Stanley Kubrick: The Darkness of Modern Life
Many theories of modern history were built on the model that as man works his way up from the animal world progress is made. That progress is an interpretation of human history which would be unmistakable if a historian based the interpretation on the work of Stanley Kubrick, who explored the darkness of modern life. That darkness—with regard to human frailty or something more sinister— is consistent whether Kubrick is exploring the future (“2001: A Space Odyssey,” 1968), the past (“Barry Lyndon,” 1975), or the present (“Eyes Wide Shut,” 2000).
Although Kubrick made few films in a career that spanned almost 50 years, each of those films has had an enduring impact. Devalued in the Andrew Sarris hierarchy (see Sarris’ The American Cinema: Strained Seriousness, University of Chicago Press, 1968, pp. 195–196), Kubrick’s reputation among filmmakers and film enthusiasts has grown to the point where he today occupies a kind of exclusive, Olympian height reserved only for the gods of filmmaking, whomever they may be. As I mentioned early in the book, my goal is not so much to defend filmmakers as to try to understand what makes their work compelling and influential for the new generation of filmmakers.
In his career, Kubrick most often devoted himself to films about war, such as “Paths of Glory” (1956), “Dr. Strangelove” (1964), and “Full Metal Jacket” (1987); fables about human nature, such as “Lolita” (1962), “A Clockwork Orange” (1972), and “Eyes Wide Shut”; and genre films—crime films such as “The Killing” (1956), horror films such as “The Shining” (1979), science fiction films such as “2001: A Space Odyssey,” and epics such as “Spartacus” (1960) and “Barry Lyndon.” What all these films have in common, beyond their ambition, is a focus on the dark side of human nature. To cope with that darkness Kubrick used humor. Irony infuses “Dr. Strangelove,” “A Clockwork Orange,” “2001: A Space Odyssey,” and “Lolita.” And what is certain is that a character will lose a pound of flesh in the course of a Kubrick narrative. That pound of flesh may be spiritual or it may be physical. What is certain is the loss.
In order to articulate this loss Kubrick tended to focus on a particular human failing in each of his films. Before we examine those failings, what needs to be said is that there are particular bold, filmic qualities in Kubrick’s work that pay off in much the same way as Sergei Eisenstein’s work. It might be useful to highlight these qualities before we descend into the darkness that characterizes so much of Kubrick’s work. His pay off can be categorized as the shot/scene as a visual metaphor and the set piece as a technical challenge.
Perhaps there is no other Kubrick scene as famous as the ape triumphantly throwing his bone weapon into the air, after which the camera cuts to a space station in outer space, continuing the movement albeit millions of years later. Almost as famous is Slim Pickens riding a nuclear warhead toward its target in “Dr. Strangelove.” Complete with cowboy hat, he is riding the bomb as if it is a bucking bronco. A third example is the circular tracking shot of a master sergeant inspecting and humiliating his raw recruits in “Full Metal Jacket.” Yet another example is Alex’s beating of his male victim to the melodic sound of “Singin’ in the Rain” in “A Clockwork Orange.”
What is striking in each case is the visual metaphor Kubrick created, and in each case that metaphor drips with irony. In the victorious toss of the bone in “2001: A Space Odyssey,” the metaphor is all about technology and progress. The irony here relates to whether the discovery of weaponry, with all its implications about proprietary rights and the disenfranchisement of others, is really progress. In the example from “Dr. Strangelove,” the irony of the metaphor is much more apparent. A bomb that is about to kill hundreds of thousands of people is not likely to generate quite the same excitement and bravado of cowboy life. The third example, from “Full Metal Jacket,” also deals with equating military values with societal values. The master sergeant is in charge of creating killing machines. This is his stated purpose, and in this scene he begins to find out who will and who will not become killing machines. The last example, from “A Clockwork Orange,” is as ironic as the shot from “Dr. Strangelove.” The “Singin’ in the Rain” music suggests romance and love; however, the visuals are all about aggression and hate.
The set pieces are as audacious in their goals as are the shots/ scenes; however, the goal is more complex. If the shots/scenes are impressive metaphors, the set pieces are rather like a rollercoaster ride where the viewer is in the hot seat. From thrills to nausea, the goal of the set piece is to give the audience a sense of being there. Because the sequences often pose a moral dilemma, the viewer will tend to feel queasy and uneasy.
Examples of sequences that have served as set pieces would include the execution of the three French soldiers for cowardice in “Paths of Glory.” Here, the ritual of death is given a macabre dignity. The knowledge that these men are not cowards but are scapegoats for the failures of their commanding general makes the ritual and the soldiers’ deaths painful beyond measure. A similar paradox infuses the sniper attack in “Full Metal Jacket.” We will examine that set piece in more detail later in the chapter.
In “2001: A Space Odyssey,” the single surviving astronaut’s trip into deep outer space creates a sense that time and space are being obliterated. Kubrick offered his interpretation of what it might be like to approach the speed of light by shooting the passage as a light show, with changes in speed indicated by the increasing diffusion and refraction as the astronaut approaches his destination. Whether hallucination or reality, the trip is quite unlike any other film journey in nature or length. It is otherworldly.
Another set piece that is lengthy and almost unbearable to experience is the duel between Barry Lyndon and his stepson. Kubrick takes us into the inner emotional state of the hatred of the son and the ambivalence of the father. The set piece ends with a life shattered, that of Barry Lyndon, who has lost his leg and his status as a result of living a life of slipping morals and degradation. Barry Lyndon’s fate is a caution to us all: To lift yourself above your station you must be able to pay the price.
We could include the attack on the ant hill in “Paths of Glory,” the robbery in “The Killing,” the final battle in “Spartacus,” and Torrance’s pursuit of his wife in “The Shining.” Using a mix of camera motion and compositional acuity, each of these set pieces powerfully contributes to the Kubrick mythology. We turn now to the films and excerpts we will discuss in the remainder of the chapter.
“2001: A Space Odyssey” (1968)
We begin with the dawn of man sequence in “2001: A Space Odyssey.” The film is presented as a history of mankind from the very beginning and well into the future. The focal point for the dawn of man sequence is the evolution and resulting primacy of the ape due to the development of weaponry. The focus of the balance of the film is on man’s struggle for mastery over technology and the mysteries of the spiritual. The plot of the outer space sequence is the journey of astronaut Dave Bowman (Keir Dullea). The film concludes with his death and his rebirth. The dawn of man sequence begins in a timeless age. Eventually the ape appears and cohabits with other animals, but the quest for food means that the less powerful creatures are food for the more powerful ones. Night is a time of fear for the community of apes. Rivalries with other communities of apes, over water, seem to have no resolution. The stone is introduced. A deity of sorts, the stone is mysterious. The apes gather about it in curiosity and wonderment. A scene follows where an ape realizes that a bone can smash other bone. A cutaway to the stone suggests thought, association, perhaps learning and intelligence. The bone is effective in crushing other bone and other prey—food for the families. The formerly vegetarian apes gather at night to eat their meat. In another dispute over water, one group of apes armed with weapons kill the leader of their adversaries. They are victorious and take possession of the water hole. In this sequence, timelessness has passed into a progressive sense of time. Intelligence, learning, and possession have all come from the stone and weaponry. The dawn of man is over. Millions of years and man’s history has been presented in a sequence that is less than 20 minutes.
“Barry Lyndon” (1975)
If a kind of progressive arrogance was at the heart of the dawn of man sequence, pride and its price are the core of the opening sequence of “Barry Lyndon.” Barry Lyndon is a poor Irishman of noble birth. His father dies in a duel as the film opens, and Barry will become the victim of a duel with his stepson as the film ends. In between, Kubrick chronicles the life of a character whose choices in life, in Ireland and later in a career and marriage on the Continent, are increasingly immoral. In the end, Barry is a victim not so much of circumstance as of his own moral weakness. The opening sequence focuses on Barry’s love and desire for his own cousin, Nora. Initially, she is seductive and encourages his affections. In the end, however, she chooses to marry a British captain who has the income necessary to restore her and her family to a more stable position. Barry does not accept her choice and feels that his honor is stained. He challenges the captain to a duel. A sham duel is staged that leads Barry to believe that he has killed the captain. He leaves home, never to return. This is the last sense of youthful innocence Barry Lyndon will experience.
“Full Metal Jacket” (1987)
The third excerpt we focus on is the sniper attack from “Full Metal Jacket” that occurs in the latter part of the film. The film breaks down into two phases: basic training and combat. In basic training, we watch Joker (Matthew Modine) and his fellow recruits become a unit of killing machines, as the master sergeant characterizes them. The sequence ends with the most continually humiliated recruit (Vincent D’Onofrio) killing the master sergeant and himself. Basic training is over. The film then shifts to Vietnam and primarily focuses on the Battle of Hue. The platoon has just lost its lieutenant and is now being led by Cowboy (Arliss Howard). The platoon is nervous and lost. A soldier is sent to scout a way forward and is wounded by a sniper. When he is shot again another soldier goes to his rescue, but he, too, is shot, and both end up dead because no tanks are available to come to their rescue. As the platoon moves up closer to the sniper’s position, Cowboy is shot and killed. The rest of the platoon moves in for revenge. They wound the sniper, a young woman. As they gather around her they decide to let her die from her wounds. Joker is particularly conflicted because the young woman is now begging to be killed. Finally, he shoots her. The sequence ends as the remainder of the platoon returns to combat.
“Eyes Wide Shut” (2000)
The final excerpt I will use is the opening sequence of “Eyes Wide Shut” (2000). Screenwriter Frederic Raphael wrote an intriguing memoir on his work with Stanley Kubrick (Eyes Wide Open, Ballantine Books, New York, 1999). It offers insights into the Kubrick process and is especially meaningful as Kubrick died just as the film was released in North America in 2000. The film, provocative as any of Kubrick’s works, is a cautionary fable about the limits of narcissism. William Harford (Tom Cruise) is a New York physician with a beautiful apartment and a beautiful wife, Alice (Nicole Kidman). His problem is a gnawing dissatisfaction with his life. Is his wife bored and keen on an extramarital affair? Why do his rich clients act out their sexual desires to the detriment of their relationships and in spite of their social position? Why do all the people he admires and cares about seek danger and thrills? Should he, too? He does seek out danger and thrills that threaten his marriage, but in the end he and his wife, almost in a state of resignation, opt to remain together.
The sequence we are concerned with begins with preparations for Victor Ziegler’s Christmas party at his home, which looks like a museum. The Harfords know no one, but Alice seems to be taken up with looking at those who may or may not be looking at her. She seems to seek the looking, to need it. And she finds it. Bill is scooped away to rescue his host from potential embarrassment when his woman of the moment almost dies of an overdose. Alone, Alice is approached by a handsome Hungarian lothario who, as Alice continues to become more drunk, attempts to sweep her off her feet. In the end, after many dances, he proposes a tryst but she points to her wedding ring. He retorts that her ring should only liberate her to do as she wishes (in her search for pleasure). She waves goodnight but with a mixed message. She blows him a kiss. The evening concludes with a sexual encounter between husband and wife, but, as earlier, Alice looks away as if to see if anyone else is admiring her, besides her husband.
Text Interpretation
Kubrick’s director’s idea, the darkness of modern life, required a scale of narrative ambition that is rare in filmmaking. Only D.W. Griffith, Eisenstein, and Orson Welles have exhibited a similar level of ambition. Kubrick was always attracted to themes of scale. In some cases, the scale was so great as to defeat the project, as in the case of his Napoleon film, but even early in his career Kubrick was able to create epic narratives. In 1957, he made “Paths of Glory” from the Humphrey Cobb novel. Even a director of the stature of George Stevens had been unable to unlock studio support for the production of the Cobb novel. Kubrick was able to do it by securing one major star, Kirk Douglas. By making the film in Europe at the Munich Studios and by using B actors for the other roles, Kubrick was able to produce a film of enormous narrative ambition. Within three years he was making “Spartacus,” a major Hollywood epic, and although he lost control of the film to its star/producer Kirk Douglas, the film remains one of the great epics to be produced by Hollywood.
Kubrick’s narrative ambition grew exponentially. In 1962, he produced “Lolita,” based on Nabokov’s verboten love classic. He followed that film with his classic about nuclear holocaust, “Dr. Strangelove,” and reached his pinnacle shortly thereafter with “2001: A Space Odyssey,” a film about nothing less than all of human history and our future. Five years later, “A Clockwork Orange,” his translation of Burgess’ novel, seems less ambitious but only in comparison to his own “2001: A Space Odyssey” film. The film remains the ultimate parable about private aggression and public or governmental control of that aggression. The film ended his serious phase of films about adolescent angst. “Barry Lyndon” was of course a return to a larger palate. The tale of Barry Lyndon, or Redmond Barry, as he begins life is the basis for a more general narrative about 18th-century European life, particularly with regard to the role of money in the course of the life of the noble class. Thackeray and his film translator Kubrick proposed that money— its necessity, the means of acquiring it, and the means necessary to hold on to it—altered man’s nature. It certainly did in the case of Barry Lyndon. The life of the title character allowed Kubrick to comment on the transitional period when romantic values were transformed into something altogether more modern, more dark.
“The Shining,” “Full Metal Jacket,” and “Eyes Wide Shut,” all set in the here and now, are each specific in character but general in their implications of loss. Both “The Shining” and “Full Metal Jacket” articulate a loss of innocence. A writer isolated by his work as the custodian of a closed resort loses his mind in “The Shining.” A writer, Joker, struggles to sustain his conscience and humanity in the midst of soldiering in “Full Metal Jacket.” Finally, in “Eyes Wide Shut,” it is the ample culture of narcissism that is under attack. The Harfords’ life is materially rich—this is the specific. The generality enters when the search for spiritual richness is misinterpreted as the search for sexual gratification. No spiritual rewards here, only death and disappointment. Again, the specific was broadened into a generality as Kubrick looked for the large themes of modern life.
Important in the creation of scale are two other features of Kubrick’s text interpretation. The first is the centrality of ideas in his narrative, and the second is his approach to character in his films. In “2001: A Space Odyssey,” the narrative is remarkably ambitious, but essentially it conveys the idea that, although progress has been made, the arrogance produced by that progress has eroded man’s capacity to be in the world. The erosion has made man nature’s victim rather than its master. In “Full Metal Jacket,” the creation of killing machines may seem necessary to further modern imperialism but the consequent loss in humanity and empathy for others more than offsets the gains. In “Eyes Wide Shut,” the modern material world is a pretty empty, lonely place, instead of being a cornucopia of joy and well-being. All of the characters in “Eyes Wide Shut” are well off materially (except perhaps for the women in the sex-for-sale business), but the characters come across as depressed and spiritually flat.
In order to go from the specific to the general, a particular approach to character is required. When I discussed George Stevens and his approach to character in an earlier chapter, I noted the importance of the audience identifying with the characters and all that Stevens deployed to deepen that identification. The opposite is at play with Kubrick. He invites simply watching a character rather than empathizing with that character, and he tends to treat the character as a stereotype rather than as a three-dimensional person. Although we might admire Joker’s antiauthoritarian streak, we never know enough about him to care more deeply in “Full Metal Jacket.” When Cowboy dies, he is no more than Joker’s friend and the platoon’s nervous recent leader. His death is the pointless death of yet another soldier, the general case more than the specific. Whether the character is unsympathetic, as is the short-tempered Redmond Barry in “Barry Lyndon,” or arrogant, as is astronaut Bowman in “2001: A Space Odyssey,” the result is the same. We watch these characters rather than seeing ourselves in them. In this way they too become the general rather than the specific.
Another technique of Kubrick’s was to position the main character as his own antagonist. This point is clearest in “The Killing” and “The Shining,” but it is also the case of Redmond Barry in “Barry Lyndon.” His treatment of his wife and her son moves him from protagonist to antagonist. In “2001: A Space Odyssey,” Bowman’s treatment of Hal the computer also raises the question of who is the protagonist and who is the antagonist. The computer seems victimized by the human, so Bowman, who eventually disconnects Hal because of his arrogance and his actions, is put in the position of antagonist.
Another important feature of Kubrick’s interpretation was the narrative, and in his narratives we can identify distinct choices he made that promoted his director’s idea. Kubrick’s films have an almost overabundant plot as compared to the character layer of the film. One might suggest that people in Kubrick’s films are not as important as the external events of the film. This was certainly Raphael’s experience when he worked with Kubrick on the script of “Eyes Wide Shut” (see his Eyes Wide Open). In “Full Metal Jacket,” coping with external events, basic training, and the Battle of Hue shaped the reactions of the characters, and in “Barry Lyndon,” Redmond Barry is always reacting to external events—a duel, a war, his actions to come up with clientele for a mentor, his cousin’s efforts to marry well, his mother’s efforts to control his wife’s assets— that all lead the character down the slippery slope that is his life. A robbery and its course shape the reactions of the main character and his colleagues in “The Killing.” In “Paths of Glory,” the attack on the ant hill causes the general to deem his men cowards and to designate three to die to restore the honor of the French army. Here, the main character who led the charge on the ant hill is called upon to defend the three men designated as cowards. Plot in each case is powerful and has a formative effect on the main character. The scale of the plot in each case overwhelms the main character.
Finally, in terms of tone, Kubrick deployed irony to distance us from the character and to amplify the power of the plot. I have already mentioned the scene of Slim Pickens riding a nuclear weapon toward its destination as if it were a bucking bronco, the ape discovering that a bone could be a weapon, the bravado of the platoon being filmed by a television crew with each acting as a performer, Alex dancing and beating his victim to the tune of “Singin’ in the Rain”—all of these actions and scenes deploy irony, but none is on the level of Humbert Humbert in “Lolita” who marries the girl’s mother to be nearer to the child. Kubrick brought the same sense of irony to the suburban American values in “Lolita.” That same irony is at play in “Eyes Wide Shut” but with urban material values as its target. At times, the irony can be quite funny, particularly when Kubrick used comic actors, such as he did with Peter Sellers as Claire Quilty in “Lolita” and in such secondary roles as Dr. Strangelove in “Dr. Strangelove.” It works less well when he used literal actors such as Tom Cruise in “Eyes Wide Shut.” Nevertheless, an ironic tone is very important in a Kubrick film. It promotes distance from character and helps create a metaphorical space for Kubrick’s views on progress, character, and modern life.
Directing the Actor
Kubrick relied a great deal on his casting decisions. Because he was dealing with characters ranging from outright unlikable to conflicted, his actors had to compensate by generating a certain energy within their roles; for example, Malcolm McDowell in “A Clockwork Orange” and Matthew Modine in “Full Metal Jacket” were capable of expressing rage in their roles. Another type of casting used by Kubrick was a “pretty boy” look that implied sexual ambiguity or a reliance on sex as the first line of personal endeavor, such as the casting of Ryan O’Neal in “Barry Lyndon” and Tom Cruise in “Eyes Wide Shut.” In either case, the star persona fed the casting choice. A third dimension of Kubrick’s casting was his casting of the male predator, where a combination of aggression and sexuality was necessary for the actor taking on such a role. Jack Nicholson in “The Shining” and Sterling Hayden in “The Killing” and “Dr. Strangelove” are representative of this aspect of Kubrick’s casting. The look of the actor was another important dimension of Kubrick’s films; for example, Keir Dullea looks perfect as the astronaut in “2001: A Space Odyssey.”
Kubrick required his actors to operate within a very narrow range. Dullea played an astronaut who was the modern product of technology, so his emotional range was very limited. He seems to proceed without feeling, almost automatically, as if he were a robot. This narrow emotional range produces a lack of empathy or charm in his performance. Each actor in a Kubrick film uses a single extreme behavioral quality to drive the performance. Malcolm McDowell in “A Clockwork Orange” is always operating with aggression. James Mason in “Lolita” is always operating out of his desire. Ryan O’Neal in “Barry Lyndon” is always operating out of a shallow narcissism, as is Tom Cruise in “Eyes Wide Shut.” This narrowness worked well with powerful actors such as James Mason and Peter Sellers in “Lolita.” The strategy also worked well where the look of the actor had to imply the shallowness of a character. All the more remarkable, then, is the fact that the initial criticism of “Barry Lyndon” focused in good part on the casting of Ryan O’Neal. Now, 30 years later, “Barry Lyndon” is considered one of the great Kubrick films and the casting of Ryan O’Neal is no longer a source of criticism.
Notable is that all the actors and casting choices I have mentioned are men. This is because Kubrick’s films are focused on the male characters and the male point of view. Although Shelley Winters gave a significant performance in “Lolita,” as did Marie Windsor in “The Killing,” Kubrick films are primarily about men, and “Full Metal Jacket” and “Paths of Glory” (at least until the epilogue) are exclusively about men.
Directing the Camera
Like Max Ophuls (“Lola Montes”), Orson Welles (“Citizen Kane”), Carol Reed (“Odd Man Out”), and David Lean (“Oliver Twist”), Kubrick was obsessed with what he could do with camera movement as opposed to editing a series of shots. And, like these directors, Kubrick was an aesthetic explorer into the possibilities and impact of camera movement as much as he was a narrative director telling a story. He chose to move the camera about the chateau in the interior scenes in “Paths of Glory” as much for the joy of the movement as for the benefit of the narrative. Kubrick also enjoyed using pop music as reference points in his films, as well as such technical challenges as using candle illumination for the interiors in “Barry Lyndon.” These technical and aesthetic choices were the equivalent of Kubrick telling a joke—all are amusing but they are not the source of power in the Kubrick film.
In this section, we are looking for that mixture of a director’s idea and camera choices that yields filmic power. Many such examples can be found in Kubrick’s work. First, let’s look at an editing idea: I need to transport the audience to a different time, so I am going to use the idea of time and how it is experienced as my editing idea. In “2001: A Space Odyssey,” the dawn of man sequence begins in timelessness. This translates into extreme long shots that are static and give little indication of a change in the time of day as we move from one shot to the other. The next scene introduces the ape as a vegetarian. The scene is shared with other animals, and the sequence ends with the ape becoming food for the leopard. The pace throughout the scene is even, with nothing to indicate a temporal shift. As we move through the next scenes, primarily mid shots are used to introduce new ideas, such as night implying danger. When we arrive at the introduction of the monolith, the camera angles shift and we have a shift in the power grid. Pace has entered, albeit modestly.
When we arrive at the discovery of the weapon much changes. Close-ups emphasize the importance of the bone. A cutaway to the monolith introduces a new idea—the power of the stone and the potential power of the bone. Once the potential for a weapon has been introduced as an idea, rapid cutting to the killing of animals and the primacy of the ape follows. Close-ups tell us that the importance of the discovery is understood. The rapid pace of the cutting indicates that a different sense of time has been established. The sense of time is totally changed from the opening scene at the dawn of time.
Turning to “Barry Lyndon,” the idea once again was to transport the audience to a different time, to the different rhythms of the 18th century. To do so, Kubrick slowed down the pace of the introduction to “Barry Lyndon.” He moved the camera physically but also used a zoom lens in order to lengthen the shots. The result is that, instead of shots lasting a few seconds, numerous shots last 30 to 60 seconds. By the time this first sequence is concluded, we are on 18thcentery time, or at least Kubrick’s version of it. He has via an editing idea transported us into another sense of time—the dawn of man in “2001: A Space Odyssey” and the 18th century in “Barry Lyndon.”
A second idea Kubrick employed and tried to capture with the camera was the restlessness of the Harfords in “Eyes Wide Shut.” He used the moving camera to represent that restlessness. When the film opens, Bill and Alice are preparing for a party. They leave their spacious Manhattan apartment to go to the museum-like residence of Victor Ziegler. The camera roams before them, recording their restlessness. At the party, when Bill is preoccupied by two beautiful women, the camera again records them moving. Whether the restlessness implied here equates movement with sexual desire or energy is open to interpretation. Once Alice begins to dance with the handsome Hungarian, the camera again moves, left to right, right to left, simulating the seductive movement of a dance. The movement also seems to center them to the exclusion of others at the party (except for Bill). The proximity of the camera to the dancing couple also raises the seductive quality of their proximity to one another. Again, the restlessness of the camera creates a feeling. In both of these scenes, the movements have a self-absorbed quality and a sexual quality. The camera movement furthers Kubrick’s ideas about the source of the restlessness or the dissatisfaction of these characters. This restlessness, of course, goes right to the heart of Kubrick’s director’s idea.
Finally let’s look at the sniper attack in “Full Metal Jacket.” It exemplifies how Kubrick used point of view to convey the idea that war is all about killing and fighting to retain one’s humanity. The sequence has two phases—the sniper’s attack on the platoon and the platoon’s attack on the sniper. In the first phase, Kubrick applied cinéma vérité strategies, such as the hand-held camera, the extensive use of camera movement, and the strategic use of close-ups, to give the audience a feeling of being under attack. During this phase, three members of the platoon, including its leader, Cowboy, are killed. The deaths are sudden and violent.
In the second phase of the attack, the attack on the sniper, the pace slows down and many static shots replace the moving shots. In this scene, only one person, the sniper, is killed. This scene has many more close-ups than the scene that preceded it. In this scene, Joker’s decision about killing the young female sniper who wants to be killed is presented as intense and painful and in close-up. The aggression of the rest of the platoon toward the enemy contrasts sharply with Joker’s conflicted feelings about killing. When he does shoot her it is his humane response to a suffering person rather than revenge against a hated enemy who moments before had killed his only friend in the platoon. By slowing down the scene and focusing on Joker’s dilemma, Kubrick humanized the enemy and created a paradox for the viewer. If my enemy is human can he remain my enemy? This is the consequence of Kubrick’s director’s idea in “Full Metal Jacket.” Modern war is the largest shadow cast over modern life. Killing is killing, whether in its modern version or a more ancient form.
Few directors are more powerful than Stanley Kubrick when he deployed the camera and the edit to his director’s idea.