Fifty Years After…It’s 2001 Again

Breaking news! (for isn’t everything?):

“New, ‘unrestored’ 70mm prints of ‘2001: A Space Odyssey’ will be released in select U.S. theaters in May, to mark the 50th anniversary of Stanley Kubrick's science fiction masterpiece.

 

Warner Brothers said Wednesday that a new print will premiere at the Cannes Film Festival on May 12th…. The re-release will then open in select U.S. cities beginning May 18.”

Once again— or for the first time for new generations— we will get to ask ourselves, with “unrestored” minds, what exactly is the meaning of that mysterious black monolith anyway? That keeps showing up in a number of unexpected places?

That giant slab, and the larger movie that contains it, have been the subject of all sorts of ruminations and interpretations.

In some ways, 2001: A Space Odyssey reminds me of abstract painting. You can’t exactly pin down its meaning, yet it stirs something within you. You’ve seen these colors before, yet they’re applied in unexpected ways. It has no readily identifiable form, yet one emerges if you look long enough.

Then “off the canvas” and in motion, imagine the use of classical music in lieu of a typical movie score. Which only further adds to its intrigue and wonderment as to where this is all going. What’s “Blue Danube Waltz” doing in a place like this?

The dialogue in 2001 is often of little help, as there’s so little of it. The first word isn’t spoken until 25 minutes into the film. The last word, 20 minutes before the end. Which begins just before the Star Gate extravaganza that is worth the proverbial price of admission alone. It was a must-see for the 1960’s counterculture and hippie wannabes, when the film was first released (“Man, atta sight!”). Think… the Fillmore East, meets NOVA, meets Peter Max.

Culminating in that exclamation point called Star Child, heading back to earth in an amniotic bubble sac (and winding up below in my “Quote of the Month” piece).

Kubrick was mesmerized by big questions for which there are no definitive answers. He was dealing here in matters of human evolution, existentialism, the impact of technology and artificial intelligence, our place in the universe, extraterrestrial life, a rebirth of the species. You know, the common everyday concerns we all have when we’re not dealing with downloading pictures of our food and pets on Facebook.

The inspiration for it, in the main, was Arthur Clarke’s short story The Sentinel. Though that was just a starting point and ultimately bears little resemblance to the final 2001 script, which was co-written by Clarke (with a novel to follow) and Kubrick.

Interestingly, while Kubrick never liked to speak about the film’s meaning, (leaving that to audience interpretation), and as an avowed atheist, he did have this to offer once in an interview:

“I will say that the God concept is at the heart of 2001 but not any traditional, anthropomorphic image of God….But I do believe that one can construct an intriguing scientific definition of God, once you accept the fact that there are approximately 100 billion stars in our galaxy alone….I'd be very surprised if the universe wasn't full of an intelligence of an order that to us would seem God-like.”

And then there’s HAL.

“He” (gender attribution based on its male voice), not only overruns the mission, but nearly the film itself (and the next few paragraphs of this essay). He represents a whole sub-theme in himself. HAL9000 has long since become one of filmdom’s most iconic villains, representing a dystopian picture of humanity’s worst fears concerning Artificial Intelligence (AI).

All flashy visuals in the movie aside, his daunting presence and oddly moving demise are unforgettable. For in addition to his vast intelligence—which we of 2018, know would be possible to program —he possesses a broad range of emotions which congeal into an egomaniacal hubris. A belief in the infallibility of self. Which makes him all too human, and something we recognize all too well. Unfortunately.

This reminds me of my electronic devices which on any given day will start doing something I didn’t direct them to do. And stubbornly, won’t tell me how to undo it. (“I’m sorry Ron. I’m afraid I can’t do that. This ‘app’ is too important for me to allow you to jeopardize it.”).

And as for the implications? This assessment of AI attributed to the late Stephen Hawking, is rather harrowing:

“The development of full artificial intelligence could spell the end of the human race. Once humans develop artificial intelligence, it will take off on its own and redesign itself at an ever-increasing rate. Humans, who are limited by slow biological evolution, couldn't compete and would be superseded.”

First, it was high cholesterol. Now I’ve got to worry about this?

Yet, more optimistic scientific minds claim that a HAL can’t happen. The thinking goes that we will never be able to program human emotions, as we ourselves don’t really understand them. Psychologists and neuroscientist are trying to learn how emotions interact with cognition, but it remains a mystery. Having gone out over my skis at times, I would vouch for that POV.

Since 1968, I had never watched the movie in its entirety, until last month via On Demand. And while I was blown away by it again, it does demand a viewing on a big screen. Most especially, to appreciate all the wondrous special effects that were created in an analog world, before the advent of computer generated imagery. As 2001 will be playing in various theaters this month, I intend to see it yet again. Perhaps, with a little help from my friends.

For the record (who’s record?), this film is prominently placed within a list of the greatest ever made, by both the American and British Film Institutes. Though it was far less acclaimed at the time of its release. While it got four Oscar nominations, it won only one, for Best Special Effects. And while Kubrick was nominated for Best Director, the picture itself was not. Heck, it didn’t even get a nomination for best costuming. Did the Academy think those prehistoric apes at the beginning of the film were real? But let’s not go there again. “The Oscars” often lack intelligence. Human or artificial.

Accompanying the film upon its return, a book was published last month that covers literally every aspect of its making. It would probably make for a good film in its own right. Someone who certainly ought to know about such things, added this blurb of praise:

 

“…lively, exciting and exhaustively researched book,
which expands our understanding of what is truly
one of the greatest films ever made.”

                                 — Martin Scorsese

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Quote of the Month

***

Recommendation to a Health Club

                      after Billy Collins, sort of

Construct a synthetic hill
but not one too steep,
say 33.3 degrees;

an angle that might be traversed
throughout the ages.
The incline though,

should be adjustable
for the genetically engineered
at some future date.

At bottom place
a medicine ball
of substantial girth,

so that those seeking
to add a few more summers
to their Hamptons

through this exercise—
something new under
a cancerous sun—

can roll it all the way up…
yet not quite reaching the top,
exhaustion being

not the better part of valor,
but the point upon which
the ego-
           busting
                      boulder
                                 rolls
                                        back
                                                down.

Though no sweat.
In a manner of speaking.
For as at a carnival,

a nearby barker
trained to exhort
dismayed contestants

whose hearts are pounding
like a zebra who’s been spotted
on the Serengeti—

“give me another hill!”
“Give me another hill!”
“Give me another hill!”

Yet in between these attempts
the usual options will remain.
Treadmilling into oblivion

with no Emerald City up ahead.
Biking along roads
paved with dementia.

Or skiing where
there is no slope,
though this recommended hill

could also serve that purpose
if slickened and at a safe distance
from that huge sphere,

which gathers no moss;
malevolence descending
bedeviling another

in pursuit of outlasting
that borrowed gift:
a cup of time.

Special Offer This Month Only!

                                 —Ron Vazzano

***

Fearless Girl is Moving

She was supposed to have been gone from here by now. Here, being at a traffic divider on Lower Broadway in the Financial District. Now, being March 8, 2018; a date since exceeded.

           http://chargingbull.com/video.html

When she was set down on this spot by a commercial firm the night before International Women’s Day last year, the original deal with the city, was that she be allowed to stay a week. But she caught the public’s imagination, and her stay was extended to a month. Then with the fervent backing of Mayor de Blasio, a month turned into a year. And now, the Fearless Girl will finally be moved.

For one thing, the tableau that had been created by her presence, suggestive of a David/Goliath confrontation, only increased the popularity of what was already a tourist destination. While that “bigly-testicled” bull was always a draw throughout the thirty years it stood alone, larger crowds have gathered since the girl’s arrival. Which has caused city officials to become concerned, as the number of pedestrians now spilling into the street create a safety hazard. Not to mention a tempting target they create for potential “truck-terrorists.”

She will now be moved three blocks away, facing the front of the New York Stock Exchange; an area blocked off from traffic. And she is being welcomed with open arms by the president of the exchange, Thomas Farley, who has called the statue “a striking symbol of our ongoing journey toward greater equality.” Which is a far cry from the reception she received from the Charging Bull’s creator when she was originally set down on “his” island last year. He threatened to sue, claiming infringement on his space and undermining the message behind his work. Yet nothing about his bull in bronze, nor his “bull” in concept, has suffered in the public eye.

It’s been an interesting year for Fearless Girl, to say the least. Women’s empowerment movements have arisen within that time—the pussy hat becoming the accessory of statement— magnifying the symbolism of what she stands for. Which goes far beyond her original dual purpose of “commerce” and “cause,” which was to promote the firm State Street Global Advisers, while championing the elevation of women to higher corporate positions within the financial world.

It has all gone far beyond original intentions. Does anyone think that the people taking selfies, or pictures of their children standing beside Fearless Girl, are associating these “Kodak moments” with finance? I for one, never overheard anything referencing the girl vis-a-vis Wall Street, when I visited the site shortly after her arrival. Clearly, she has already reached iconic status. When will figurines in her likeness hit the souvenir shops? Or have they by now.

Given now her broader context, is the stock exchange the most apt place for her new home? Why not move her around and display her in different settings and in unexpected places? Which was exactly the case, when a replica of the statue was installed in front of Norway’s legislative building in Oslo this past International Women’s Day. “I’m really excited that we have a piece on the other side of the world that’s sending this message of diversity,” said Kristen Visbal, the little girl’s creator; an immigrant to the U.S. from Uruguay.

Where next?

Meanwhile, it now seems (at least as of this writing), that the bull might be moved as well. To where? Di Blasio’s press secretary recently issued a statement saying, “The Mayor felt it was important that the ‘Fearless Girl’ be in a position to stand up to the bull and what it stands for. That’s why we’re aiming to keep them together.” The bull’s creator, septuagenarian Arturo Di Modica, is no doubt going to go ape-feces over this.

Can’t we all get along? Get on the same page? Work as a team?

***

Haiku Illustrated

***

Contemplation on a Flock of Birds Passing By

April was a bitch this year. Hardly as poetic as once expressed by T.S. Eliot, but I’m no Eliot. T.S. And so, when the clouds finally parted and the temperature rose in condescension to the fact of spring, I went out doors to see what was up. A flock of birds actually. And I thought of John Updike’s poem, “The Great Scarf of Birds.”

the flock ascended as a lady’s scarf,
transparent, of gray, might be twitched
by one corner, drawn upward, and then,
decidedly against, negligently tossed toward a chair:

Though “my” flock was one of symmetrical design, hardly something tossed. And while in another part of the poem Updike does mention “V’s of geese streaming south,” my V was not one of geese. There are no geese in New York City. I don’t think. Are there? I’ve never been at one with nature. Not even at one-half with nature.

Anyway, geese, shmeese or Edwin Meese, the point is about precision and working as a team. The point is about the apparent carrying out of a plan. Or do birds form a V on the fly? And that leads to a series of further questions regarding a scene I must have noticed a thousand times, but never really saw.

About the only times I might have contemplated the avian culture, was upon seeing Hitchcock’s The Birds (I remember the teaser campaign: The Birds is coming.) And perhaps, when I once went to Capistrano on St. Joseph’s Day to await the arrival of swallows. They never showed (fake news). Oh, and my talking parakeet Peter, who died sixty years ago. (A couple of years of therapy and I was over it). But on this day, what I noticed was so mesmerizing, that I even forget to take a picture of it. Astonishingly, there’s life going on outside the iPhone after all.

Check out the untouched photos below, lifted from the net and placed side by side.

I wondered if the night before, as birds don’t fly after dark—except of course owls…and frogmouths, nighthawks, and night-herons (I looked that…up)— what they might be planning? How does the word get out: “We take off tomorrow morning. Who’s in?” And do some make a choice to sleep in instead? And thereby missing out on the worm? And are some left out because they tend to wander into blue yonder, breaking ranks, screwing up the whole operation? Especially on those days where there might be a lot of sky to cover. Focus must be critical in Operation Big V (or as they no doubt tweet it, OBV).

Who exactly decides the alignment? Who leads? Who follows? And in what order? And like an orchestra, are there first and second violins, so to speak? Does one work one’s way up along the side of the V? And how is it determined who flies on which side. (“Why do I always have to fly on the same side, and she gets to choose?!”). And is it alright for others to join in along the way? Or is there some unwritten or un-cawed code, that says that’s a no-no? You don’t want to risk having some adversarial bird hacking into your V.

Yes, there is that one straggler in the upper righthand corner. A non-conformist. The one who always colored outside the lines. But really, how do they do this? And why? Not the Canadian pilots, but the birds. There must be some strategy behind it. I guess I could Google it and some ornithological geeks would have an answer. But I’d rather my imagination take wing. My obsession these days with human vs. artificial intelligence, has led me to open it up to the animal kingdom. At least in the aviary section, for now.

Pure animal instinct? Is that the short answer? But what instinct results in both sides of the bird-V being on the same metaphorical page, while I’d bet “both sides of the aisle” would not even agree that there are 17 birds depicted in the picture above? (What do you mean by depicted?). Our right wings and left wings forever at odds, in a manner of speaking.

Then I came across a squirrel who was hard at work. Which I’ll save for another beautiful day.

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fini