7) 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968)
Stanley Kubrick’s evolutionist/existentialist/technological/extra-terrestial/artificial-intelligence-on-a-bonkers-power-trip/whatever-else-you-want-to-call-it epic of 1968 has done nothing if not divide opinion. For some, it was a masterpiece, a true cinematic landmark, and an extraordinarily astute comment on the past, present – and future – of mankind. For others, well, the best part of the film was irrefutably the first four minutes….in which the screen remains entirely blank.
Even people who haven’t, let’s just say experienced, 2001 will recognize the beginning, even with the initial lack of picture. This is of course due to the use of Strauss’ magnificent “Also Sprach Zarathustra,” a piece of music made so famous by the movie that its title has all but formally been changed to share that of the film.
But Strauss wasn’t originally intended to be used here. Kubrick installed it as a temporary track, before later hiring popular composer Alex North (A Streetcar Named Desire, Who’s Afraid of Virgina Woolfe, Spartacus) to write the official score. Kubrick and North listened to Kubrick’s own choice of soundtrack, and North agreed to write something that would reflect it. Kubrick later gave his reaction to that little endeavour.
“The result was a soundtrack that could not have been more alien to the music we listened to, and much more serious than that, was a score which, in my opinion, was completely inadequate for the film.”
Bye-bye Alex.
[zergpaid]The next interesting little story is about the alien monolith. Arthur C. Clarke, who wrote the source material for 2001 and who worked with Kubrick on the film, had imagined the monolith to actually be a giant transparent screen, which would show the apes images from which they would learn their new information. But it was eventually decided that this was much too obvious and that a giant, plain black block would be much more effective at confusing everyone forever as to exactly how the apes were meant to have learned from it.
All they had to do now was build it – adding a graphite mix to the black paint to create a particularly smooth sheen – and then, in the words of production designer Tony Masters, ‘keep the damn thing clean.’ If the monolith did have any kind of supernatural power, attracting dust was apparently it.
Masters recalls:
“You’d put it on stage – and ‘foomp!’, it was covered in dust. You’d think “Oh s**t. I wonder if Stanley will see that?”
The 12 foot high monolith was wrapped in heavy plastic between scenes, and touching it was absolutely forbidden. If someone put their hand on it, it went straight back to the workshop for a re-spray.
But far and away the most exciting behind-the-opening-scene tale comes from Dan Richter – the mime artist employed by Kubrick to choreograph the ape-men.
Richter – who himself played Moonwatcher, the lead ape who first learns to use a bone as a tool – spent months at London Zoo, watching and studying the movements of various apes, and recreating them onscreen in his crew of actors. He was, in a way, one of the very first motion capture artists. Richter’s diary of the Dawn of Man sequence shoot records one particular day – the day on which they filmed the leopard attack.
Kubrick was insistent on this scene, arguing that it emphasized prehistoric man’s constant slavery to the hostility of his environment. One of the props designers had produced a stuffed lion’s head, but it didn’t meet with Kubrick’s standards. In order for the threat to be real, the animal itself had to be real…
Kubrick got in touch with Terry Duggan, an animal trainer from Southampton Zoo, who just happened to have a lion and a leopard in his collection. After watching Duggan play fighting with both of them, Kubrick decided on the leopard, as it looked more likely to actually kill someone (“Excellent news!” Richter’s team undoubtedly said). With Duggan himself wearing an ape costume, they rehearsed, and then set up for the take.
Everyone was nervous. Kubrick called action. The leopard, distracted by the lights and the activity on the set, was confused, and didn’t move. Duggan was dispatched to encourage him. Everyone went back to their places, and Kubrick called action again. This time, the leopard dutifully jumped down onto the set, and started to go towards Duggan, as planned. Well – as the crew had planned. Leopard clearly had other ideas. At the last moment he changed his mind, and went straight for Richter instead. The actors scattered, Duggan tackled the leopard, and a short break was taken (presumably so Richter could go and change his suit).
There is enough background on this particular opening sequence to fill an entire article. The dead horse that was painted to look like the dead zebra began to smell so bad under the heat of the lights that half the cast and crew could hardly make it onto the set. Kubrick originally wanted one of the man-ape suits to feature a fully functioning breast-feeding system. Ankle-zips are visible on some of the ape costumes.
But instead, we’ll finish with the final (and quite simply astonishing) flourish from the leopard-gate incident. In his 1969 Academy Award Submission for the film, Kubrick had to account on the form for what looked like a very dangerous scene involving a live leopard attacking and killing one of the ape-men. Word for word, here is Kubrick’s statement to the Academy:
“Duggan and the leopard were entirely alone on stage during the shoot. Background performers were added later, in a hand drawn matte.”
Stanley Kubrick. What a legend.
