Kubrick by Kubrick documentary, Jim Morrison (Clearwater and other stories)

“He was not any of the things the newspapers said about him,” Christiane Kubrick says of her husband in an archival interview featured early into Kubrick by Kubrick, a new documentary that seeks to look behind the monolith and demystify its legendary’s subject’s artistic process. Directed by Grégory Monro, it’s based on a series of interviews by critic Michel Ciment. Handsomely presented with captivating quotes—not only from Kubrick himself but many of his closest collaborators—the brief film, clocking in at just over 70 minutes, effectively shows a side of Kubrick often not the focus of critical conversation: a man who lived a relatively humble way, with a mind that was more endlessly curious than all-knowing. Some of these recordings were featured in a French radio program, as well as a book, but they are here given the cinematic spotlight and Monro’s intention becomes clear from the get-go. “I don’t know what led me to make any of the films,” says Kubrick. This evasion to getting personal is perhaps another slice of his genius—we’re left solely with his enigmatic body of work rather than a tell-all book. “Stanley never knows where to put the camera,” says Malcolm McDowell when it came to A Clockwork Orange. “He’s an artist. Any director who knows what he’s going to do is a very poor director.” Kubrick by Kubrick acts as an antithesis to a film such as Room 237, which exhaustively went down the rabbit hole of the purported hidden messages of The Shining, straining to impart the mysterious genius embedded in every frame of Kubrick’s film. While Rodney Ascher’s feature entertained as it traversed deeper into the maze of the Overlook Hotel, it also built up the mythic quality of a director described quite differently by Ciment. Kubrick was a man who lived in the countryside with his family, playing chess and reading between work on his films. In this sense, the documentary’s greatest achievement is humanizing the man. Kubrick talks about the difficult work that goes into each production: “Making a good film is a miracle and it’s hard to make miracles.” In the twenty years since his death, no one has been able to fill his shoes, but we imagine he’d be pleased with the directors who have helped carry this forward-thinking torch, and Monro’s project serves as further inspiration for artists and audiences alike. Monro: It’s completely an archival film. I only used archives. I haven’t done new interviews. I wanted to find something logical with Kubrick’s thinking. He had a real viewpoint of humanity, on the duality of man. Most of his films follow that. I think that the most important thing is to look what man can do–he basically destroys everything he does. Source: thefilmstage.com

Alex does achieve narrative authority in the opening scene, but only against a series of visual contradictions. Several aspects of this shot complicate Alex’s prototypically masculine authority. In spite of his direct gaze and voiceover, he is also the object of the camera’s gaze. The mannequin “women” of the Korova Milkbar ostensibly contrast Alex’s masculine vitality and narrative authority. Alex’s feminized eye, however, metonymically links him to the female furniture. Furthermore, the white shirts and pants both he and his droogs wear as part of their costume parallel and blend in with the porcelain white female furniture-figures around the bar. I examine the opening tracking shot and how homosocial violence is represented within or against heterosexual violence in three of the gang’s attacks. A Clockwork Orange ultimately deconstructs the link between vision and narrative mastery by repeatedly positioning Alex among other men as the feminized spectacle. While many critics have celebrated Alex’s subjectivity, few have highlighted that his position is tenuous from beginning to end. Alex's gang sit in the bar, but their drug-induced stillness make the furniture-women look more alive than their “real” human counterparts. Alex’s voiceover, however, separates him from the others and situates him as the primary, active subject of the narrative: “thinking is for the gloopy [stupid] ones, and the omni [smart] ones use inspiration and what Bog [God] sends.”

Furthermore, the opening close-up of Alex shows one eye adorned with false eyelashes and the other without. Through this mark of the feminine on the male body – men generally do not wear false eyelashes unless they are drag queens – the film signals an ironic link between masquerade and masculinity. Although the voice-over suggests narrative authority, Alex remains the object of the camera’s gaze throughout the shot, physically diminishing in size through the backward tracking motion until the camera literally disembodies him. Thus, these tensions represents Alex’s implicit polymorphous perversity. This tension in the first shot between Alex as masterful masculine subject and feminized object of the gaze parallels the tension between the film’s highly erotic homosocial realm and its distanced, quasi-comical, representation of heterosexuality. The Ludovico treatment sequences, however, do more than link spectatorship, passivity, and a desire to be victimized through one’s identifications with on-screen subjects: they also deconstruct the safe distinctions between audience and image. Alex sits in the front of the theater, the ostensible audience for the film, but he is also the object of the doctors’ gaze. Furthermore, the physical effects of the films on Alex mirror the objectification of Alex-as-spectacle. This shot-reverse-shot pattern, in combination with the double assault on Alex from the doctors and the film’s “gaze,” place the extradiegetic spectator in a painfully split position of identification. Although the staged encounter with the seminaked woman in the theater is not a rape scene per se, the horror of the image lies precisely in the feminization of Alex or, conversely, the triumph of the naked (and presumably powerless) woman over the impotent, passive, clothed Alex. I see Alex and his antagonist the progressive writer Mr. Alexander – as spectator and performer, father and son – engaging an elaborate series of dualisms beautifully enacted through the reference to “Singin’ in the Rain.” 

Although Gene Kelly was “ready for love,” “love,” in Kubrick’s cinematic landscape, has become not simply heterosexual rape, but, more radically, a sadomasochistic struggle between men. Mr. Alexander refers to both his raped young wife and Alex as “victims of the modern age.” Alex’s final words are: “I was cured, all right.” After he has been sent the other way through the Ludovico technique, so that he is now his old self – this time in service to the government. He says his final words over a bizarre image, a low-angle shot of himself making love to a woman in the snow, while people in top hats look on and applaud (some odd allusion to the Ascot sequence of My Fair Lady, perhaps). “I was cured, all right.” He almost laughs and growls out the words, as if telling us he is back on the loose again. But not quite. Alex may still be a beast, but he's now an owned beast, still a victim of the modern age, working for the state. —Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange (2003) by Stuart Y. McDougal

Christianity, with its sufferings of the world, its sin and misery and death, and its “you will be hated by all,” is realistic pessimism—albeit, as with Schopenhauer, with an escape route, namely, denial of the will and the consequent asceticism. It permitted Schopenhauer to draw out some fascinating implications but it also blinded him to a likely deeper truth about Christianity. Shopenhauer: "While all other religions endeavor to explain to the people by symbols and parables the metaphysical significance of life, the religion of the Jews is entirely immanent, and furnishes nothing but a mere war-cry in the struggle with other nations." Volume 2 elaborates on these ideas, especially in the chapter titled “On Religion,” which brings this observation: "Also we should not forget God’s chosen people who, after they had stolen, by Jehovah’s express command, the gold and silver vessels lent to them by their old and trusty friends in Egypt, now made their murderous and predatory attack on the ‘Promised Land,’ with the murderer Moses at their head, in order to tear away from the rightful owners, by the same Jehovah’s express and constantly repeated command, showing no mercy, and ruthlessly murdering and exterminating all the inhabitants." In such a world, says Schopenhauer, our motto should be (quoting Virgil): “Do not give way to evil, but face it more boldly”—Aeneid. We must harden ourselves, and stiffen our resolve; he cites Horace: “Even if the world collapses over a man, the ruins still leave him undismayed—Odes. But perhaps we leave the last word to Schopenhauer himself. His pessimistic realism held true to the end. In volume two of the Parerga, he sums up all the strivings of our lives: "A happy life is impossible; the best that man can attain is a heroic life, such as is lived by one who struggles against overwhelming odds in some way and in some affair that will benefit the whole of mankind, and who, in the end, triumphs—although he obtains a poor reward, or none at all." Schopenhauer told Richard Wagner's friend Malwida von Meysenbug, "I have not yet spoken my last word about women. I believe that if a woman succeeds in withdrawing from the mass, or rather raising herself above the mass, she grows ceaselessly and more than a man." Source: www.theoccidentalobserver.net

Whether through the Church itself, his parent's interpretation of their religious beliefs, or his own experiences, Jim Morrison felt that Catholicism was more condemning than forgiving, portraying a God who was more hellfire and less love, a religion that looked for faults to criticize and gave the impression that one slip was all it took to fall over the edge to eternal damnation. Christ had preached love and forgiveness, but Morrison saw the Church as preaching only judgment and condemnation. He turned from what he felt was the hypocrisy of his parents' Catholic Church, but he occasionally wore a cross around his neck, at times onstage. When asked about it he answered, "It's just a cross. I was raised in a Christian culture and the cross is one of its symbols, that's all." Yet he loved to discuss God and religion for endless hours with friendly listeners who would listen to his countless theories on man's relationship to God. 

While living in Clearwater, FL, Jim Morrison lived just blocks away from the Francis Wilson Playhouse in downtown Clearwater. He was known to sit in the back of the theatre and watch the actors on stage during practice, and listen to the poetry readings they hosted. He also discovered the Beaux Arts Coffee House in Pinellas Park and frequented the establishment. It is known that Jim would come, and recite his poetry at the open mics, while strumming randomly on the ukulele. After two semesters at Saint Petersburg Junior College, Jim transferred to Florida State University in Tallahassee. While at FSU, Jim became interested in the film department. He took some art classes and participated in the school’s small film department where he participated in the school’s play of The Dumb Waiter. -Jim Morrison's Clearwater Then and Now: A pictorial history and collection of tales from the life of Clearwater's Rock Legend (2018) by Bird Stevens.

RiderontheStorm1969: I heard John Densmore made up with Ray Manzarek before his passing. I don't think Robby Krieger holds no ill will anymore. Rumor was that John lost his royalties to The Doors music in a divorce so his ex Leslie Neale now gets 25% of Doors royalties. I've never been a fan of Densmore after he bashed Jim so much in the past. John "Wanna listen to me bitch about Jim Morrison? He's the reason I'm not stocking shelves at Walmart" Densmore. His relations with Ray and Robby were non-existent after Densmore's confusing lawsuit against them. Densmore called Manzarek when Ray was facing the end and Ray opted to pick up the phone and talk with Densmore one last time. Robby Krieger has described his once close relationship with Densmore as "we are friends but we're not friendly". Densmore obviously ripped Morrison to pieces and blamed him for everything under the sun where the band was concerned. The careers of the other three Doors collapsed after Morrison died. Densmore's jealousy of Morrison is obvious and Densmore is just a nasty, deeply angry little man with a very strong sense of entitlement and who draws attention to himself by publicly throwing Jim Morrison under the bus. 

Jim Morrison has been eating acid like popcorn, but this tonight his intake has led him to curl up in a vegetative state on the floor. His dark mane falls down in tangles over his chalk-colored face. His blue eyes are glazed balls of dilated shock. Not for the first time, not even the first time this week, he's deep in the throes of lysergic phychosis. And it's showtime. The crowd has reacted with bored hostility to the instrumental set, they came to see Morrison. In frustration, Densmore kicks over a wastebasket full of empty beer cans, and he pivots towards the exit. "I'm calling it off", he shouts. Densmore reaches for the door, until he's interrupted by the owner of the Whiskey, Mr. Maglieri, who enters their dressing room uninvited. Densmore steps aside, while Manzarek explains to Maglieri they need a little more time to revive Jim. Maglieri's tailored pinstripe suit is pressed to perfection, Sinatra style, it belongs to another era. An unmistakable twinkle in his eyes belies his displeasure over the present situation. Krieger casts his eyes down and turns his attention back to tuning his six-string. Maglieri looms over the crouching Manzarek, who keeps chanting mantras in Morrison's direction. "What a fucking night," Maglieri sighs, shaking his head. "John Lennon's sitting out there with a fucking tampon on his head. Limey prick won't take the thing off." All of a sudden, Morrison open his eyes and lurches to his feet. Maglieri's voice seems to have set off a tripwire in the recessess of his brain. Finally Morrison manages to win the battle with gravity. Morrison and Maglieri are left alone in the dressing room. Morrison stumbles for words, "There's something I want to tell you, it's been on my mind a long time, Maurio," Morrison mispronounces Maglieri's name again. "This better be good," Maglieri grumbles. Morrison says in a shaky half-whisper: "You are more of a father to me than my old man ever was." Maglieri is touched by this acid-addled declaration and he pats Morrison's shoulder in an affectionate manner. "That's nice to hear, kid", Maglieri winks at the singer. "Now jump onstage, this is an important night." Relighting his cigar, Maglieri watches as Morrison staggers out of the dressing room and into rock and roll history. —Straight Whisky (2004) by Erik Quisling and Austin Williams

Nicollette Michelle Dahl: Pamela called herself Mrs Morrison because Jim gave her a wedding band in 1967. He enjoyed taking care of her and indulged her fashion boutique. Pamela was very good friends with Diane Gardiner and another girl named Bebe, a photographer who went to Otis Art Institute of Los Angeles. I heard about Bebe in 2005 from a librarian assistant. I learned Bebe was her Aunt. I was at the library doing some research and couldn’t locate a book and had to go to the reference desk. The librarian said — “Nicole you need to hear about this” he explained to the assistant that I was a Jim Morrison fan and I’d want to know this story. The librarian assistant proceeds to tell me the story about her Aunt Bebe and how she was good friends with Pamela and Jim. She lived in Los Angeles attending art college studying photography. She said something like “You might not believe me, but since you’re such a big fan, I can bring some photos to show you. I work on Saturday, come back in the afternoon and I will show the photos. I of course came back that Saturday. She showed me a small stack of photos. Bebe and Pamela at Bebe’s apartment, the two ladies standing back to back, another photo of Pamela and Bebe at her dining room table, she said that Bebe’s boyfriend took those photos. There were 2 photos of Bebe and her boyfriend, with Jim and Pamela out to dinner, the waiter took the photos. I saw a photo of just Jim and Pamela, with her head turned into Jim’s arm, slightly hiding behind her hair, and one where both Jim and Pamela are looking straight and the camera and Pamela was smiling. A few more photos of Pamela outside in Bebe’s back yard, a photo of Pamela in Bebe’s Karmann-Ghia car. Then a few photos of just Jim at Bebe’s apartment, a photo of Jim laying down on a wood floor - the photo is taken from above and you see Bebe’s bare legs on either side of Jim. A photo of Jim with Bebe’s sister (that’s the assistant mom) at Bebe’s family home. A photo of Jim and Bebe on the couch at Bebe’s parents home. And yet a different day of them in the pool of all 3 in the pool. There’s about 20 photos in all. She goes on to tell me Bebe and Jim had an affair, and she’s not sure how long it lasted... Jim had gone to Bebe’s parents home for family dinner more than once. Bebe, Pamela and Jim all stayed close friends. Bebe and Pamela were a a few months apart in age, with Bebe being born in 1947 in March the following year from Pamela. At this point I say I’d love to meet your aunt. And she tells me that her Aunt passed away in 1970 in an auto accident. I say how tragic, I’m sorry. She said that she never got to meet her aunt. I tell her thank you for sharing these stories. Bebe knew Pamela and Jim from late summer 1967 till Bebe passed in 1970. I think her niece sold the photos to the Coursons family and the photos are kept in a private collection. Randy Ralston also had some home movies he shot of Pamela. He sold those to a collector, who died shortly after, then she left that footage to her son.

Raeanne Bartlett: Jim obviously loved Pamela immensely and intended to take care of her. I just loathe what some writers and even some of their friends say about her. It is clear they really loved each other. He took care of her and provided for her willingly. He named her next of kin in his will. They probably considered themselves married. Pam liked to paint flower pots and she was a big reader, she shared with Jim what she read. Pamela was not a rough-it kind of girl, she really loved comfort and extravagance. Pam liked traveling first class, shopping and talking with people she enjoyed. Jim bought her a Jaguar XKE, a Mercedes, a few VW bugs. Pamela went through cars like crazy.

Pamela Courson's world was seriously shaken when she met Jim Morrison in 1965. Three years after, in the summer of 1968, Jim Morrison had become the acclaimed 'bad-boy' of The Doors, who after playing the Hollywood Bowl, went with The Doors on the road: Houston, Dallas, Honololu, New York. Pam was incensed about his new public desirability and feeling ignored while Jim was on the road, she had a fling with actor John Phillip Law of Barbarella fame. She made sure Morrison heard about it and they had many a long-distance arguments over it. “You’d better get your ass out to New York, I miss you,” he'd growled into the phone, according to Diane Gardiner. Pam was being deliberately stubborn, he reasoned. Her idea was to force him to come home and he finally said she better come to New York where he was playing. Pam drove to the airport, parked the car in the regular parking lot, and took a flight to New York. She came back two weeks later and the police had towed it and discovered the kilo of marijuana she'd left in the trunk. They busted her, but Diane Gardiner [The Doors' publicist] had someone get her out on a first defense. "A kilo was a lot in those days, but I think they realized she wasn't selling, she was just spaced out." —"Break On Through: The Life and Death of Jim Morrison" (2014) by James Riordan