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Only Stanley Kubrick could turn cod pieces, bowler hats, and an
over abundance of eye make-up into symbols of abject terror. Okay, so there are a few
hair bands from the 80s who run a close second, but (thankfully) none of them ever
carried any social significance.
A Clockwork Orange has solidified
its place as a cult classic phenomenon. The film, based on the dystopic novel by Anthony
Burgess, follows Alex (Malcolm McDowell), a sociopath who gets his kicks by the equally
sadistic acts of ultra violence and speaking Russian. Alex, when paired with his demented
droogs — “That is, Pete, Georgie, and Dim” — spends his time wailing on homeless
drunks, fighting with a rival gang, drag racing oncoming cars, and topping the night off
by torturing a middle-aged couple in their home. These are a few of his favorite
things.
After killing a woman, Alex is sentenced to prison and
participates in an experimental rehabilitation program to get early release. As a “free”
man, Alex is reprogrammed to feel ill every time he thinks of sex, violence, and,
unfortunately, Beethoven. What follows is a perverse version of “this is your life.” He
is rejected by his family, beaten by members of his former gang, and brutalized by past
victims, proving society can be just as brutal as the amoral
Alex.
Clockwork is a fable regarding punishment and rehabilitation
that is both a
critical look at society’s attitudes toward justice and a
philosophical exploration of the underlying themes of ethics and free will. Our humanity,
the film argues, is defined by our freedom to choose. Even the title reflects this,
Burgess, a linguist as well as a novelist, refers to the Malay word Ourang which means
“man” and clockwork as a reference to an automatic piece of machinery.
In
its execution, the film is as complex as Burgess’ novel, complete with Kubrick’s
signature symmetrical cinematography, his use of primary colors, and intricate musical
score. It achieves a certain timeless quality — like most of Kubrick’s work — and has
seeped into our social consciousness. Over thirty years after its debut, at two
consecutive Halloween parties, I was flanked by droogs of my own in full Clockwork
guise — “That is, Jeff as Alex. That is, John as Alex. That is, Chris as Alex.” (I went
as an action hero, armed with a pair of blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and a lot of
explaining.)
