Hubert sat, looking thoughtful, twirling the wine in his glass. The pendulum had swung his way, and he was taking his time about answering the question posed.

"I see," he began, placing his wine on the table and artfully removing his spectacles. A handkerchief had appeared in his other hand, with which he slowly began polishing the half-moon lenses. "Well, I can forgive the thought behind that particular question. His genius can be difficult to see."

Roger was flabbergasted. "I'm sorry, did you just say, 'his genius can be difficult to see'?"

"Yes," answered Hubert, raising his eyebrows.

"Well," continued Roger, "I'm not exactly sure I understand what that means."

Hubert sighed heavily and placed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. "It means, Kubrick's genius could be difficult for the– ", he hesitated. "For the casual observer to even notice, let alone truly understand." He took his glass in hand once more, and sat back in his chair, obviously pleased with his explanation.

Roger grabbed his beer glass, finding it sadly empty. He reflexively raised it in the air, swiveling his head looking for a waitress. Frustrated, he sat the glass back on the table and looked at his companion. "Why in heaven's name would genius, of all things, be difficult to see?"

Huber smiled and, slowly, as if addressing a child, said, "my dear boy, Kubrick's genius lies in the details of his actions, the subtleties, you understand. An uneducated observer could very well miss the meaning – indeed, the very existence of the nuances that separate him from inferior film directors." Check-mate, thought Hubert.

"For example?" Roger asked, one eyebrow raised.

Hubert sat deadly still. Even the wine lay dead in his glass. The bar seemed to have gone silent around them. Their eyes locked, the conversation became a Mexican standoff, each party afraid to blink. No, thought Hubert, feeling suddenly panicked. He's not afraid to blink. Suddenly, an arm reached around Roger's shoulder, sat a full glass of beer on the table, and expertly whisked the empty glass away. Startled, Roger looked around, trying to see who it had been that had brought the beer. There were no waiters or waitresses to be seen.

Shrugging, Roger grabbed his glass and took a quick gulp. Pondering his glass, he said, "well, I call bullshit."

It was Hubert's turn to be flabbergasted. "But, how can you say that? Have you never seen 2001: A Space Odyssey? It's genius!"

"It's a dud!" cried Roger. "What in the world is 'genius' about a bunch of men in gorilla suits dancing around a big black rock? It's the most asinine thing I've ever seen!"

Hubert cried out in terror. "Don't say that!"

But Roger continued. "It's three and a half hours of tripod shots! Didn't Mr. Boy Genius ever hear about tracks and dollies? About camera work! And what, exactly, did all those shots of astronauts jogging around in circles have to do with the central dramatic theme? That was half the movie, men in t-shirts jogging in place!"

Hubert gingerly sat his thin-stemmed glass on the table, despite the rage betrayed in his reddening face. "Kubrick was trying to convey the utter tedium involved in interplanetary flight, I'll have you know."

"'Utter tedium' is right, I'd say. That should have been the name of the movie! 2001: Utter Tedium. You know that part of the movie, where they're doing the interviews from Jupiter or Titan or wherever? The announcer says something like, 'the 8-minute delays between responses, caused by the distance between Earth and Jupiter, have been edited out for brevity'."

Hubert nodded, dreading what would surely come next.

"Well, I'm frankly amazed that Mr. Genius Director didn't leave those eight-minute delays in the movie."

Hubert straightened himself in his chair. "Ooooh, that's exactly the kind of cheap-shot I'd expect from a, a, casual observer like yourself!"

"Well," offered Roger, "just explain to me one thing. What's the compulsion that drives people to consider this obvious hack a genius?"

"Your question is flawed," countered Hubert. "There's nothing 'obvious' about Stanley Kubrick being a 'hack'."

Roger thought for a moment. "Well, you said yourself that his genius could be difficult to detect. Are you suggesting that he was trying to come across as a hack?"

Hubert sensed a possible opening though which he might escape. "2001 is an intellectual film about man's evolution as a sentient being, and his relationship with his creator, whoever or whatever that might prove to be. It's not Armageddon; I'm sorry that Bruce Willis was too young to be involved with the project. Perhaps if there'd been more explosions you would've found it more to your liking." With a dramatic motion, Hubert crossed his legs, crossed his arms, and raised his wine glass to his lips.

Roger took a sip of his beer, and kept the glass held below his chin. He frowned. "Okay, let's drop 2001, then. It's just a science fiction movie. That's no true measure of talent when it comes to directors. I mean, it's no Blade Runner."

Hubert exploded. "What is it with you, anyway? Stanley Kubrick is the most universally-respected director in the history of film, and 2001: A Space Odyssey is generally considered his magnum opus. Are you just being contrary?"

Roger slammed his glass on the table. "No, I'm just saying that it's a bit cold out for the Emperor to be walking around starkers!"

Hubert's eyes narrowed, the shaking of his hand sending ripples through the wine in his glass. "You wouldn't!"

"Oh, I would! If I have to hear one more time about how great the most boring science fiction movie of all time is, just because people are too afraid to say it's boring, boring!, I'll bring up Apocalypse Now! Don't push me!!"

Hubert's face had become purple. Not Apocalypse Now, he thought. The fatal blow. The Big One. If I have to defend Full Metal Jacket against that movie, I'm doomed! Suddenly, his expression changed. His features seemed to collapse in upon themselves. He appeared to have grown smaller, older, slumped in his chair. "Okay," he sighed heavily. "What do you want from me?"

Roger took a long swallow from his glass. He grinned, flush with victory. "I want you to tell me when you last sat through 2001: A Space Odyssey. In its entirety."

Hubert grew even smaller. "Oh, please. Not that..."

Roger's sadism knew no bounds. "Oh, yes. I want to know when, and I want to know where."

"Well," shrugged Hubert. "I bought the DVD."

"Have you unwrapped it?"

"Well..." Hubert's face developed a wrinkle, running from his mouth to his eyebrows. This became a crack, which became a trough, through which poured a river of tears. He broke down. Roger placed a gentle hand on Hubert's troubled brow, and lay his head on his own shoulder.

"There, there," Robert said.

Technorati Tags: 2001, kubrick

This Kubrick thing was really irritating me there...

Could somebody please tell me why, for the love o' God, everybody in the world has a hard-on for Stanley Kubrick? The WordPress theme you're looking at is named after him. I can't even read an Open Source Meganerd Article without getting a gushing ejaculative on who "the Best Director ever" was. Looky here, Poindexter: Stick to what you know and keep the tangents down to a minimum.

Let's take a look at Stanley's oeuvre, shall we? (courtesy of IMDB)

2001: A Space Odyssey (1968) Ugh. Gack! The movie that epitomizes the lemming-like fascination people have with Kubrick. This is one of three movies I've walked out of after paying money to see it; the other two were Kill Bill vol. 1, and Chariots of Fire. Boringest, longest, most overwrought pile of self-important static camera shots ever produced. The only good thing about this movie is that it inspired the opening scene to History of the World, Pt. 1.

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb (1964) This is a funny movie, but only because of Peter Sellers. George C. Scott got so absolutely fucked by Kubrick that he died hating the man, almost 40 years later. In the DVD version, it's explained that Scott's performance was so blatantly over-the-top (just watch the "Blast-off!" scene near the beginning) because of Kubrick: He shot each of Scott's scenes three times, one comical, one subdued, and one so ridiculously overdone that it could never be put into the movie. At least, that's how it was explained to the actor. During editing, Kubrick decided to put in only the overacted takes. It almost ruined Scott's career, which was a lot more impressive than Mr. Best Director Ever's.

Lolita (1962) Yawn. How do you make a boring movie out of a hot young teenage girl crushing on a frustrated, vulnerable older man? Why, just ask Mr. Best Director Ever!

Spartacus (1960) Typical late 50s gladiator movie. Memorable only for the fact that Kirk Douglas is the biggest badass of all time.

Paths of Glory (1957) It's OK. Kirk Douglas is the usual badass. If you want to see this movie done well, check out the Tales From the Crypt episode Yellow. Basically the same story, also starring Douglas, but with better directing by hack horror goon Robert Zemeckis.

Kubrick was an egotistical journeyman director who coasted to fame on the backs of Kirk Douglas and Peter Sellers; two actors who even Mr. Best Director Ever couldn't dominate into acting like high school drama fags. He was just another overrated blowhard, with one or two halfway-decent movies and an army of posers trying to make a god out of him, to the greater glory of mediocre artist-wannabes everywhere.

You want to know who the actual best director ever was? Here's a list of people whose jocks Kubrick wouldn't be director enough to carry, take your pick:

The Coen Brothers, Alfred Hitchcock, Ridley Scott, Francis Ford Coppola, David Fincher, John Huston. That's what a good director looks like.

Technorati Tags: 2001, kubrick, a clockwork orange

The German word for "snow" is Schnee.

Most of you probably know about Mac "fanboys". These are people that hang out exclusively on Apple-related websites, and wait for years on end for the application to work, for free, at the Genius Bars in Apple Stores. You need look no further than Flickr to see how far this obsession goes: People photograph themselves taking their freshly-delivered Macs out of the boxes, like the birth of the first child. This is known as OOBE-pr0n.

What you may not have known, is that there's a similarly scary stalker element for Nintendo products. These are known as Nintendo Fanbois. I have no idea what could turn somebody into one of these, seeing as Nintendo really isn't all that. But I just noticed that the Wii's are starting to arrive, and the Wii-OOBE-pr0n is coming hard and fast.

I've personally owned a few pieces of Nintendo hardware. The NES was my first console after the venerable Atari 5200; I still play my Gameboy Color when I'm sitting on the can; and I bought my GameCube just 4 months ago, the first console I've bought since the Sega Genesis in 1992. Never once have I considered myself a Nintendo 'fan'. I have no idea who Shigeru Miyamoto is supposed to be, a fact that would get me kicked out of any Nintendo fetishist's house.

But the Wii? I feel goofy enough sitting around playing games with a normally controlled console; I absolutely will not subject myself to this:

The level of ragging that I would receive from my otherwise loving, gentle sweetie is beyond measure. I will die with dignity, and avoid the Wii, methinks.

Technorati Tags: nintendo, abject humiliation, wii