Writer In Residence: Stanley Kubrick's The Shining

Perhaps the most accurate metaphor for Stanley Kubrick's The Shining (a film which is itself a metaphor) is that of the jigsaw puzzle. Dumped from its box, The Shining at first appears to be a confusing mass of disparate (and in some cases even inexplicable) pieces, none of which seems to have any real meaning unto itself. Joined together, however, these pieces form a complete picture, one which has less to do with such previous interpretations as the disintegration of the nuclear family, the exploitation of the American Indian and the US's legacy of violence, or immortality and reincarnation, and more to do with something peculiar to late 20th Century society: the danger of artistic pursuit as a route to success.

The first clue to this interpretation is contained in the tag-line used for the film. The description in the promotional and publicity materials as 'A Masterpiece of Modern Horror' says that The Shining is a horror story, but one which is, before that, modern. And what could be more modern than the danger of artistic pursuit? Only in the time just before The Shining was produced had the multi-million dollar salaries earned by popular artists been turned into common knowledge by magazines and television. Only in such a climate do the phrases 'overnight success' and '15 minutes of fame' have any meaning or relevance. And only under such conditions does the notion that anyone can 'make it' inspire countless individuals to try their hand at artistic pursuit in the hopes of attaining such success for themselves. But without some combination of patience and talent, such dreams will more than likely remain just that: dreams -- and the rewards of success will stay (to most) frustratingly out of reach. So frustrated might some of these people become, that violence against self and others will burst forth; what year passes now without a story about another individual who has committed heinous crimes out of a desire to 'be famous'? This is the 'modern horror' which The Shining describes and it achieves this by focusing on just such a case: Jack Torrance.

It's obvious this is the film's focus: it opens and closes with him. If The Shining was about America's legacy of evil (as represented by The Overlook), it would have opened and closed with the hotel. If The Shining was about immortality and reincarnation, the film would have focused more on scenes such as the one in which Jack feels a sense of deja vu. And if The Shining was about the disintegration of the nuclear family, Jack Torrance would have been more representative of Middle America in his previous occupation and future goals. Instead, Kubrick presents Torrance as an aspiring artist.

In the 'Interview' sequence, Jack explains that he has given up teaching to pursue writing. In other words, he has taken that most dangerous first step of the would-be artist – he has quit his day job. That Jack sees his former profession as only a 'day job' is made very clear by his description of it as nothing more than 'a way to make ends meet.' And while becoming the caretaker of the Overlook is a day job of sorts, it's nothing like the teaching Jack has left behind. King's novel makes it clear that Jack was fired from his teaching position and is thus desperately in need of work in order to provide for his family. Kubrick's text does not provide such background or motivation. Jack's interest in getting the job as caretaker is not to provide for his family, but rather to provide for himself, to have a place in which to outline his new writing project – to have a place in which to freely pursue his artistic ambition.

So if Jack represents the aspiring artist, the Overlook can not be seen as either about work (that is, provision for family) or about America's past but is instead meant as a manifestation of the accouterments of artistic success. In the 'Closing Day' sequence, Ullman recounts the history of the hotel and remarks that the Overlook is a resort for the world's wealthy, what he calls 'all the best people.' That the hotel is only occupied by the Torrance family and the staff during this sequence calls to mind stories of rock stars and movie stars who rent entire floors of hotels for themselves. It's as if Jack and his family have suddenly become some of 'the best people.' And by eliminating the hotel staff, the Overlook ceases to be a hotel and instead becomes an estate – the Torrance house, if you will -- the reward for reaching the pinnacle of artistic success.

Almost immediately ('A Month Later' and 'Tuesday') we see evidence that Jack has already begun viewing himself as a successful artist. Wendy brings him breakfast in bed. She has made his favorite dishes, cooked to his specifications, and she delivers it on what is probably the hotel's fanciest serving cart. Jack has slept in until 11:30, a sure sign of decadence (and perilously close to violating Hemingway's first rule of writing – that is, the most important thing for a writer to do every day is get dressed). At least at this point, he's still being honest about his abilities. He says he has 'lots of ideas; no good ones.' Shortly thereafter, Jack gives us his version of the artistic fit. In addition to stories of how much artists make, magazines and television also carry stories of blow-ups by artists regarding their work or working conditions. Here Jack explains to Wendy that when she comes into the room where he is working she breaks his concentration. He then berates her with profanity and finally tells her to get out. Temperamental artist, indeed.

Upon Jack's first visit to The Gold Room, he has the entire place -- and Lloyd, the bartender -- to himself. Frustrated with his own artistic inability, Jack turns to spirits for inspiration and, of course, he gets spirits served by a literal spirit. That Jack says he would give his soul for a drink only calls to mind the Faustian bargain for success he so strongly desires. And he is told that he can have whatever he wants, even when he discovers his wallet is empty (a sign of poverty which here, in Jack's fantasy, is suddenly turned into a sign of wealth and power as surely as the empty bar has suddenly become filled with booze). Later, when Jack enters the Gold Room for the second time and finds the party in progress, he is greeted by name at the door, and is given the royal treatment by Lloyd (this time, Jack has money but his money is 'no good' there – in Jack's fantasy, everything can be made into something more than what it is). Even when accidentally bumped by a waiter, Jack is recognized and acknowledged by name (is he famous, or something?).

Lastly, Jack's encounter in Room 237 becomes another representation of an accouterment of success: free sexual liaisons. The sequence begins with a point of view shot slowly tracking through the room, over carpet bearing a pattern which unmistakably resembles erect penises glowing with power. Inside the bathroom, a beautiful naked woman emerges from the tub and approaches Jack. They hug and begin kissing. Looking in the mirror, however, Jack sees that the beautiful woman has suddenly become a diseased hag. Jack stumbles backwards, out of the room, as the hag stalks towards him, laughing. Jack escapes the room and locks the door. Unfortunately, even when presented with this very clear indicator of the danger of his pursuit, Jack chooses to ignore the warning and returns to Wendy to tell her he found nothing at all.

On the surface, then, Jack has engaged a fantasy life in which he has reached the height of success. He is the owner of a large estate, keeper of servants, attendee of parties, is famous and is approached by willing women ready for sex. There's only one problem: Jack is a poseur.

The strongest evidence for this is the manuscript which Wendy finally gets a chance to see. Unable to produce anything of real artistic value, Jack can only arrange words on paper, literally – every page is nothing more than a new arrangement of the same words. Jack has, in effect, become a 'hack,' also literally – when pursuing his family, he uses not the roque mallet described in King's novel but an ax, with which he will hack them to pieces. In fact, Jack's imagination is so void that not only can he do nothing but arrange words on paper and call it writing, he, in his final fury, can only fall back on clichés and pop-culture references: his bartender spouts old saws such as 'Women: can't live with them; can't live without them,' and Jack acts as if it's a fantastic new insight; Jack pretends to be the big, bad wolf; 'Heeere's Johnny!'; even his Igor-like walk – all of these serve to underscore Jack's true nature as a poseur. And he knows it. Faced with real talent, Jack can only lash out. This is why he becomes furious at the mention, by Grady, of Danny's real talent and this is why he is so easily convinced that it (Danny) must be destroyed. This is also why, in the sequence immediately following his chopping through the bathroom door, Jack leaves Wendy in favor of hunting down Halloran: Halloran is a more real threat because Wendy does not have the same talent that he and Danny do.

Kubrick's final statement is that real talent will always overshadow the pretender, that's made literal by Danny's defeat of Jack in the maze.

That The Shining is meant to be taken on this metaphorical level is made clear by a series of events which at first appear inexplicable. These events are, in order of appearance: 1) the helicopter shadow visible in the opening; 2) Jack's 'vision' of Wendy and Danny in the maze; 3) the reality of the ghosts as first indicated by Danny's bruised neck; 4) the cinematic structure of Jack's encounter in Room 237; 5) the switching of Grady's name from Charles to Delbert; 6) the reality of the ghosts as indicated by Jack's release from the larder; 7) the reality of the ghosts as indicated by Wendy's vision of them; and 8) the film's final shot - Jack in a photo from 1921.

The first of these is the helicopter shadow visible in the lower right corner of the film's fourth shot occurring exactly one minute and nine seconds in and disappearing just before the appearance of the first title – 'A Stanley Kubrick Film.' Basic film-making logic says that Kubrick's inclusion of this shadow is intentional. After all, judicious editing of only two seconds (the length of time the shadow is visible) would have removed this seeming flaw. That it occurs exactly in position before a title announces that this is a 'Stanley Kubrick Film' only underscores its obvious importance. This shadow is Kubrick's version of a memento mori. As the appearance of a hidden figure of Death in the paintings of the Middle Ages served as a reminder that death was omnipresent, so this shadow serves as a reminder that what we are about to see is unreal, fake, staged. Kubrick knows that his audience is ready to suspend their disbelief -- that is, to accept what they are about to see as a certain kind of reality -- and he undercuts this by graphically calling attention to the mechanics of film-making. Thus this shadow says that photographic images (in general) and this film (in particular) are not real, at least not in the way we might expect them to be, or want them to be. In the case of The Shining, this means we shouldn't expect a horror story, per se (or even a very realistic film, exactly), but we should look for something else, for a meaning behind what is presented literally – for the shadow on the ground, so to speak.

While Wendy and Danny find their way to the center of the hedge-maze outside, Jack, inside the hotel, wanders the halls, frustrated, bouncing a tennis ball off the walls and floor. Slowly he walks to the model of the maze and stares down into it. A slight smile flits across his face. Cut to an extremely high overhead shot of the maze (or is it the model?) in which we can see the tiny figures of Wendy and Danny in its center. Cut to a tracking shot of Wendy and Danny in the center of the maze. What's strange about this sequence is that we can't really be sure where the bird's eye view shot comes from. It may not be Jack's point of view because Kubrick never returns from the high overhead shot of the maze/model to another shot of Jack staring downward (the kind of editing structure which would precisely indicate the shot as Jack's point of view). But I think it's what Kubrick wants us to infer. Jack, frustrated at his impotence as a writer, suddenly sees himself with God-like abilities, high above his wife and child (a literal presentation of a metaphorical idea). This is Jack's point of view, all right. The fact that the second shot of Jack is missing only means that Jack's point of view is fractured and incomplete. And it's so disturbing, not only because it's the first indication that Jack is starting to see things, but because of what it is he's starting to see. Of course, that Jack can't use this same ability when he really needs it, to find his way out of the maze at the end, only serves to underscore how truly deluded and talentless he is.

In each of the first two scenes dealing with the possible reality of the ghosts, we are presented with a notion that flies in the face of the conventions of the horror genre. That is, that a ghost can affect things within the physical realm. In the first scene, Danny appears with a bruised neck and torn sweater; in the second, Jack is released from the larder by Grady. Conventional genre rules say both of these things shouldn't happen. Ghosts can't do what they do in The Shining. But Kubrick violates this rule in order to communicate a greater meaning. That is, something which has no form acts upon that which does. That Grady releases Jack from the larder is intended as a metaphor for the ability of something unreal (this film) to release something real (a statement about the danger of artistic pursuit). Wendy's vision of the ghosts at the end of the film thus becomes a metaphor for the gaining of this insight. Her vision occurs in four parts. First, upstairs, where she sees a strange bear creature performing what appears to be oral sex on a well-dressed man. Second, near Halloran's body, where she runs into a man with a large bleeding wound on his head who raises his glass of liquor to her and says, 'Great party, isn't it?' Third, in the hotel lobby, where she finds a horde of skeletons covered with cobwebs. And finally, at the elevators, where she sees them discharge their torrents (Torrance?) of blood. That the first three parts of this vision are clichés is not an indicator of the film's weakness, but rather Jack's weakness, another in the long line of clichés which only underscores his status as a poseur. Wendy finally sees the ghosts because she has attained vision and is able to understand the meaning behind the picture. She finally 'gets' it and is appropriately scared into acting as quickly as possible to save her son and herself from her insane husband and his quest for success and fame. The fourth part of the vision (the elevator of blood) not only ties Wendy to Danny (she now has the same talent he does because he's already seen it), it also ties us to Wendy (we should realise we have the same talent she does because we've seen it, too -- the elevator of blood was the only image which appeared in the promotional trailer for the film).

As Jack stumbles backwards, out of Room 237, and the hag stalks towards him, laughing, Kubrick suddenly cuts to a shot of the hag in the tub, floating there. Cut back to Jack, pursued by the hag. Cut back to the hag in the tub, now rising up. Cut to Jack and the hag again. And again cut to the hag in the tub. These jump-cuts are a violation of the rules of cinematic space because the hag can't be both in the tub and pursuing Jack at the same time – they interrupt the 'normal' flow of information and (like the helicopter shadow) call attention to the mechanics of film-making, forcing us to look for a meaning deeper than what's on the surface. Kubrick underscores this by having Jack realise the beautiful woman is really a hag only after he sees her in the mirror. The mirror is a framing device, like a motion picture screen, and it presents another view of reality back to us -- the idea that art communicates truth through metaphor. And because Jack knows nothing about art or reality, he returns to Wendy with the news that he found nothing in Room 237.

Similar in structure is the sequence in which Grady's name is switched from Charles to Delbert. Not only does it also take place in a bathroom, it also relies on a series of jump-cuts for its meaning, although this time Kubrick breaks the 180 degree rule of film-making – an act that is termed 'crossing the line' (no wonder he liked to do it so much). The rule states that there is an imaginary line between two or more actors and that the camera should stay on one side of the action so that cuts between angles keep the viewer's perspective consistent. If the camera crosses the line and turns around to record the action, the viewer can be confused because the actors seem to be switching places. This is, of course, the perfect technique to employ in this scene because it's exactly what the scene is about – Jack and Grady switching places. Grady tells Jack his name is Delbert Grady (not the Charles Grady that Ullman told about in the 'Interview' sequence) and Kubrick crosses the line in a jump-cut which makes Jack and Grady appear to be in each other's place. Grady tells Jack that he has 'always been' the caretaker of the Overlook and Kubrick crosses the line in a jump-cut which again makes Jack and Grady switch places.

Finally, Kubrick closes the circle in the final shot -- Jack in a photo from 1921. Even within the context of the story, the photo must be viewed as impossible. Taken literally, one might think this indicates a statement about reincarnation or the immortality of evil – that the photo is the 'evidence' to back up Grady's statement that Jack has 'always been' the caretaker. But it's not. It is, instead, a picture about the picture. It's an image connected directly to the helicopter shadow at the beginning and it serves to remind us that we weren't supposed to look at this movie – this photographic evidence -- in its literal sense, but we were instead supposed to look for the meaning past the fakery and to use our vision to apprehend that meaning. Like Wendy, we are supposed to see the ghosts and the elevator gushing blood and we're supposed to react.

It's easy to understand why The Shining was so misunderstood upon its initial release. Expecting the literal, audiences couldn't see past the surface to get at the meaning within the mirror. They acted more like Jack than like Wendy. Maybe that's because the meaning reflected too closely and accurately our own dreams and desires. Maybe Kubrick's statement that the beautiful woman we long for is really nothing more than a cackling diseased hag was too difficult. But then, Kubrick was always a tough film-maker, one who returned again and again to damning vacant and empty pursuits the world somehow deems worthy. To the viewer with vision and patience, however, this jigsaw puzzle can be fit together and The Shining can finally reveal itself as exactly what it tells you it is: 'A Masterpiece of Modern Horror.'