Misunderstood Masterpieces: Eyes Wide Shut

Posted by Will Helm on 04.16.2003

…Or, Watch the Bourgeois Get Their Freak On

Disclaimer: Due to the litigious nature of certain parties involved in the production of this picture, this review will contain cheeky euphemisms in place of real humor. Then again, how would that be different from my usual reviews?

Stanley Kubrick. Honestly, I’m not a huge fan. There…I said it. I know that there are a lot of Kubrick aficionados out there and for them I have nothing but respect. I, however, am not one of them. I did enjoy Full Metal Jacket, A Clockwork Orange was good albeit overdone at times, and what I have seen of Dr. Strangelove is hilarious (although I am an admirer of Peter Sellers’ work, so that may cloud my judgement). Even though there are some Kubrick films I enjoy, that does not mean that I find his direction to be anything noteworthy. Good, yes…but not spectacular. Unfortunately, though, even his refined eye could not rescue his final work…Eyes Wide Shut. What happens when you put together a legendary director with two of Hollywood’s most bankable stars? We shall see…

First, I watched this on DVD, and it took no time in annoying me with its assertion that the reason what I’m watching isn’t in wide-screen is because it was “as the director intended.” Right. Then why wasn’t the movie just released directly onto video, where you don’t have to worry about filling up those silly spaces on the sides of the screen? I can’t imagine Kubrick sitting there, behind the scenes, telling himself “Gee, this’ll look really good when it’s broadcast on cable.” Methinks someone else had a hand in this…I wonder who. Although my displeasure with the film is quickly curtailed by the discovery that Nicole Kidman, or at least her character, goes commando. There’s nothing like pointless, gratuitous nudity seven seconds into a film. After some non-dramatic camera spinning, Nicole’s character (they still haven’t mentioned any names yet, if I recall correctly) takes a leak while Tom Cruise’s character complains. So exciting!

Our (somewhat) happy couple ends up at Sydney Pollack’s party, which is just so terribly…white. That’s one of the very noticeable things about this movie: it is perhaps one of the whitest films ever made. You could count on one hand the number of non-whites that have speaking roles and on two hands the number of non-whites altogether. Of course, it doesn’t help that Sydney Pollack’s apartment is nearly entirely white as well. OK, at this point I guess it’d be easier to just provide the characters’ names, since the film doesn’t seem to be very forthcoming. Tom Cruise is Dr. William “Bill” Harford, successful Manhattan doctor; Nicole Kidman is Alice Harford, art dealer turned stay-at-home mom; and Sydney Pollack is Victor Ziegler, who does something or other.

Bill and Alice take some time to dance badly, before Alice’s chronically small bladder cuts in. During Alice’s absence, Bill meets up with an old medical-school-acquaintance-turned-pianist named Nick Nightingale (Todd Field). He should have known that he’d be in the entertainment industry, what with a name like “Nick Nightingale.” How many doctors are there out there with the last name “Nightingale”? Oh…her. Yeah…but she was a nurse! Ha! OK then. In the interim, Alice returns from the lavatory only to be hit on by a sleazy Hungarian with giant eyebrows. He steals a dance, but only because Bill is chatting up two drunken models. There’s nothing like listening to the ramblings of a horny Hungarian and two soused models, which we get in large quantities here.

This goes on for what seems like weeks, if only because this movie moves so glacially slow; if this is deliberate on the part of Mr. Kubrick, it definitely knocks him down a few pegs in my book of esteem. In other words, this movie is soooooooo sloooooooooooow. Ahem. Thank you. Anyway, Bill’s flirting is rudely interrupted by some guy informing him that Victor wants a little chat. It turns out Victor’s got a naked girl OD’d on speedballs in his bathroom…a bathroom that is fancier than my house. Sydney, no!!! It’s “When Good Directors Attack! Vol. 1.” Of course we get Dr. Bill to the rescue, as he wakes up Mandy, the OD chick. All the while, Alice and the overly intellectual eyebrows are still dancing, which keeps up until Alice, who is VERY drunk, goes off to find Bill.

They somehow end up at home, where Alice is naked in front of a mirror and Bill decides to get cuddly. I swear, they’re so attracted to one another in this scene. They must be such a wonderful couple in real life. Oh…wait. The next day, Dr. Bill is on the job, inspecting more naked breasts, while the oft-naked Alice is at home tending to their daughter. I have never seen a movie that has so much nudity in it that it actually sours you to the entire concept of nudity. I mean, I’m a virile young guy and the idea of nudity is a nice thing; this movie, however, has entirely too much of it for no reason. Yes, a guy who just wishes for reasonable nudity in films…go figure. Then again, there are those movies that are so BAD that they sour you to the concept of nudity therein, but that’s a review for a different time.

After such a “stressful” day, and I use that term very loosely, what’s the first thing someone can do to lighten the mood? Smoke up, of course! So we get treated to watching two people who have probably never been stoned in their lives act stoned. And, sadly, they turn into the boring and depressing intellectual stoners too. The pot paranoia kicks in as they go off into a dissertation about sexual attractiveness and play a little game called “Who’s the better actor?” The way this scene is cut, it looks as if neither Bill nor Alice are in the room together. It’s just like a very slow game of table tennis; first Alice says something, then Bill says something, then Alice says something, then Bill says something. And on and on. I don’t think, for one moment while they’re arguing, that they’re in the shot together. I really hope that wasn’t Kubrick’s idea.

After a few hours of deliberation, Alice confesses actually being attracted to other men and Bill freaks. At least he would have right there had he not been interrupted by the news that some old rich dude just keeled off. He quickly goes over to the rich guy’s apartment while entertaining some insecure black-and-white thoughts of Alice doing the horizontal mambo with another man. Oh…another thing: while the Harfords are arguing, it looks like some kind of eternal twilight outside; while Bill’s in the taxi, it’s nighttime. This occurs quite a lot for some reason. Anyway, at the rich guy’s apartment, Bill meets up with Marion (Marie Richardson), the rich guy’s vaguely accented, cross-eyed daughter. They mourn together for a few moments until Marion freaks out and makes out with Bill. He’s so manly and attractive, he is. Marion’s boyfriend Carl (Thomas Gibson) shows up to provide a much-needed buzzkill. Everyone is just so stilted and stiff in this scene, although we know why Bill is…don’t we? Wink, wink.

Back out on the streets of Greenwich Village, the still insecure Bill has more fantasies about Alice’s non-affair and is pointlessly harassed by a herd of homophobic frat guys. Now insecure with his masculinity as well as his marriage, Bill picks up the MOST ATTRACTIVE STREETWALKER IN THE HISTORY OF NEW YORK (Vinessa Shaw). Actually, her name is Domino, but is that really important? They go back to her apartment, which Bill classifies as “cozy” (that’s nouveau riche-speak for “a dump”). He needn’t worry, though; after all, not many hookers wear vintage designer clothes and listen to jazz. Then again, I wouldn’t know. No, really…I wouldn’t. I’m serious! Just before Bill’s going to get some sweet, sweet lovin’, Alice gives him a call and spoils the mood. Oh well. Bill’s still going to have to be insecure for the time being.

Bill ends up at the jazz club where Nick is playing; appropriately, seeing as this is the “whitest movie ever,” it is a decidedly antiseptic jazz club replete with a French maitre d’. Because nothing says “good jazz” like a maitre d’. Nick and Bill chat for a bit and Nick spills the beans about a mysterious gig he has later on. Turns out that, even though Nick has to play the piano there blindfolded, he peeked while at a prior gig and he saw HOT CHICKS! Now, with that information, the increasingly insecure Bill presses Nick for more details. This follows the legendary equation: HOT CHICKS + intense horniness = Bill’s mind – masculine insecurity.

We all know the weak-willed Nick spills the beans because 1) the movie doesn’t end (though you may wish it did at this point) and 2) Bill heads to a costume shop (at about 1 a.m.) for his orgy-wear. Bill encounters a belligerent, scrofulous Russian (Rade Sherbedgia) who he calms by flashing his doctor’s badge (this becomes a running theme). While waiting for the Russian to retrieve “a tux, a cape, and a mask” (and uh loaf uh bread, cartuhn uh milk, and stick uh buttuh [thank you, Sesame Street!]), the costume shop turns into a Japanese game show as two made-up Asian men in their underwear run out of a room with the Russian’s underwear-clad teenage daughter (Leelee Sobieski) in tow. This is another thing that annoys me about this film right here: Leelee Sobieski is one of the better young actresses in Hollywood…she has NO lines in this scene. Yet, she out-acts Tom Cruise without saying a word. Isn’t that funny? This mistreatment of talent becomes more significant later.

We end up at the orgy, which happens to be in a giant mansion somewhere in Long Island. Or upstate New York. Or northern New Jersey. It’s not really that clear, to be honest. All we know is that it costs $74 to get there from the Village. There’s a strange, cult-like atmosphere going on, complete with Renaissance masks and capes and hoods and chanting that sounds like a record being played backwards. Oh, so it’s Ozzy’s house! We also hear cellos, but we see no cellos; we just see Nick with a synthesizer set-up that would make John Tesh go “Damn, that’s a big synthesizer set-up!” just before being eaten by rabid wolves.
After the well trained, naked HOT CHICKS pair off with lucky masked individuals, Bill gets warned about his status as an interloper. Not listening to reason and only looking to quell his insecurity, Bill ignores the warnings and wanders around watching people get it on…while he gets in the way. Selfish, selfish, selfish. This is also the part of the movie where you can play “Spot the Digitally-Inserted Stuff!” Tragically, Kubrick died during production of the film, so to prevent the amount of gratuitous nudity from getting out of hand, Tom Cruise himself said that the director wished to have people and furniture digitally inserted to obstruct the sexual goings-on from the viewer. Hmm…that assertion about “director’s wishes” sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it? Anyhow, somewhere in the midst of all this the HOT CHICKS lose their panties (I guess the Tri-Lambs got an invite), Bill gets found out, and the whole thing turns into a scene from an inquisition or an opera…an opera of the absurd!!!

Bill goes home, where a now sober Alice confesses that she dreamt about being terrified of nakedness (hasn’t stopped anyone in this picture yet!) and she fears her inner slut. Good to know. Bill, loving husband that he is, goes back out on the town to piece together the night before. He also pretends to be a cop, flashing his doctor’s card as if it were a police badge…and everyone kowtows to the card! Like he as some real power or something. First to cower in awesome fear: Alan Cumming. Yes, another extremely talented actor wasted in a bit part, this time as a flaming-queen concierge at Nick’s hotel. It turns out Nick’s gone and he looked bruised. Thanks for showing up to the set today, Mr. Cumming.

We return to the costume shop, where it turns out that Bill has forgotten the mask. A nice thing does happen here, though; Leelee, the nubile-teenage-Russian-hooker-now-being-pimped-out-by-her-father, gets a line! Yay!!! And the line? “Hello.” Still better than Mr. Cruise, though. Back at the mansion, Bill gets a threatening form letter. He’s still having insecure thoughts as well. Alright…we have established that he is obsessed with the thought of another man having sex with his wife. Enough! Bill releases his inner pervert, as he feels up Domino’s roommate (who never said SHE was a hooker) who tells Bill that Domino has HIV. Well, it’s a good thing that Alice called now, isn’t it? And I bet you all thought that Bill was going to get freaky-deaky, eh? For shame.

On the streets, Bill wanders about emotionlessly while being stalked by a giant Verne Troyer. He discovers that Mandy, the naked junkie, is dead (a murder mystery two hours into the movie?)…off to the hospital to investigate! He flashes his doctor’s badge once again and teases necrophilia while in the morgue. Very luckily, he gets called in for a meeting with Victor. Victor tells Bill that he was also at the orgy the night before. Um…eww. The thought of a middle-aged director making the beast with two backs is not an image I EVER want in my head again! Thank you, movie. It turns out that everything that happened is Bill’s fault. Nice job, Bill. With this in mind, Bill returns home. He finds Alice, sleeping peacefully…AND THE MASK!!! THE MASK IS ON THE BED!!! THIS MEANS…something. Of course, this something is so profound that Bill has a breakdown. He confesses everything to Alice, they go Christmas shopping, and she wants some sex. And that’s our movie!

Let’s see…where to begin? Talked about the mind-numbing pacing. Talked about the lack of any minority characters. Mentioned how damned stiff and emotionless everyone is in this movie. The eternal twilight? Check. An actor playing “director”? Ditto. Digitally-inserted stuff? Yep. The music? No…I didn’t mention the music!!! Oh…wow. The music in this film, and one piece in particular, will grate on your nerves like nothing else. Other than incidental music, there’s three main pieces to the picture: that Chris Isaac song, which I can take or leave; a pretty good Shostakovich piece, which is sadly not used enough; and a Ligeti piano piece which is so overused that it can and will drive you mad. Just the PLUNK-PLUNK-PLUNK of the piano over and over and over and over again. You’ll hear it while you work, you’ll hear it while you play…waking, sleeping, it’s all the same! PLUNK-PLUNK-PLUNK. PLUNK-PLUNK-PLUNK. Over and over and over and over…argh!

Honestly and seriously, though, it’s sad that Stanley Kubrick passed away during production; it’s even sadder that he still must be associated with this film. Such is life (and death) in the film biz, I suppose…

By the way, Tom Cruise is most definitely…[censored].