After a space merchant vessel perceives an unknown transmission as a distress call, its landing on the source moon finds one of the crew attacked by a mysterious lifeform, and they soon realize that its life cycle has merely begun.
A mentally unstable veteran works as a nighttime taxi driver in New York City, where the perceived decadence and sleaze fuels his urge for violent action by attempting to liberate a presidential campaign worker and an underage prostitute.
Robert De Niro,
Signing a contract, Jack Torrance, a normal writer and former teacher agrees to take care of a hotel which has a long, violent past that puts everyone in the hotel in a nervous situation. While Jack slowly gets more violent and angry of his life, his son, Danny, tries to use a special talent, the "Shining", to inform the people outside about whatever that is going on in the hotel.Written by
J. S. Golden
Conspiracy theorists point to several symbols in the film as "evidence" that Stanley Kubrick was involved in "faking" the footage of the moon landing; there are several symbols of "11" throughout the film, the pattern of the hotel carpet in which Danny is playing (in his Apollo 11 sweater) is the exact shape of the lunar launch pad, the pages of Jack's novel reads "All work and no play make Jack a dull boy." The "All" could be interpreted as "A11" or Apollo 11. The large Native American wall tapestry (against which Jack is throwing the ball) resemble rockets. The Apollo 11 vehicle that landed on the moon was called the Eagle; Jack's typewriter is an Adler which is the German word for eagle, there are several wooden eagles in the hotel manager's office, the manager has a U.S. flag on his desk and is wearing red, white & blue colors (some interpret this to mean that he represents the government with whom Jack has entered into a contract). See more »
When Jack leans over the model of the hedge maze in the hotel lobby, the size and configuration of the hedges differ dramatically from the design used in next overhead shot of Wendy and Danny actually moving through the maze. See more »
Hi, I've got an appointment with Mr. Ullman. My name is Jack Torrance.
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The movie's opening titles are also the only instance in any Kubrick film where scrolling credits, rather than title cards, are used. See more »
Early releases featured end credits in the same blue as in the opening titles, instead of the white credits seen today. See more »
Sometimes all good horror needs is a good idea. But sometimes, rarely indeed, a horror masterpiece will reach us by the hand of a Kubrick, with the adept, elusive touch of a great artist to guide the vision, and we know what separates it from all else.
Okay, the story has enough promise that even a hired gun would have to try to fail. Heck, even Stephen King himself didn't fare so bad. It's how Kubrick perceives King's universe however, how he fills the frame with it, that renders THE SHINING a feast for the senses.
Horror that will reach us through the mind and body alike, an assault as it were, tending eventually its pitch to a crescendo, yet curiously not without a delicate lull.
Kubrick's cinema is, as usually, a sight to behold. We get the adventurous camera that prowls through the lavish corridors of the Overlook Hotel like it is some kind of mystic labyrinth rife for exploration, linear tracking shots exposing impeccably decorated interiors in symmetric grandeur. The geometrical approach in how Kubrick perceives space reminds me very much of Japanese directors of some 10 years before. In that what is depicted in the frame, the elements of narrative, is borderline inconsequential to how they all balance and harmonize together.
Certain images stand out in this. The first shot of Jack's typewriter, ominously accompanied by the off-screen thumps of a ball, drums of doom that seem to emanate from the very walls or the typewriter itself, an instrument of doom in itself as is later shown. A red river flowing through the hotel's elevators in a poetry of slow motions. Jack hitting the door with the axe, the camera moving along with him, tracking the action as it happens, as though it's the camera piercing through the door and not the axe. The ultra fast zoom in the kid's face violently thrusting us inside his head before we see the two dead girls from his POV. And of course, the epochal bathroom scene.
Much has been said of Jack Nicholson's obtrusive overacting. His mad is not entirely successful, because, well, he's Jack Nicholson. The guy looks half-mad anyway. Playing mad turns him into an exaggerated caricature of himself. Shelley Duvall on the other hand is one of the most inspired casting choices Kubrick ever made. Coming from a streak of fantastic performances for Robert Altman in the seventies (3 WOMEN, THIEVES LIKE US, NASHVILLE), she brings to her character the right amounts of swanlike fragility and emotional distress. A delicate, detached thing thrown in with the mad.
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