Inexplicable Art as Intimacy (Stanley Kubrick’s “Eyes Wide Shut” [1999])

Jun 1

★★★★☆

Disclaimer: Let me just start by saying I know that much smarter, wiser, and more articulate people than I have reviewed and/or analyzed this film. I mean, people write and create hour-long video analyses on it; I’m certainly not going to be the one to crack the code behind one of the most enigmatic films in American cinema. Most of this is a recounting of my experience, and while I tried to analyze some of it, I found myself at a constant struggle because, well, its cat’s cradle-like complexity precedes its “meaning.” This film is highly and perpetually contested, and I’d be foolish to believe I completely understand its intent and artistry. But, this is also a film that begs its viewers to say something, even if it isn’t some research-backed dissertation.

Can’t Keep Our Eyes Shut Forever

It’s roughly 8pm on a Friday night. Chad and I are lying lazily on the couch, digesting our dinner and mindlessly scrolling through our phones. I wonder, for just a minute, about what’s captivated him; I wonder, for just a minute, if he’s thinking the same thing about me.

There really is no way of knowing what the other is thinking or feeling at the moment.

Eventually, one of us puts our phones down, and so the other soon follows. We look at each other and know exactly what’s coming. We always do this whenever we’re in for the night.

“Want to watch a movie?” one of us asks. Doesn’t matter which one of us does the asking.

And so begins another 30 minutes of scrolling. This time it’s Netflix-scrolling, Hulu-scrolling, HBO Max-scrolling, Amazon Prime Video-scrolling. We make our rounds. We scroll for what seems like forever, the clock ticking behind our backs and the sun already far below the horizon. I’m afraid we’ll be defeated by decision paralysis and end up on our hundredth rerun of The Office.

Throughout our scroll, however, one movie rears its masked head once again and demands our attention. The mental bargaining begins: “We’ve always meant to watch it… But let’s check Netflix one more time… Is it too late in the night to start it now?… What’s its runtime?… Should we run through Hulu again?…”

The truth is, we’ve always been intimidated by this movie. It’s one of the greatest American filmmaker’s swan song. A highly-debated film likened to a fever dream and one that still manages to enchant its viewers (and reviewers). Even the title is confounding enough to form a kink in our brows, bring a knuckle to our foreheads. Because of that, we kept pushing this movie further and further down our “to-be-watched” list for months (maybe even a couple years).

We obviously knew we needed to watch it since we’re such “film lovers,” but we just never got around to it. It also just didn’t excite us all that much. We had missed the boat by 23 years and we kept making excuses about it not being the right “time” to sit down and watch it—as if watching this film were like telling someone his or her mother’s terminally ill!

Lastly, I just didn’t know how badly I wanted to watch a movie that belonged in Tom Cruise’s and Nicole Kidman’s failed marriage time capsule. It felt invasive, muddying, and inappropriate, like I’d be looking for subtle cracks in their real-life marital foundation next to my real-life, brand spankin’ new husband. So, suffice to say, this movie just felt a little…off-putting.

On this particular Friday night, however, we had finally run out of excuses. We had also succumbed to the desperate need for an artistic palette cleanser after having watched the sense-blasting Dr. Strange 2, Multiverse of Madness the week before.

And so, the time had finally come to watch Stanley Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut.

We sat up straight, creating an entire body’s worth of space between us. We dimmed the lights so much we could barely see each other’s faces anymore, and finally clicked play. The beginning credits filled the screen and a sense of dread filled the air.

What followed is a perhaps one of the most bizarre 2 hours and 39 minutes of film I had watched in recent memory (coming in as a close second to David Lynch’s Mulholland Drive).

The 2 Hours and 39 Minutes

Dr. Bill Hartford (Cruise) and his wife Alice (Kidman) live with their daughter in New York. Bill and Alice attend a Christmas party hosted by a wealthy colleague and friend, Victor Ziegler. At the party, Bill innocently flirts with beautiful women while Alice shares a drink and a dance with a handsome partygoer. Bill also runs into his old med-school buddy, who’s now a pianist. The pianist tells Bill that they should catch up, and shares where he’s playing next if Bill is ever around.

After the party, Bill and Alice share a joint, and Alice admits in detail that she once fantasized about having sex with a man she met during one of their family vacations years ago. Bill then becomes determined—obsessed might be a better way to put it—with having his own sexual encounter and sets off on a labyrinthine journey throughout New York to do so.

One of Bill’s first encounters is with a prostitute; this attempt is ultimately foiled when Alice calls his phone. Bill returns to the prostitute’s home a second time and is greeted by the prostitute’s friend; they kiss and things get a little steamy, but Bill is unsuccessful once again as the friend pulls away.

Bill then goes to the club where his pianist friend is playing. He learns that the pianist sometimes plays at an exclusive underground sexual group in which all members are masked and engage in the largest orgy the tri-state area has ever seen. The pianist tells Bill that everyone must be masked and use a secret code to enter. Bill gets a mask, uses the secret code to get past the gates, and attends the group’s meeting.

There, he meets a masked woman who appears to know Bill doesn’t belong, and warns him he’s in danger. Bill’s real identity is quickly discovered, and the group banishes him and presumably punishes the woman who warned him.

Eyes wide shut party — Party’s over, Billy boy.

In the days following his banishment, Bill becomes obsessed with discovering more about the group. He returns only to be severely cautioned and urged to forget everything he’s seen.

Bill then begins experiencing sinister events: he’s followed throughout an uncannily empty New York street, learns that his pianist friend was beaten and has gone missing, and that the masked woman who originally helped him has died overnight. Bill is somewhat at the brink of madness when Victor Ziegler (remember that guy?) invites him over.

Ziegler reveals that he is part of the group and was there the night of the super-orgy. He urges Bill to move on, and suggests that the pianist got off light and that the woman’s death was actually an overdose that had nothing to do with the underground group. Bill is confused, upset, and way in over his head.

Bill’s had the wildest 24–48 hours of his life and when he wearily returns home, finds the mask he used on the pillow beside Alice.

eyes wide shut mask — Hey, thanks, I hate it.

Bill breaks down and sobs at the sight of the mask. He then admits everything he’s done and seen to Alice.

The next morning, the couple begrudgingly takes their daughter to go Christmas shopping, and in the aisle of the toy shop, Alice acknowledges that their union could use some work but that they should ultimately be grateful to still be together despite their impulses, dreams, and fantasies alike.

The couple says that they’re finally “awake” now, and should hope to be for a long time to come, with the most urgent thing of all to do upon this awakening is simply… “fuck”.

Roll credits.

The Bizarreness

For me, it’s the way Eyes Wide Shut constantly invites us to intimacy, and then shuts us out before we can even get in the same room. The result is something so prick-teasing and isolating, it fills us with this dissatisfaction and the insatiable need for some kind of release.

It starts in a way that is visceral. The cast names and film title appears in sudden flashes against a black screen. What does it resemble besides eyes blinking madly?

Once our eyes are open and the film officially begins, we want to close our eyes again almost immediately. Why? The first shot of the film is of a woman undressing. Although it’s a beautiful portrait of Nicole Kidman’s nude backside, it feels uncomfortable and like we shouldn’t be there.

Here is our first expression of intimacy—a woman undressing—and her back is turned to us. She presumably does not know she has an audience, and our being there feels inherently wrong, like we’re trespassing. It feels… icky.

This icky intimacy, this… repellant ooze is essentially in every scene of Eyes Wide Shut:

We watch as Alice and Bill dance together at a lovely Christmas party when Alice asks Bill, “Do you know anyone here?” In a crowded and beautifully decorated ballroom, in the arms of his wife, Bill answers, “Not a soul.” I can’t help but wonder if his wife is included in his answer.
Bill goes to help an overdosed woman in the upstairs bathroom of the party. In a bathroom where private and intimate acts typically occur, this woman is barely conscious and naked. And I don’t like being in there with her.
Kubrick shows us quick glances of Alice’s deeply intimate sexual fantasies with another man, but through blurry, dreamlike cuts. The scenes are always quick, muted, and an unsettling, cold shade of blue, like we’re staring in through a misty window.
Bill is invited to Marion’s (medical patient/friend) home after Marion’s father passes. What is more intimate than inviting someone into your grief? Marion, in desperate need of comfort, then begins kissing Bill and claims her love for him, to which Bill responds, “Marion, we hardly know each other,” and leaves.
We watch as Bill gets close to having his sexual encounter with a prostitute. She invites him to her home, where they discuss how much Bill will pay. Prostitution is such an interesting expression/mode of intimacy. Is it not intimate only because it’s paid for? You wonder these things in the prostitute incredibly warm, inviting, and cozy apartment filled with twinkling Christmas lights, stockings, and the makings of a real, intimate family home. Bill gets a call from Alice, and ultimately decides to leave without having sex.
A similar thing happens later when Bill returns to the the prostitute’s home only to find her friend. This time, Bill is determined to have sex and begins kissing the friend, untying her blouse and traversing her chest. This is only stopped when the friend must deliver a piece of bad and very intimate news: the prostitute has tested positive for HIV. Bill leaves unsatisfied once again.
Kubrick’s choice of HIV is an interesting one itself. HIV is transmitted through the intimate act of sex, and once transmitted, (historically and incorrectly) makes others scared to want to get close with the infected person. It’s such an isolating disease, and yet shared with others in the most intimate way.
Perhaps most obvious of all is the secret sex society. Bill is a spectator on the sidelines of the world’s biggest orgy. He’s there, but he’s not quite invited (just like us). He walks past about a hundred couples having sex all at once. Oh, and they’re all, of course, wearing nothing but masks to hide the face, the person, you’re engaging in this intimate act with.

I can’t help but feel like a mosquito, desperate to land on Eyes Wide Shut’s flesh and suck its blood. But I can’t—Kubrick won’t let me with all his repellant ooze all over the place—and it’s the most isolating, lonely sensation. He brings us so close each time to something intimate, something close to real, only to make us feel unwelcome, leave us feeling unsatisfied, or banish us from the party.

And it does all of this through the most eerie, uncanny artistry. I recall its inexplicable color theory, nightmarish images, and disturbing music (the sound [song?] that plays when Bill returns home and finds the mask on his pillow is probably the most physically uncomfortable I’ve ever felt watching a movie). And do I even need to bring up the group’s masks?

eyes wide shut masks — I wasn’t kidding when I said “nightmarish images”.

The whole film feels like a liminal space, like an old waiting room where, if you screamed, it’d echo. Like the lost space and time between the scenes of your dreams. Dreams again are another example of isolating intimacy. Dreams are, by nature, wholly yours. And yet, how much of dreams are really ours when we fail to understand, remember, or decipher so much of them? They’re within us, and fleeting all the while.

So why? Why create that distance in a movie seemingly and largely concerned with sex, eroticism, community, marriage? Why create an unattainable intimacy?

If connecting to a movie and being let all the way in is fucking, then Eyes Wide Shut is like a sad dry-hump.

Why doesn’t Kubrick want us to get close to his film? To his characters? Why does he want to mask them?

The best way I can describe Eyes Wide Shut is to liken it to a game of cat’s cradle. There’s the yarn, plain and simple—what you see is what you get. And then you start sticking your fingers in it and it transforms into some convoluted thing you can’t find your way out of. There’s a new string to follow, a new angle to it, another way to twist and turn it, and all the while, you don’t even really know if there’s an answer to the riddle. We just get more and more entangled in its web, desperate for an exhale, a relief.

And so I ask again.

Why doesn’t Kubrick want us to get close to his film? Why does he make it so impossible to “understand,” so impossible to—for a lack of better words—penetrate it?

Aren’t all movies supposed to cultivate some kind of connection? Why rob us of that?

We need something from this film. We need a release. We need to be let in. We need a connection.

We need—as Alice kindly puts it—to “fuck”.

Finally Fucking (And Perhaps Understanding)

So what’s the big idea? What do we connect to? What does this all mean? What are we to understand about this enigmatic nightmare of a motion picture? What do we make of this art?

Here’s what I’ll say:

Chad and I did not cuddle or hold hands throughout this film once. We were too captivated by it. We enjoyed it thoroughly, separately, together. It is that enchanting, that strange, that frustrating, that all-consuming precisely because it’s so impenetrable, nonsensical.

And watching movies like this, that can do that to us, is why we love watching films together. Where we don’t look at each other, touch each other, or acknowledge each other, not even once throughout. But we’re happy, and enjoying art. Confounded by it. Wrapped up in it.

That is, in my opinion, one of the most intimate things we do, even if there’s a large space between us. Even if we can’t see each other’s faces in the dark.

Art, even and especially inexplicable art, has the power to bring people together. There might not be an answer other than the fact that two people are viewing one thing together at the same time in the same place. That’s it. That’s the relief. That’s cumming without even laying a finger on each other.

That’s seeing with your eyes wide shut.

Michelle Han-Taylor