It's somewhat ironic that the narrative takes place over the course of about three days because the production literally holds the world record for having the longest number of shoot days with a whopping 400. Most movies are the result of a compromise between the filmmakers' intentions and what they were able to achieve given the time and money available to them, but 'Eyes Wide Shut (1999)' seems to be an exercise in sheer perfectionism. Having said that, if director Stanley Kubrick had survived to see its release, I'm almost certain he would have still found something to pick out as being not exactly what he wanted it to be. We are all our own worst critics, after all. Still, the result is a film that nobody can claim isn't at least incredibly close to its director's vision, despite his untimely death shortly after the final edit was delivered to the studio. Kubrick was so meticulous - a descriptor practically synonymous with his work - that he even went so far as to hire a team to recreate the streets of New York on a sound stage in London using exact measurements gathered by members of the production crew who didn't share his fear of flying. Even after every aspect of the production design, costuming, blocking, dialogue and performance had been decided, the cast and crew were plagued by an exhausting amount of takes; Vinessa Shaw was originally contracted for two weeks for her single scene, but this ballooned to two months thanks to the repetition demanded by the director. Kubrick also pushed his actors so far that Tom Cruise developed an ulcer and Nicole Kidman had an as-yet-undiscovered benign cyst exacerbated by the six-day-long shooting of a sex scene that only resulted in around a minute of actually used footage. The married couple were also forced to undergo therapy alongside their director, which both parties have agreed never to elaborate on, and to have the seeds of suspicion sewn into their real relationship by an atmosphere of secrecy on set.
The obvious question is: was it worth it? Almost everyone who has been interviewed about the picture, and working with Kubrick in general, seems more than happy to have undergone the impossibly tiring yet ostensibly rewarding process. However, there are reports of genuine suffering caused by this method (Shelley Duvall's treatment of the set of 'The Shining (1980)' comes to mind). Plus, art is arguably defined by the restrictions encountered while creating it; putting down the brush for the last time and declaring your piece complete is the only thing that transforms art-in-progress into actual art. In either case, perhaps the question itself is irrelevant - or, at the very least, so subjective that any answer to it would be equally as personal as it is pointless.
Kubrick's final feature is a bit of an odd one, a slow-paced micro-odyssey that sees Tom Cruise wander around New York while contemplating his marriage and the role that non-monogamy could play in it. Though almost every aspect of the picture circles back to sex in one way or another, its most potent underlying themes are mystery and class. Practically everything about the piece is an enigma in its own right, from its floaty and almost ethereal aesthetic to its elusive and almost dream-like plot. The protagonist is sent spiralling into an existential crisis when he comes to realise he doesn't understand his wife, nor the relationship between them, as well as he thought he did, a crisis which externalises itself in the form of a pensive journey of discovery. Yet, the further down the rabbit hole the hero goes, the less things make sense; definitive answers are nowhere to be found. The class system, and the various characters' place within it, is explored and challenged throughout the piece. It initially seems as though the wealthy and successful lead is on the top rung of capitalistic society, able to casually flash his cash in almost every scenario and get things that everyone else simply wouldn't have access to. Soon, though, it becomes clear that he's actually on the bottom rung of an entirely different ladder, one which leads to a place so potent and powerful that nobody outside of it really knows of its existence and those who occupy it can do unimaginable things with no fear of repercussion. Both of the main themes collide - and, arguably, come into focus - during the film's most infamous scene. I won't spoil its events just in case you've somehow managed to avoid knowledge of them, but I will say that this eerie and uncomfortable sequence represents the point at which the class system becomes a mystery and the other mysteries become subject to the class system. It's a disturbing moment because it represents an intangible horror, a sort of societal wound that you may not be aware of until you notice yourself picking at the scab. Once you've heard of it, you won't rest until you've seen it; once you've seen it, you won't ever rest again. It also, in a way, represents the vast unknowable nature of the universe and is a microcosm for the feature at large.
The more you think about the movie, the scarier it gets. In the moment, though, it plays out as a compelling and unconventional drama that constantly threatens to become something else. It's the sort of thing that makes you wonder why certain aspects of its plot were included in the first place, then realise that everything is as it was always meant to be. There are many layers to it and it's a very interesting affair overall, even if it is a little slow in general and takes a while to root itself in your brain. It's an undeniably well-made effort in pretty much every aspect, from the calculated camerawork to the believable performances (though Cruise seriously struggles to look as though he isn't resisting the urge to violently lash out at any given moment). It perhaps isn't for every one, but it's an entertaining and effective alternate Christmas movie that fans of anyone involved should see.
The obvious question is: was it worth it? Almost everyone who has been interviewed about the picture, and working with Kubrick in general, seems more than happy to have undergone the impossibly tiring yet ostensibly rewarding process. However, there are reports of genuine suffering caused by this method (Shelley Duvall's treatment of the set of 'The Shining (1980)' comes to mind). Plus, art is arguably defined by the restrictions encountered while creating it; putting down the brush for the last time and declaring your piece complete is the only thing that transforms art-in-progress into actual art. In either case, perhaps the question itself is irrelevant - or, at the very least, so subjective that any answer to it would be equally as personal as it is pointless.
Kubrick's final feature is a bit of an odd one, a slow-paced micro-odyssey that sees Tom Cruise wander around New York while contemplating his marriage and the role that non-monogamy could play in it. Though almost every aspect of the picture circles back to sex in one way or another, its most potent underlying themes are mystery and class. Practically everything about the piece is an enigma in its own right, from its floaty and almost ethereal aesthetic to its elusive and almost dream-like plot. The protagonist is sent spiralling into an existential crisis when he comes to realise he doesn't understand his wife, nor the relationship between them, as well as he thought he did, a crisis which externalises itself in the form of a pensive journey of discovery. Yet, the further down the rabbit hole the hero goes, the less things make sense; definitive answers are nowhere to be found. The class system, and the various characters' place within it, is explored and challenged throughout the piece. It initially seems as though the wealthy and successful lead is on the top rung of capitalistic society, able to casually flash his cash in almost every scenario and get things that everyone else simply wouldn't have access to. Soon, though, it becomes clear that he's actually on the bottom rung of an entirely different ladder, one which leads to a place so potent and powerful that nobody outside of it really knows of its existence and those who occupy it can do unimaginable things with no fear of repercussion. Both of the main themes collide - and, arguably, come into focus - during the film's most infamous scene. I won't spoil its events just in case you've somehow managed to avoid knowledge of them, but I will say that this eerie and uncomfortable sequence represents the point at which the class system becomes a mystery and the other mysteries become subject to the class system. It's a disturbing moment because it represents an intangible horror, a sort of societal wound that you may not be aware of until you notice yourself picking at the scab. Once you've heard of it, you won't rest until you've seen it; once you've seen it, you won't ever rest again. It also, in a way, represents the vast unknowable nature of the universe and is a microcosm for the feature at large.
The more you think about the movie, the scarier it gets. In the moment, though, it plays out as a compelling and unconventional drama that constantly threatens to become something else. It's the sort of thing that makes you wonder why certain aspects of its plot were included in the first place, then realise that everything is as it was always meant to be. There are many layers to it and it's a very interesting affair overall, even if it is a little slow in general and takes a while to root itself in your brain. It's an undeniably well-made effort in pretty much every aspect, from the calculated camerawork to the believable performances (though Cruise seriously struggles to look as though he isn't resisting the urge to violently lash out at any given moment). It perhaps isn't for every one, but it's an entertaining and effective alternate Christmas movie that fans of anyone involved should see.