My first exposure to Stanely Kubrick came through his visionary cinematic rendition of Arthur C. Clarke's 2001: A Space Odyssey. For all its supposed brilliance, the images and sparse dialogue were about as understandable to me as an aborigine language. I remember watching the picture anxiously, patiently awaiting its enigmatic end. I was eleven years old.

When I re-visted 2001, it was a on a sick day from school my sophomore year of high school. I was bored, and after having seen Star Wars for the thousandth time, I decided it was to engage my brain for the afternoon. Now triumphantly, I returned to 2001. I was ready to be dazzled. A few minutes into the opening drums of "Also Sprach Zarathustra", I fell asleep.

My most recent exposure to 2001 was just months ago, on a long, lonely Saturday night ate the ripe age of 21. It was, as expected, an abysmal failure of a viewing. Granted, my friends and cohorts for the evening did tell me a lot about 2069: A Sex Odyssey--and that did, indeed, spark my interest.

Reading about Stanley Kubrick's death this morning, I reflected on the multitude of exposures I've had to his films, including 2001. Like Lolita and Paths of Glory, The Shining and Dr. Strangelove, 2001 can not so much be seen as experienced. All my attempts at "watching" 2001 were failures because it's not a science-fiction film in the terms to which we've grown accustomed. It's not fast, not furious. Nobody picked up a twenty million dollar paycheck to act or direct it. There's no gorgeous, brainless action hero shouting "it's gonna blow" or scantily-clad woman talking about "contact with alien life". There are no bloody massacres, big guns, or even big words (The film is so sparse on script one occasionally wonders why Kubrick didn't make the human characters mute). But, then why is it supposedly so good? For the MTV breast-fed generation, nurtured on the milk of fast-paced space adventures, 2001 isn't any good at all.

Some say it is too artistic, too cerebral. The reality is--it's just too good. It's not that most people can't get it, it's that they don't bother trying. And why should they bother, one might ask. If it takes more time than the length of an orgasm to understand and experience something, why should we generation Xers bother? 2001, a story about what it means to be human, is a haunting film. Exhilarating and optimistic. It's taken me 21 years to get it, and even still I question my analysis. But, heck, that's a lot like life, isn't it? It takes us 80 years "get it" and even then we die, we're still riddled with questions.

Kubrick's passing marks the death of one of the most inventive directors the cinema has ever known. A reclusive high school drop-out who was known for his meticulous and often brutal shooting styles and schedules, Kubrick was never the fluffy, warm, fuzzy, let-me-put-you-in-a-picture-with-a-bunch-of-muppets director that Steven Spielberg has become. His films, especially in the latter years, were few and far between (He's only made two in the last fifteen years). The majority of his pictures are notoriously dark and despairing, often capturing only the aberrant sides of life. Occasionally ill-received, often called masterpieces, never bland and always memorable, his body of work is nonetheless highly respected and even adored.

For me, all I really know of Kubrick remains within the confines of his work. Since the man hasn't given an interview for over twenty years, I haven't even heard him speak. But if a person is judged by his work, then he dies a master. 2001 is only a couple of years away. It must have seemed like an eternity away when it was released in 1968. It seemed a long way away when I saw the film in fourth grade. This morning, on the even of the new millennium, sipping my herbal tea, and reading the paper, I had to hold back a tear. My roommate was chopping garlic, and I was thinking about Kubrick. I thought about the nymph Lolita, about Slim Pickens riding the atomic bomb, about a delusional young man named Alex, and of course, HAL.

Kubrick's films represent both excitement about human potential and disgust with our dementia, his work represents the creative genius of which we're capable; the greatest gratitude we can give him is to treasure his films. In the coming weeks, I'm going to go for yet another viewing of 2001. I don't know if I'll make it through, but in honor of Dr. Strangelove himself, I promise a viewing.

Below is a short filmography of my favorites and others...

Eyes Wide Shut (1999):
This one, my friends, is not yet released. But the anticipation for it is rivaled only by that phantom movie coming out this summer. Warner Brothers claims this Tom Cruise/Nicole Kidman vehicle will be released on schedule in July, but it's taken three years to make and the infamous Kubrick was known for last minute touch-ups. The film--a drama with such heavy sex scenes that distributors were concerned about a possible NC-17 rating--is shrouded in mystery; the fate of its release date is still in question.

Full Metal Jacket (1987):
A late-comer to a number of Vietnam War Pictures. This film is a harrowing depiction of life in the pre-war trenches of boot camp, and the depth of human despair.

The Shining (1980)

Barry Lyndon (1975):

A Clockwork Orange (1971):
Based on the novel by Anthony Burgess about a fatalistic world in which criminals are brain-washed into societal submission. A provocative and oft-condemned film, which begs the question of what it means to be free.

2001: A Space Odyssey (1968):
Black monoliths, a star child, monkeys clanking bones at the dawn of humanity, and a supercomputer named HAL...this movie needs no introduction.

Dr. Strangelove, or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964):
Originally meant to be a serious drama on the possibilities of nuclear holocaust, this satire is one of the greatest in its genre. It is kind of funny that at a touch of a button we could annihilate all higher forms of life on earth. It kind of makes you wonder what they mean by "higher life forms" in the first place.

Lolita (1962)

Spartacus (1960)

Paths of Glory (1957)

The Killing (1956)