2001 was my introduction to Stanley Kubrick.  When I lived in Germany in the early 1980s, I was fascinated with the VHS cover that showed a pointy-nosed spaceship appearing to enter a giant ferris wheel space station.  We never rented it--perhaps my parents knew that it wouldn't hold the interest of a seven year old--but I never forgot that cover and my urge to see what the movie was all about.  Years later when I lived in Japan, I would get my chance.

I was probably 13 when I finally rented 2001.  I got it from a nearby Japanese video rental place that thought I was an American GI in my twenties.  I couldn't convince anyone to watch it with me so I waited until it was really late one night, snuck downstairs to the family room where our VCR with detachable remote lived, and I put on.  I had done this with a host of other movies that 13-year olds aren't allowed to rent with their parents: Porky's,  The Kentucky Fried Movie, The Groove Tube, and Body Heat, but this was the first "adult" movie I had picked out of my own accord that wasn't interesting because it had boobs in it.

As I watched it, I was a bit bored and a bit mesmerized.  I knew that the movie had to amount to something even if I didn't understand all of the classical music and slow-moving characters.  It felt like there was something more to the movie than what was just visible on the screen and as I rounded the bend towards the film's final act, everything came into focus.  I've heard religious experiences or fantastic drug trips described kind of like this--as if the subject is suddenly aware of a larger reality or consciousness.  That was the effect that the end of 2001 had on me.  I finished it in a state of awe and reverence.  I'd never seen a movie that was something more than just a movie before, and I think that VHS rental along with a couple of others in the next few years cemented my love for the medium of film at an early age.

For this screening at the Fox Theatre, I was insistent that we get to the theater early to get good seats.  I wanted to be dead center, up on the mezzanine so that when the Jupiter/Monolith sequence came up we would have an immersive experience.  I can't imagine what seeing that film on drugs would be like, but seeing a pristine print on a huge screen at a theater like the Fox was pretty amazing.  I've seen the movie probably ten times either in whole or bits and pieces and this viewing was really unlike any other.  Our early arrival clearly paid off!

I didn't have a deeply transformative experience again, and I think that owes somewhat to age.  On the other hand, I did see many things in the film that I've never noticed or payed much attention to before.  Every shot of that movie is perfectly composed.  The music and sound design do an amazing job of creating tension when there needs to be tension.  I noticed a ton of detail like the IBM computer onboard the PanAm space jet or the numbered buttons on the console of Bowman's pod that I've never seen before.  I was amazed at how perfectly centered thing were--how Kubrick could line up planets and people and spaceships and instrument panels and draw them perfectly to the center of the screen.  I was struck by the differences between Bowman and Poole, and how even with only two actors present for a handful of scenes, there was a real clear distinction between the men and they way they seemed to approach HAL and the mission.

I'm still hoping that I'll one day get to see that 70mm print of 2001 that made the rounds a while back.  I've heard nothing but glowing reviews of what it's like to watch that movie on the ultimate film format.  Until then, I'm deeply satisfied that I finally got to see this movie on the big screen, in a theater, with an intermission, and that it was still as beautiful and amazing as I remembered.