EYES WIDE SHUT (1999)

He is magnetic. She is charming. They have wealthy friends who invite them to extravagant parties and a spacious New York apartment where they raise their loving daughter. A successful doctor and his beautiful wife appear to be the perfect couple. But appearances can often be deceiving.

Bill (Tom Cruise) and Alice Harford (Nicole Kidman) are enjoying a relaxing evening when Alice makes a shocking confession: she once considered having an affair with a complete stranger, prepared to sacrifice her life with Bill and their daughter for the experience. This rocks Bill’s entire world and causes him to question his reality. As a result, he embarks on a night out in New York City, during which he will see things he’ll never forget.

Stanley Kubrick’s final film may not be his greatest, but it’s still a masterpiece. It’s unnerving, engaging, and thought-provoking. Eyes Wide Shut dramatises the dichotomy of shiny surfaces and the dark depths that exist beneath them. It’s a story that explores the murky outlines of our subconscious desires, the ones we never examine too closely for fear of what we might find—can you stare at your innermost wants straight in the face?

In his final directorial effort, Kubrick explores the nebulous boundaries between perceived reality and vivid imagination, never fully disclosing how much of what we witness is real and what is merely a figment. As a consequence, Eyes Wide Shut remains an exquisitely enigmatic work 25 years on, a film that provokes both contemplation and a plethora of interpretations.

A great film can capture the themes and ideas that define its story in the very first shot. Being a master filmmaker, Kubrick does precisely this. In what amounts to a perfect opening, Alice disrobes, flinging her black dress onto the ground as she walks in front of a mirror. It helps that the music employed makes the moment sublimely cinematic, but it is what this prologue says that makes it truly brilliant: it symbolises a confrontation with ourselves as we stare at our true, innermost aspirations, laid bare before us. Nothing is concealed as we address our shadow self directly: “What is it that I want? How much of my desire will I freely admit to?”

Kubrick’s ethereal style is on full display in Eyes Wide Shut. The dance at the party, late night walks through NYC streets, and the extended orgy sequence all have a dreamlike quality, referring back to the visually expressive phantasmagoria of The Shining (1980). The ornate blocking and staging of the scenes in the mansion are particularly reminiscent of his elaborate long takes in A Clockwork Orange (1971); both possess a totally surreal aspect, and we are left wondering how much of the night’s events were actually real.

Here, we come to one of the central themes of the story: dreams. Or rather, the ambiguous differentiation between what we imagine and what we want. At the midpoint of our story, Bill wakes Alice from a nightmare, calming her: “It’s only a dream.” But then, as she reveals that she was once again dreaming about an erotic tryst with her naval officer, Bill begins to examine the interrelationship between our subconscious desires and the position they have in our real life.

There is a Jungian element to Eyes Wide Shut. Indeed, this dialogue has much in common with some of Jung’s thoughts on the power of dreams: “I have drawn the conclusion that dreams often contain fantasies which ‘want’ to become conscious. The sources of dreams are often repressed instincts which have a natural tendency to influence the conscious mind.” While dreams are intangible by nature, some of them conceal an urge to be physically manifested. It’s for this reason that, by the end of the film, Bill divulges that his opinion has changed: “No dream is ever just a dream.”

In this way, Eyes Wide Shut explores the innate betrayal of desire that so often dwells in our secret chambers of obsession. Regardless of whether Alice acted upon her urges, it is clear by the scandalous tone of her confession that even the contemplation of indulging such an impulse is tantamount to adultery. In the same vein, when we first see Alice and Bill out in public, they are flirting extensively with other people. Their behaviour begs the question: where exactly does one draw the line?

Many would say such flirtatious dialogue is unconscionable, whereas others would claim only physical acts constitute genuine adultery. However, despite the fact that Bill’s sexual obsession casts a long shadow over his night out in New York City, there is little actual sex that transpires in the film. Yet, in stark contrast, there is plenty of flirtation and sexual suggestiveness.

The film appears to argue that such provocative interactions bridge the gap between socially acceptable behaviour and unhinged carnality. Speech and language, revolutionary tools for social cooperation and symbolic of our more evolved selves, act as a conduit for our primal urges.

In this respect, Eyes Wide Shut is a film about the importance and power of intimacy. This, after all, is the basis of flirtation—creating an immediately magnetic chemistry that is tangible without becoming overtly sexual. In this, I believe Kubrick presented a fascinating dialectic on the polarity between intimacy and carnality. With the former representing an abstract sensation and the latter a physical act, Kubrick and screenwriter Frederic Raphael explore the emotionality and neuroses behind societal taboos.

They examine the contrast between intimacy and physicality in a multitude of ways. To present the two aspects in stark juxtaposition, one will often be present in the absence of the other. For example, the ostentatious orgy is an example of pure physicality. Everyone is naked except for the masks they wear; intimacy is rendered impossible due to the barrier of anonymity. Flirtation is deliberately eschewed in favour of a primal display of lust and sexual instinct.

This gathering is shown in stark contrast to the first party. Here, where social codes of behaviour predominate, both Bill and Alice engage in very intimate interactions, yet never once consider anonymous sex a viable conclusion to their evening. While the tantalising potential for physicality lurks (which is what makes flirtation exciting in the first place), neither of our protagonists demonstrate a willingness to act upon it. Social norms would prohibit such dalliances in the open.

In these two examples, Kubrick dramatises the Freudian id in its clandestine battle against the superego. He suggests that if we were all wearing masks to protect us from society’s disapproving gaze, we would act upon our basest desires. In this respect, the wealthy elites also become emblematic of Jung’s shadow selves: “The shadow is a living part of the personality and therefore wants to live with it in some form. It cannot be argued out of existence or rationalised into harmlessness.” Whereas most of us cannot afford to, the ultra-rich have the facilities to indulge their dark desires. Money transcends social constructs.

However, these primitive instincts dwell deep within all of us; they will not be quashed. In fact, rumours suggest that some sequences at the mansion, which dramatised this very theme, were cut by censors for being too graphic. This infamously included a scene of human sacrifice, where a child is murdered as part of a cult ritual. If this is true and not merely apocryphal, it would appear that Kubrick was marrying notions of Jung’s shadow self with a quote from William Blake: “Sooner murder an infant in its cradle than nurse unacted desires.”

The dark human potential that lurks within our shadow is a theme Kubrick has explored on numerous occasions. In his earlier film, Private James T. “Joker” Davis (Matthew Modine) from Full Metal Jacket (1987) explicitly references the Swiss psychoanalyst Carl Jung in relation to the stickers on his helmet: one depicting the universal peace symbol, while the other reads: ‘Born to Kill.’ When questioned about the incongruity of the messages, Joker disagrees, stating they are not mutually exclusive. “I think I was trying to suggest something about the duality of man, a Jungian thing, sir,” he explains.

In Eyes Wide Shut, Jung’s concept of the shadow is presented as an inseparable part of our DNA. Primal instinct is hardwired into our brains, even though polite, civilised society would have us believe otherwise. This idea is introduced early in the story during Bill and Alice’s argument, as they discuss the evolutionary approach to sex for men and women. Bill suggests that men are programmed to think lustfully, whereas women are more inclined to seek security.

It is at this moment that Alice makes her shocking revelation: women enjoy sex too. She implies that men’s perception of female sexuality is one that has been imposed by patriarchal society, not one rooted in evolutionary reality. “If only you men knew,” she teases cruelly. It’s for this reason that Alice’s fantasy lacks intimacy—it’s driven by pure, unadulterated lust. She’s never even spoken to the naval officer she desires, but she craves him nonetheless.

This is a thought that troubles Bill. He begins imagining her with the officer, the pair of them in the throes of passion, as slaves to their impulses. In scenes such as this one, as well as the orgy, lust is shown to be a dark, destructive force, especially when uncontrolled. This can also be seen in the character of Domino (Vinessa Shaw), a prostitute who discovers she has HIV. Her health is quite literally being destroyed as a result of mankind’s corrosive lust. If Bill had not reigned in his libido, it could very well have killed him, too.

Society’s complicated relationship with sexual desire is shown in Bill’s ambivalent behaviour. At times, he is scandalised by a societal acceptance of lechery; a man’s decision to prostitute his own daughter leaves him speechless. Yet, he’s also shown to be a victim of his own sexual curiosity, almost soliciting a prostitute twice and going to great lengths to attend a debauched party.

In contrast, the desire for intimacy is presented as a unifying internal drive. It is evidently lacking in the Harfords’ marriage when we first meet them. Bill is disinterested in Alice before leaving for the party, and the next time they’re alone together, they argue. It is only when Bill breaks down from the stress of his discoveries that we see the pair begin to rebuild their bond. Emotional openness and trust are shown to be a pivotal social glue in lasting relationships.

Intriguingly, sex is shown to be both a unifying and destructive force: as the physical manifestation of both lust and intimacy, it has the capacity to be either. Kubrick is by no means puritanical; I doubt he intended his subtext to be didactic. However, he does imply the dangers of sex, particularly when used as a channel for repressed desires. If left unexpressed, they will emerge in dark, deviant ways. Such yearnings must be identified and articulated, or they will transform into something entirely different, frighteningly amorphous forms that are wholly unrecognisable.

That is what the film’s opening shot essentially asks us: where do we end and our shadow selves begin? Kidman’s graceful figure and delicate steps draw us in just as the title card descends: Eyes Wide Shut. What is the significance of this? The title seems to refer to something half-seen or partly imagined, an act or a detail noticed but ignored. An entire world exists in these little things left unmentioned; a little idiosyncrasy or a spousal transgression?

Or perhaps the title draws attention to things we see every day, yet hardly recognise: our eyes are wide open, but we’re blind to what’s truly important. To put it another way, we are looking at Alice—but who isn’t? Bill. He is evidently not paying attention; when Alice asks how her hair looks, he responds mechanically, “Beautiful.” She becomes annoyed, “You’re not even looking at it!” He assures her, “You’re beautiful. You always look beautiful.” He has taken her for granted, and it has eroded the intimacy that existed between them.

With affection dissolving, the fear of what lies ahead in their marriage becomes daunting. When Bill assures Alice that they are awake and together now, he says they can remain that way forever. Alice is unsure, “Let’s not use that word, you know? It frightens me. But I do love you.” Perhaps the word ‘forever’ is the problem—it alienates the couple from the present moment, detracting from their time together. This was Harford’s mistake to begin with; Alice always looks beautiful, but they may not always be together. As Oscar Wilde remarked: “The essence of romance is uncertainty.”

Alice, however, suggests there might be something they can do to recapture the intimacy in their relationship, something they should do as soon as possible. “What’s that?” Bill asks. Alice meets his gaze, resolute: “Fuck.” As it turns out, a little primal instinct goes a long way.

Many have dismissed this work, claiming it doesn’t feel like a typical Stanley Kubrick film (as though each of the films in his oeuvre weren’t entirely singular). Perhaps part of what people mean by this criticism is that the story is far more intimate than we’ve come to expect from his work. His composition occasionally lacks the painterly quality of Barry Lyndon (1975) or the photographic stillness of Dr Strangelove (1964). Additionally, the subject matter—the unconscious desires within a failing marriage—feels more like a film by Ingmar Bergman, or Michelangelo Antonioni.

Yet, it feels like a fitting end to the auteur’s illustrious career. The film is cerebral and introspective, dark and psychological, but it ends on a very human note: a husband and wife looking at each other for the first time in a while, wondering what will happen next. While there are many ways to interpret Stanley Kubrick’s final masterpiece, this remains a compelling reading: the void that grows between couples lacking intimacy and the surreal, spellbinding gulf that forms around those who ignore their true desires.

UK • USA | 1999 | 159 MINUTES | 1.85:1 | COLOUR | ENGLISH

Cast & Crew

director: Stanley Kubrick.
writers: Stanley Kubrick & Frederic Raphael (based on the novella ‘Traumnovelle’ by Arthur Schnitzler).
starring: Tom Cruise, Nicole Kidman, Sydney Pollack, Todd Field, Marie Richardson, Sky du Mont, Rade Šerbedžija, Thomas Gibson, Vinessa Shaw, Fay Masterson, Alan Cumming & Leelee Sobieski.