DR. STRANGELOVE (Kubrick, 1964)
Criterion Collection, Blu-ray, Release Date June 28, 2016
Review by Christopher S. Long
"Sir! I have a plan!"
As considered under the withering clinical gaze of Stanley Kubrick, men are fools and any social structure or piece of technology they create cannot, by definition, be fool-proof. They only fool themselves into thinking otherwise. The military justice system designed by men in “Paths of Glory” (1957) cannot possibly produce a just result; in “2001” (1968) the flawless HAL 9000's main flaw is that it learned more than just the song “Daisy” from its human designers. Anything men create will only propagate their own defects in different ways and, inevitably, on larger scales.
As considered under the withering clinical gaze of Stanley Kubrick, men are fools and any social structure or piece of technology they create cannot, by definition, be fool-proof. They only fool themselves into thinking otherwise. The military justice system designed by men in “Paths of Glory” (1957) cannot possibly produce a just result; in “2001” (1968) the flawless HAL 9000's main flaw is that it learned more than just the song “Daisy” from its human designers. Anything men create will only propagate their own defects in different ways and, inevitably, on larger scales.
I say “men” because both of the
aforementioned films, like most Kubrick films, are concerned almost
exclusively with men and their questionable decisions. The same is
true of “Dr. Strangelove” (1964), a world of cigar chomping,
cigarette-smoke blowing, serially speechifying males, mostly of the
alpha type or would-be alpha type. This world is so female-starved
that the only woman in sight (Tracy Reed) serves double duty as a
bikini-clad blastoff partner for General Buck Turgidson (George C.
Scott) and as a magazine centerfold to keep the boys in a cramped
bomber crew occupied on a long flight.
Kubrick, adapting the straightforwardly
dramatic novel “Red Alert” by Peter George and sharing scripting
duties with George and Terry Southern, goes out of his way to leave
the audience with no comforting assurances of any kind. Things go
wrong initially when the paranoid General Jack D. Ripper (Sterling
Hayden) “exceeds his authority” by ordering his nuclear-armed
bombers to attack their targets in Russia, inexorably drawing America
into what cowboy bomber pilot Major Kong (Slim Pickens) describes
colorfully as “nucular combat, toe-to-toe with the Russkies.”
OK, that's a problem, but surely the
cause is just one rotten apple. Not so. When General Turgidson
describes Ripper's indiscretion to President Merkin Muffley (Peter
Sellers), the commander-in-chief angrily fires back that the
general's own “Human Reliability Tests” were supposed to be a
guarantee against this very behavior. Turgidson dismisses it as “one
little slip-up” but one can practically hear Kubrick chuckling in
the background. Kubrick certainly believed in human reliability, the
guarantee that one little slip up would invariably be followed by yet
another. Which also reliably guarantees material for a lifetime of
movies.
It really doesn't matter what plans men
make; the problem is that they're the ones making the plans. The
Russians have designed a Doomsday Device that will launch a
counterstrike against any invading force, even one that admits to a
mistake and actively assists in shooting down their own planes. The
Russians' decision to eliminate themselves from the decision-making
process by making it impossible to deactivate the Doomsday Device is
yet another little slip-up. How about a quick prayer from the men
down here to the man upstairs? Nope, no good there either.
The lesson could be that we shouldn't
hand power over to war mongering buffoons like Turgidson or the
enigmatic not-so-ex-Nazi scientist Dr. Strangelove (Sellers x2), or
to a dithering pseudo-intellectual like Muffley. But Kubrick's
cynicism (abetted by Terry Southern, mostly brought in to recalibrate
this tale of mutually assured destruction as a comedy, a decision not
made until well into the project) runs deeper still. The bomber crew
who receives the order to attack follows their meticulous training
(more careful human planning there) to the letter and acts with both
heroism and ingenuity to survive a Russian missile attack. And it is
only because they've got both brains and guts that they're able to
survive... and drop the bomb that will lead to the virtual
destruction of human civilization. If only they were cowards or at
least less competent, they might have saved the day.
And, of course, that really is funny.
The desperate, helpless human condition where all roads lead to the
same destination is just plain funny. Kubrick understands this well
enough to allow the story to unfold in a relatively naturalistic
manner. Though several of the performances are comically over the top
(most notably George C. Scott, who wasn't so keen on going that far
over), characters are mostly filmed neutrally, with a minimum of
inflection by cinematographer Gilbert Taylor, whose stellar 1964 also
included a little project called “A Hard Day's Night.”
When Ripper informs his executive
assistant, Group Captain Mandrake (Sellers x3), of the impending
attack, Mandrake is situated in a chair dead center in the frame and
shot from a medium distance with a very quiet background audio track
that renders his flat “Aw, hell” that much funnier, especially on
repeat viewings. The subsequent attack on Ripper's air force base is
shot like gritty newsreel footage. Kubrick indulges in the occasional
heavy visual accent, such as a distorting low-angle close-up on a
ranting Ripper and relies on the general absurdity of the sprawling
War Room so brilliantly designed by the great Ken Adam. But mostly,
he just places his foolish little men center stage, content to view
them as specimens (writhing) under the microscope.
Though all their plans have failed, the
film ends with the men forming yet another plan, an effort to
preserve the human species and avoid a “mineshaft gap” with the
Russians. The very compassionate president balks at the idea of
choosing who gets to live or die, but Dr. Strangelove assures him
that the somber decision can be made safely and logically by a
computer. The film ends before we get to see just how spectacularly
that idea will flame out, but one thing's for certain: it's gonna be
some funny shit.
Video:
The film is presented in its original
1.66:1 aspect ratio. This high-def transfer is sourced from the
extensive 2004 4K digital restoration supervised by Grover Crisp that
has since become the standard. This splendid restoration already
yielded a great Blu-ray release by Sony a while back, and this
Criterion looks pretty similar. Image detail is sharp and the
black-and-white contrast is rich with a thick grain structure that
should please any viewer. There wasn't much room to improve on the
old release, but Criterion has at least matched the stellar quality.
You can't ask for much more.
Audio:
Listeners can choose between the film's
original mono track (LPCM) and a 5.1 surround design (DTS-HD Master
Audio). Purists will want to stick with the mono, but the surround
adds a sense of dynamism without being too showy. The film should
have the sound of “small” men speaking in vast spaces and the
surround preserves that while perhaps treating the music a little
better than the mono. Optional English SDH subtitles support the
English audio.
Extras:
When a film has been released in so
many home theater formats, both standard and high-def, you need to do
something special to distinguish yet another version. Criterion has
decided to do so by absolutely stacking this Blu-ray release with
extras: 14 separate features, running just under 200 minutes in
total.
Let's start with the brand new features
produced by Criterion just for this release.
In a new interview (2016, 19 min.),
Mick Broderick, author of “Reconstructing Strangelove,” discusses
Kubrick's role as sole producer (after former business partner James
B. Harris left to direct his own films) on the film as well as the
many changes to the project from the first draft of the script to
post-production. Let's get this out of the way here. About a half
dozen times in these extras, you will be presented with the shocking
knowledge that Peter Sellers was initially slated to also play the
role of Major Kong, eventually portrayed by Slim Pickens. The feature
wraps up with a discussion of Kubrick's experiments with film
marketing, including his collaboration with Pablo Ferro on the film's
groovy trailer.
In another interview (2016, 12 min.)
cinematographer Joe Dunton and camera operator Kelvin Pike discuss
some of the camera techniques used in the film, as well as the
influence Kubrick's background as a still photographer had on his
film work. Yes, he knew everything there was to know about lenses.
My favorite interview on the set is
with Richard Daniels (2016, 14 min.) who has the greatest job in the
world, serving as senior archivist at the Stanley Kubrick Archive.
Relying on the meticulous records in the archive, Daniels shows how
the film changed from its earliest stages (with evidence that Kubrick
wanted Burt Lancaster, Spencer Tracy and Orson Welles before budget
limitations nixed those choices). He also suggests that frequent
descriptions of Peter Sellers' extensive improvisation on set may be
overblown.
David George, son of
novelist/screenwriter Peter George, discusses (2016, 11 min.) his
father's collaboration with Stanley Kubrick, portraying it as a
positive, rewarding experience for the writer. He also talks about a
lengthy short story George wrote to expand the background of Dr.
Strangelove, a character who does not appear at all in George's book
“Red Alert.”
In one more new interview (2016, 17
min.), scholar Rooney Hill analyzes Kubrick's reliance on archetypes,
touching on the influence of Joseph Campbell, Jung, Freud, etc. This
is informative, but if you've ever taken a screenwriting class, it's
also well-worn ground.
On to the older material, much of which
has appeared on previous home releases:
A brief audio interview with Kubrick
(Nov 27, 1966, 3 min.) conducted by physicist/author Jeremy Bernstein
gives the director a chance to briefly discuss his long-standing
fascination with the subject of thermonuclear war and his belief that
a director needs to edit his own film.
“The Art of Stanley Kubrick” (2000,
14 min.) features biographer John Baxter, critic Alexander Walker,
cinematographer Gilbert Taylor, and others in a fast-moving gloss
through Kubrick's early career up through “Strangelove.” There's
not much meat here, but the best part if hearing the great set
designer Ken Adam speak eloquently with that magnificent Teutonic
voice that feels like it must have had some influence on Sellers'
Strangelove, even if it didn't.
“Inside 'Dr. Strangelove'” (2000,
46 min.) is similar to the previous feature, but with a longer time
on a more focused subject, it covers more detail. Ken Adam is back in
fine form as are producer/director James B. Harris, actor James Earl
Jones, and others. It's fun to hear about Kubrick beating the snot of
George C. Scott in chess, and thus earning the actor's respect.
“No Fighting in the War Room”
(2004, 30 min.), which is not the quote from the movie by the way, is
mostly centered on interviews with former Secretary of Defense Robert
McNamara and journalist Bob Woodward, discussing how real the
thermonuclear threat was when “Strangelove” was made. Other
talking heads chime in, including critic Roger Ebert and director
Spike Lee. “Best Sellers” (2004, 18 min.) is from the same source
and shares some of the same guest speakers, but focuses on Peter
Sellers career, this time with Michael Palin and Shirley MacLaine
adding their gushing appreciations. Snippets of Sellers' home movies
spice up the interviews.
The disc also includes two archival
features. First up is a “mock interview” with George C. Scott and
Peter Sellers. These were standard promotional tools back at the
time, split-screen interviews featuring the actors answering scripted
questions on one side which then allowed local news anchors to
pretend to be asking them the questions on the other side of the
screen. Scott and Sellers are both in character on the phone in the
war room with Sellers doing a series of British accents in addition
to his American President voice. Second is a “Today” show
interview (Mar 12, 1980, 4 min.) with Gene Shalit talking to Peter
Sellers. Interestingly, Sellers talks about loving the chance to play
two of the characters in “Strangelove,” leaving out Merkin
Muffley.
And finally the disc includes two
trailers. First is the Exhibitor's Trailer (17 min.) a sprawling
piece narrated by Kubrick with the intention of convincing exhibitors
to pick up the film. I'm not sure I would have been sold based on
this one. We also get the famous Kubrick/Pablo Ferro Theatrical
Trailer for the film.
But, wait, there's more.
Instead of their typical insert
booklet, Criterion has included an insert “packet” in a “Top
Secret” envelope to be opened “only when go code received.” The
envelope contains a bulletin report with an essay by author and
professor of English David Bromwich, a Playboy-style booklet with a
lengthy essay by Terry Southern (originally published in the summer
1994 issue of “Grand Street”) regarding his collaboration with
Kubrick, and a teeny-tiny combination book of Russian Phrases and
Holy Bible.
Final Thoughts:
You get a great transfer, but not
noticeably greater than prior high-def releases. What distinguishes
this release of “Strangelove” is the overwhelming selection of
extras provided by Criterion, with that Top Secret packet as a little
incentive to encourage the die-hard Kubrick collector. I think that's
enough to call this the definitive North American release of the
film.
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