A Kubrick Odyssey

Just a random story, a tribute to Stanley Kubrick. It doesn’t have a perfect or even well-thought beginning nor ending. The idea is to live Kubrick for a few moments, that’s it.

Even the word ‘movie buff’ was an understatement, some said about Abhay. It seemed right. Everytime he came to the neighbourhood shops or visited a friend nearby, they knew what he was going to talk about – movies. Sometimes there was Clint Eastwood with his cowboy hat, shooting in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, and sometimes there would be Jake Gyllenhaal’s intense performance in Nightcrawler. Sometimes he would talk about how Roman Polanski was obsessed with ladies, and this would be followed by certain examples and ‘theories’, other times it would be Scorsese and his trademarks in his movies. Be it college, or work, or his best friends or the random people, Abhay just knew movies. For him, they were a different world altogether, and the only parallel world we could see. Many said that they lived movies; he said even movies lived him.

His room was what one would expect, full of posters. On one wall there would be Rocky, the other wall would have Jaws and Jurassic Park. The next one would have Titanic and Gangs of New York, one had Eastern Promises and Life is Beautiful. His drawers were filled with DVDs of famous movies, and for the rest, his laptop had become the movie store. He would download twenty movies together and would prepare himself for the feast that would go on for three to four weeks. It was heaven for him, but not completely.

He would receive calls from his parents only to get scolded throughout. Lame, useless, mishap, the words stung him and he fought back, for he knew he won’t be able to live up to their expectations. It was a shame, he thought, dragging his butt everyday to the engineering college, only to skip them and roam around or go to movies. He knew he would make a movie someday. He dreamt of being a visionary director, like his most favourite Stanley Kubrick.

Yes, Kubrick was the man, he always wondered, the one who could do anything with camera. He didn’t believe in magicians, because they couldn’t do a Kubrick! It’s silly, he admitted, but it was passionate. His admiration for the director rose with every movie he watched of his. There was no coming back after he watched his first Kubrick movie – 2001: A Space Odyssey.

He loved it more than anything. He loved it right from the beginning, when the black screen immersed him for minutes, and the music in the background put him in a state of anticipation, which only grew with every passing minute; when the sun, earth and moon came in one line to give a stunning visual people in ’68 would not have imagined; when the apes (they looked so real) learnt to use tools, and the space part, oh, he loved everything. That fantastic edit from bone to spaceship was the scene he saw in dreams many times.

He always thanked the day his friend made him watch that space epic at his home. Before that, he said, he had been misguided. He worshipped Kubrick. He admired other greats of the filmmaking universe, but Kubrick was someone worth beyond just admiration. One would know that when he would sit and the topic would be Stanley Kubrick. The anecdotes would be fired one after the other, and it didn’t matter whether the listener loved it or got bored or abused him and went his way.

The summer was at its peak, and a night walk could somehow ease the discomfort. Though there was no sign of wind or even a breeze, but strolls do have some psychological effects that give us calmness. It was around 10 when Abhay locked his room and hurtled out on the street. He had been studying but that didn’t do anything good. He still couldn’t believe how he managed to go six hours without doing anything related to movies. No watching, no talking, no online portal discussions, not even reviewing, which he did everytime he watched a movie, only to keep them in his ‘Movie reviews’ folder for his friends to see. He never liked writing, but movies opened his mind, and since then he started typing his words onto the blank Word document, that, of course, contained nothing else but movies.

The street by this time of the night would go deserted. The leaves were still, and there weren’t dogs around to bark and claim their territories. No vendor either, and no sight of the footpath beds too. The humidity brought to him several urges: to go naked, or to jump in a massive pool of water, or to curse the Japanese for not inventing some sort of cooler that one could attach in his dress. He would, at times, blow a little breath through his lips towards his immature moustache to feel some sensation of relief. Yes, it didn’t work, but not always one should think about logics and practicals.

Now his aimless walk found a purpose. He steadied himself to look for a trace to make sure he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t afraid. This just occurred to his mind, and he decided to play a little game to indulge himself somehow. The best thing to forget the torturous humidity. Within a mile from where he started the game, there wasn’t a trace of any being. The emptiness of the environment gave him a peculiar feeling inside. He wondered if this was a dream, or some weird occurrence that he had seen in some movies. Maybe it’s like Midnight in Paris. Maybe after 10, the city turned into some silent graveyard, or to a post-apocalypse scenery. Or perhaps it was like one of those what-if situations, and this was: what if you are the only person in the entire world, or at least the city? Or maybe, what if you think you are the only person in the entire world or city?

That made sense. That must make sense, he thought. He walked all over the clean, wet road and gave a look at every shop or house that passed by to see a trace of any human being, even the ones sleeping in their homes. Maybe somewhere a light would be on, or he would see through a window a fan running, or maybe the sound of cooler. Well, no. It was as if the entire city had been locked up since years, as if it was recently found in excavation. The best part, he grinned at the thought, was that he never thought he was making silly stories. Movies gave him imagination, and so he imagined. And he loved when he imagined.

An arch could be seen ahead. It was a tunnel, made of solid bricks and the entrances were broad. There was strict darkness within but the lights from either sides illuminated the structure from inside. He walked ahead, his pace increased, and he could see the wet road shining in the light. One or two steps further and, eureka, he saw a man sitting inside on the left side, by the wall. He looked at him at a moment, struggling inside with a decision to go there or stay. The next moment he stepped ahead, celebrating inside for he had won. He was not alone, thank God. The guy might be drunk, or homeless, or some criminal, the possibilities were many, but none that could make Abhay halt and turn back. He was getting lured nonetheless. The darkness of the tunnel didn’t scare him, the man sitting there didn’t, for some funny reason, the possibility that it wouldn’t be something to cherish scared him. Thanks to his monotonous life and the influence of movies, he believed he deserved much better. He had always believed that.

With every step that brought him closer to the man, his wide span of imagination pictured several things, one of which could be inside the tunnel. He never kept away from thinking the man could be a magician, or even God himself. Anything is possible in this world, he thought, we just have to believe. His white t-shirt embraced his lean body as he found himself all wet and sweaty. He paced himself up and reached the tunnel, which was surprisingly clean. The man was sleeping. Half of his body was covered in the pitch darkness, the other half, to be precise, the legs, were the only parts Abhay had seen from a distance. He couldn’t figure out if the man was actually sleeping, passed out or dead. He reached him and looked at him for a moment. Then he called out, ‘Hey!’

The man sat up properly and for the very first time Abhay saw his face. He was bald, with some white hair remaining around his head. He had a thick moustache and white beard, and glasses on his eyes. He had worn a coat and his tie was loose from the collar. He looked exhausted, but his eyes seemed energetic. He looked straight in the eyes of Abhay and stood up, leaving Abhay in disbelief for once, then in shock, then in a slight horror, later defeated by the delight.

Stanley Kubrick was standing right before his eyes.

‘Mr. Kubrick! Mr. Kub…’ Abhay’s voice kept fading. His feet trembled, and he couldn’t understand what this was all supposed to mean. His breath turned heavy, and the heart pounded. His pupils dilated, partially in horror, and his lips went dry. In spite of such a sight of disbelief and weirdness, he felt an adrenaline rush in his spines. The sense of joy filled his nerves and immediately everything seemed to have been coloured in his world.

‘Yes’, Kubrick’s voice was deep and husky. ‘I missed this tunnel so much.’

And then, for the very first time, Abhay realised that there wasn’t any tunnel where he stood. It must be a dream, he wondered.

‘T…tunnel..? Why?’

‘Last time I was here it was in 1970 or 71. I was directing…’

‘A Clockwork Orange!’ Abhay exclaimed.

Kubrick looked at the boy and nodded his head. ‘A Clockwork Orange.’

‘I love that movie, sir. In fact, I love all your movies.’

Stanley chuckled, and kept a hand around Abhay’s shoulders. They walked out of the tunnel. Abhay waited for Stanley to say something. He wanted to know him, now that he was with him. He wanted to know his mind, and then boast about it to everyone who mocked him. But he knew it’s like those films when no one else would believe or see Stanley.

Abhay, while walking, jumped to his feet in excitement, and Stanley startled.

‘What is it, boy?’

‘Why did you make 2001?’

‘Because I wanted to.’

‘Why you wanted to make 2001?’

Stanley turned to Abhay and studied his face. Even in this humidity, the boy’s face glowed with enthusiasm. His eyebrows had risen and his glittering eyes awaited his favourite director’s response. He wanted an answer, and Stanley tried to hide his smile and succeeded, before he responded to the boy’s query.

‘Don’t you know?’ was all he said.

‘I know, but want to hear you on this.’

‘Hmm’, he paused, then resumed, ‘Humans, us humans were the reason for it. We think we are Gods, don’t we? We may pray, we may say we believe, but when we are given power, when we are made to feel extraordinary, that’s when we believe that maybe there is no God. We are supreme. We created machines. We are developing. Are we? Mankind has progressed so much that it’s in danger now.’

‘Hmmmmmmm’, Abhay pursed his lips. The sound of their shoe-heels echoed in the seemingly empty street. Both of them were drenched in sweat now, but there wasn’t any sign of exhaustion, or boredom. Passion was in their nerves, passion to know, to describe, to explain. One hell of a night, Abhay thought.

He took in some breath, then turned to Stanley. ‘You’re right. Deforestation, modern machines, robots, we think we are doing this mankind good, but we’re luring it to destruction. War and politics, you know better.’

‘Who doesn’t?’ Stanley responded. ‘We all know what wars do to people. It looks cool from the outside, but some of them go through more than just a war, or bloodshed, or hatred. Everything, everyone is involved. You see the limit to which a human can go, and turn insane. Right and wrong is lost. The line is diminished. Everything goes to the oblivion. The devil takes over your mind.’

‘So this is why wars always fascinated you?’

‘They didn’t fascinate me. They disturbed me. This entire concept of war is natural but anti-nature. It is disheartening.’

Abhay nodded. His mind was filled with lots of questions, but he didn’t want to annoy Stanley, whose face already seemed to show a certain degree of infuriation. They walked to a park. The dogs were all over the grass. Some snuggled into the bushes, some were over the walls. There were also some kittens playing around the benches. Stanley walked up to them and picked a brown one and started caressing her fur. Abhay folded his arms across his chest and watched him getting indulged with the kittens and almost forgetting that he was not alone. All of a sudden, cool breeze blew and sighs from both the men came out as they looked at each other with a satisfactory smile.

‘Damn, this feels homely. I had cats. I loved them.’

‘Yes, I have seen on internet.’

Stanley chuckled. Modern times, he thought.

‘The world is a canvas. If you see it closely, there is geometry everywhere, there is beauty in every bit. Today, you folks have everything right before you ‘cause of internet. Great thing, but give yourself some time to be with nature, everything about nature. Observe the people, animals, trees, things, and your life will change.’

‘Yeah, that’s why you are…were…umm….whatever…so obsessed with symmetrical shapes. I’ve noticed in all your movies.’

‘Not just symmetry, all sorts of shapes. We have art all around us’, Stanley kept the kitten down, and made an O with his fingers, ‘the world itself has this shape, so you can’t ignore the shapes and objects around us, can you?’

‘No, but we do. I do.’

‘You shouldn’t! One can live without the machines and stuff, but how can you survive without nature? Machines begin to control you after you start loving them. I hope you know that.’

Yes, Abhay thought, and recalled in his mind the famous scene of 2001, where HAL tries to take revenge from the astronauts who want it destroyed.

‘You watch a lot of movies?’ Stanley asked.

‘Yes, sir. I aspire to be a director, but my parents don’t…’

‘Shut up. Just go out and make movies. Get a camera, or borrow it, or whatever, and go out and shoot. You are not a kid anymore, are you?’

‘Yeah, but things here are a bit complicated.’

‘You mistook me for a fool. You sure don’t plan to adjust yourself to these complications, do you?’

‘No.’

‘See, you’ve got only one life, and so you got to do what you wish to do. It’s your life. You aren’t someone’s lamp to fulfill their wishes. What about your wishes? Just go out, make some movies, go out. And please, make some sensible movies.’

Abhay saw Stanley’s eyes rolling. He smiled and nodded in agreement. The wind starting blowing. To their delight, the rain may come soon. The sky also roared and banging of windows could be heard. The sound of it was beautiful.

‘You are used to this humidity, I am not.’, Stanley grunted.

They kept walking ahead. Abhay’s mind was filled with visuals he would use in his movies. He imagined himself as an acclaimed director, just like Kubrick. He would make serious, debatable, even controversial cinema. Who better than Kubrick to give some advice on filmmaking? He turned to Kubrick, and found himself alone.

He looked around. He was alone. The wind blew faster and with a loud, long roar, the rain started. Abhay kept looking around. He checked the nearby stores. No trace of Kubrick, or anyone. He looked at the sky and felt the rain drops kissing his face every second. A smile of satisfaction emerged on his lips. It was a dream come true. It was a memorable experience, one that no one would believe, but it won’t matter, because it was meant for him.

He turned around, still not giving up, and headed for the bridge where he met him, unsure of the existence of the bridge itself.