VHS Revival drags you through a hedge maze of cinematic despair
There is a sense of inevitability about The Shining that grabs you by the throat and never let’s go. The movie is a grandiose exercise in terror which favours stark imagery and subliminal horror over traditional storytelling. It is an experience that possesses you from the very outset, and from the seemingly innocuous overhead shots of Glacier National Park, Montana, you are saturated with a palpable sense of inescapable doom. Visually, Kubrick has the ability to leave audiences awed, but sound is of equal importance — particularly in The Shining, which uses sound and imagery to bring the Overlook to life as if it were a conscious entity. This was cinema at its most detailed and nuanced, at its most visceral, and a far cry from the movie’s literary source material.
Novelist Stephen King famously disliked Kubrick’s adaptation, particularly the casting of the ever-emboldened Jack Nicholson in the role of manic patriarch Jack Torrance. King had actually written a screenplay for the film, which Kubrick had quickly shot down, describing the author’s writing as ‘weak’. As fantastic as King is as an author, such a reaction is understandable. On the whole King has struggled to adapt his work for the silver screen, as have others. Some works just don’t translate, and those which do, such as Rob Reiner’s Stand By Me and Frank Darabont’s The Shawshank Redemption, work best as character-driven movies that rely on conventional storytelling.
Further evidence can be found in the distinctly unconventional David Cronenberg’s The Dead Zone, which though a fantastic story with fantastic performances, was somewhat bloated due to a strict adherence to the source material as the director looked to transition from obscure body horror to mainstream success at the behest of studios looking to cash-in on his talent. In the case of Kubrick, he never wanted to make a horror movie, and accepted the pitch from Warner Brothers under the proviso that he could alter the material as much as he pleased, and this was no empty proposal.
But as bitter and as sacrilegious as King’s criticism may sound in reference to one of the genre’s most mesmerising performances, his words are not completely ill-founded. In fact, King’s thoughts on the character echoed my own to some degree. While watching The Shining, I briefly took issue with the fact that, rather than descending slowly into madness, the Torrance character seemed somewhat deranged from the outset. During his interview for the caretaker’s position, Jack’s ironic responses seemed like those of a man at the end of his emotional tether, while a second trip to the hotel with his family paints a character steeped in perversity as Jack glibly discusses cannibalism with his young son, Danny (Danny Lloyd). King questioned the sense of using an actor who oozed craziness from the beginning for a story which focuses on a man’s steady deterioration.
Stuart Ullman: The police thought that it was what the old-timers used to call cabin fever. A kind of claustrophobic reaction which can occur when people are shut in together over long periods of time.
From a literary perspective, King had a point, but in hindsight I don’t believe it’s a question of right or wrong, just two different mediums operating in different ways. In bringing The Overlook to life, the sound design and imagery used by Kubrick chronicles Jack’s mental deterioration in a manner that defies literary convention, which would explain, along with King’s much more conventional, Mick Garris directed miniseries, why he considered the writer’s earlier screenplay to be sub-par.
As previously stated, this is a movie driven by an almost intangible horror, and it is arguable that the insidious aura of the Overlook got under Jack’s skin from the very beginning. This is a character with a history of drink and violence, weaknesses that would make him all the more susceptible to the hotel’s inimitable capacity for persuasion. When discussing his affinity with his new, temporary home, Jack tells his family that from the moment he first arrived he felt as if he had been there before, a remark made all the more disquieting by ethereal waiter Delbert Grady’s claim that Jack had always been the janitor. The stiflingly perverse Grady, a character who is the clearest manifestation of the Overlook’s wickedness, also claims that he did not hack his wife and kids to pieces as the hotel manager had earlier revealed. This, it seems, is a fate reserved for Jack.
Whether you agree with King or not, this is very much Nicholson’s movie, and though his maniacal grin and frame-devouring flourishes may detract from the character’s arc on some level, it adds so much to the movie that you struggle to imagine it without him. It takes a certain presence to take centre stage in a movie stamped with Kubrick’s colossal thumbprint, and Nicholson would turn to method acting in order to build up to the almost comical frenzy that leaves his audience treading a precarious line of horror and humour. The snapping, thrashing beast who stalks the hallways of the monumental overlook is just as unsettling when raising an eyebrow as he is staring with a statuesque insanity that defies all human emotion. So involved was the actor in his role that he would write an entire scene based on his own marriage troubles, while the movie’s iconic ‘Here’s Johhny!’ line was his own improvisation. Nicholson’s is a performance of incredulous devastation, and the sheer fright that tarnishes the glow of Wendy’s angelic pallor is reflected in all of us.
Jack Torrance – Wendy, listen. Let me out of here and I’ll forget the whole damn thing! It’ll be just like nothing ever happened. Wendy, baby, I think you hurt my head real bad. I’m dizzy, I need a doctor. Honey, don’t leave me here.
With that image in mind, it is difficult to deny that Shelley Duvall’s performance is just as essential to the movie’s effectiveness. Wendy’s character may live in the shadow of Nicholson’s iconic turn, but her fragile strength is key to her co-star’s maniacal power, and her distraught image is just as unsettling and iconic. This was great casting in the first instance, but her legacy did not come easily. Duvall’s relationship with Kubrick was notoriously strained, such were the demands that he put on her during filming, and the actress claimed that she was “in and out of ill health” during the often laborious shoot. The most famous example of Kubrick’s demanding nature can be found in the Guinness Book of Records. The scene in which Wendy limply swings a bat at an approaching Jack took an exhausting 127 takes to complete, the most for a scene with spoken dialogue, and perhaps an explanation for the wraithlike creature who appears onscreen. The scene in which hotel caretaker Hallorann (Scatman Crothers) explains ‘the shining’ to Danny would set a world record with 148 takes of one close up shot. Inevitably, a production that was scheduled to last 100 days went on for 250.
It is this kind of attention to detail that makes the movie so richly compelling, leading to years of debate and discussion regarding such infinitesimal details as lamps visibly unplugged while the Overlook’s lights continue to glow, peripheral images designed to disorientate. Much has been made of the subliminal content featured in The Shining, a plethora of conspiracy theories resulting in Rodney Asch’s documentary Room 237, and though I won’t discuss them in too much detail, the movie is littered with subtext and moments of abstract horror which have a startling effect on the senses. Take the scene in the infamous Room 237. Jack is approached by a beautiful woman who advances on him in a sultry manner, but only after they have embraced does he discover her true form in her reflection, while a nonlinear image of her decaying corpse rising from a bathtub leaves us feeling as disorientated as the retreating Jack.
Danny Torrance – Do you like this hotel?
Jack Torrance – Yes, I do. I love it. Don’t you?
Danny Torrance – I guess so.
Jack Torrance – Good. I want you to like it here. I wish we could stay here forever.
Perhaps the most recurrent theme in The Shining is that of being trapped in a maze, which ultimately proves to be the centrepiece of the entire movie. When Wendy and Danny are given the tour of the kitchens by fellow ‘shiner’ Hallorann, the timid mother jokes that she would need a trail of breadcrumbs to find her way out, a comment that Danny picks up on and utilises during the movie’s maze-bound climax when he lays false tracks for his pursuing father, resulting in one of the most shocking and iconic images in the entire genre. Hallorann is the calming presence in a movie fraught with tension until ruthlessly hacked down by a marauding Jack, but his role was almost very different. A leaked treatment actually saw Jack killed by Wendy in the third act, only for Halloran to become the film’s big twist by also becoming possessed by the hotel and picking up where Jack left off. Personally, I’m glad they ditched the idea. The fact that only Jack succumbs to the hotel’s immoral persuasions makes everything just a little more ambiguous. Less like a standard possession story.
The sense that we are trapped in a perpetual maze is key to The Shining‘s overwhelming sense of claustrophobia and isolation, a fact punctuated by an image of Jack peering over a model of the aptly named Overlook, one which transitions seamlessly into an overhead image of Wendy and Danny exploring the real thing. Here, our maniacal patriarch becomes the leering overlord of the hotel’s evil intentions. The design of the hotel’s carpet is a maze within itself, while Danny’s iconic journey through the corridors on his tricycle sees him wander as if deep into a forest, the sobering sight of the hotel’s resident twins, hacked to pieces in subliminal flashes, the only thing preventing him from wandering deeper. It’s all a rich and detailed tapestry, an almost kaleidoscopic experience that imprisons the mind and soul. When consuming The Shining I often feel like I’m frozen in time, like I can’t catch my breath to call out for help. It leaves you feeling ineffectual for 166 untraceable minutes, and it is utterly devastating.
Grady Twins – Hello, Danny. Come and play with us. Come and play with us, Danny. Forever… and ever… and ever.
Sound, as in the changing tone of Danny’s wheels on carpet and wood, is such a vital element in creating the film’s ceaseless knife-edge tension. Early on, we have the mildly disquieting sound of Jack’s ball echoing through the giant space of his writing quarters, its disturbance growing in correlation with the ferocity of his throws — a not so subtle sign of his deteriorating sanity. We hear the sound of Jack hammering at the keys as he types out his infamous ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy’, another revelation that strikes you down where you stand. The movie’s score, all doom-laden brass and shrieking synthesizers, further characterises the entity that is the Overlook, playing your nervous system with the excruciating vigour of a master cellist with a rusty bow. The movie’s score was composed by electro innovator Wendy Carlos, who also worked on A Clockwork Orange and Disney’s Tron. Her contributions assisting with the development of the Moog synthesizer would earn her three Grammy Awards, and The Shining is arguably her finest cinematic achievement.
But beyond the slowly disorientating attention to detail, it is those truly cinematic moments that stay long in the memory. Whether it’s a deranged Jack peering through the hole left by his hack-driven handiwork, Duvall’s trembling Wendy or Danny’s foaming fits of insular panic, Kubrick succeeds in etching his intensely bleak and disruptive vision deep into your memory banks. The director had that ability, and though he produced a catalogue of work that is varied in both subject and genre, his style is one of the most distinct in all of cinema, inviting the audience to become the kind of voyeur who agonises over ever drawn-out shot. King may have viewed his work in an entirely different light to the director who shot him down so unceremoniously, and The Shining was his creation after all, but Kubrick’s idea of storytelling is a completely different entity, and their eventual dispute was inexorable.
With the movie’s closing shot, we arrive back at that notion of inevitability, and the sense that Jack is doomed from the very outset. There are scenes in The Shining, as when Wendy and Danny sit watching television, that are distinctly photographic, and the fate of our characters seem just as static and unwavering, as if they were captured in a moment that is destined to last forever. Fittingly, that is exactly where Jack ends up, framed in a photograph as if banished to the annals of Overlook folklore, a place where his perpetual grin seems right at home.