Stanley Kubrick’s Dr. Strangelove was released 49 years ago, today.
In a longer piece entitled “Making the Case for Kubrick”, I assessed his remarkable career (find that HERE).
Here is some of what I had to say about what might ultimately be his most perfect (if not best or most important) movie:
Is it possible to get tired of a tour de force like Dr. Strangelove? Understanding that Kubrick intentionally asked George C. Scott to add one “over the top” take for each scene (knowing full well that those were the takes he planned to use) causes one to further appreciate the perfection.
What other director could oversee a scene like this (albeit with the considerable assistance of the brilliant cast he assembled)?
This truly is one of those exceedingly rare movies that can be enjoyed, over and over, for the simple joy it provides. It’s hilarious, and the intelligent viewer innately understands –and appreciates– the grim alternative reality simmering constantly below the surface. It is one of the out-and-out funniest films ever made, and it boasts what has to be one of the all-time great casts. For much of this, Kubrick deserves credit and kudos. His ultimate achievement, aside from the steady craftsmanship and originality, might be the realization that Dr. Strangelove had to be a comedy. The novel he adapted, Red Alert was a dead-serious potboiler; Kubrick instinctively understood how poorly that would play on screen (at least in most director’s hands) but also how crucial it was to satirize. The results, equally a tribute to that crackerjack cast, are a testament to Kubrick’s intelligence and vision.
Where so many of our most renowned directors cultivate a particular style, Kubrick—perhaps because of his fixations—made movies about so many different people and places it seems impossible (in a good way) that the same man was responsible for them all. Of course, there are the familiar nuances and compulsive touches that connect certain moments as Kubrickian. There is the long, disconnected stare (think Alex from A Clockwork Orange, Jack from The Shining or Leonard from Full Metal Jacket). There is the soundtrack music: aside from Scorsese, has any other director made more songs indelibly associated with specific scenes? There is, above all, the irony. Some see pessimism, but attentive viewers understand that Kubrick, for all his precision, always removed himself from the acting and the action. If his films have moments that are more aesthetically perfect than emotionally convincing, Kubrick could never be accused of being cynical. Like our very best directors, he consistently conjures up other times and places while offering profound comment on the here and now.
