at us, the viewers. Does the subsequent disappearance of the Star-Child mean that it turns into what it last looked at? If so, the Star-Child becomes us; we become the Star-Child—this transformation the result of our encounter with this monolithic movie.”
Mind = blown!
September 20, 2016
2001 is a love it or hate it film and i'm in the former category. I think it's a great piece of cinema, non stop visuals, great pacing (yes I like slow films) plus the subtexts. It's ludicrous to think that a little book that's under a 100 pages can go into the complexity of Kubrick's masterpiece but Kramer does manage to pack in a lot of information: the genesis of this film, Kubrick's relationship with Arthur C Clarke and assorted trivia. Did I learn anything new? - no but it is a fun read.
February 13, 2012
An interesting survey of Stanley Kubrick's film 2001 - A Space Odyssey. I learnt a few things from this book about the planning of the film, and some of the reactions to the film following its release in 1968.
Years ago I read The Lost Worlds of 2001 by Arthur Clarke which gives a lot more detail about the collaboration between Clarke and Kubrick. I will read that book again as I still have the paperback.
Years ago I read The Lost Worlds of 2001 by Arthur Clarke which gives a lot more detail about the collaboration between Clarke and Kubrick. I will read that book again as I still have the paperback.
June 10, 2014
A great book if you're just setting out on improving your understanding of 2001. Academic, interesting, but not definitive--a good starting place.
July 16, 2015
Excellent resource for teaching this to undergrads!
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