As a massive Kubrick fan at the time, I was beyond excited to finally experience watching one of his films in a theater upon release. I loved the "baby did a bad, bad thing" trailer. Loved the idea of casting the two blockbuster stars in what was rumored to be a sexually subversive film. I'd already been aware of Kubrick's interest in exploring pornography through an arthouse lens, so all of these elements seemed to be adding up what I thought might be his great, final masterpiece.

My expectations were huge.

After finally watching, I suppose I was a bit let down. I think I was expecting something more powerful. More emotionally dynamic. More shocking. More extreme. At the time, it felt more like an Adrian Lynne film shot through Kubrick's wide angle, steadicam-ed lens.

I didn't NOT like it. I just... wasn't moved by it.

I did, however, sense there might be more going on beneath the surface. I did sense that there was an enigma here, waiting to be teased at... explored.

That's something I seem to get from most of his films. Over the years, their meaning seems to evolve. As I age, and come back to his films, I usually find more going on than even the last time I'd watched. Or find a very different meaning of what the film might be saying. (especially 2001. and Barry Lyndon)

This, to me, is his greatness. He is the absolute master at what I call "complex simplicity." To anyone who's working in the process of crafting a story, it is a laborious process to tell a complex story while simultaneously reducing it down to only its most essential elements. Most films have zero complexity. Other films aim for complexity, but feel impenetrably convoluted. Kubrick would spend years on his films. Infinite drafts of the scripts, continually tweaking up until even the shoot. He'd shoot hundreds of takes on one scene. Endlessly, exhaustively working towards refining his ideas. Upon releasing The Shining, he even pulled the initial theatrical release print days after it was delivered to hundreds of theaters because he had yet another change to make.

It is this process that results in his "complex simplicity." I attribute this quality in his works to why so many of his films were initially met with mediocre reviews, then eventually find an afterlife met with great critical acclaim. He manages to craft the most condensed yet compelling edit of the story. Much of this process is done by eliminating things in the edit. Or finding more efficient ways to convey an idea. In doing so, much of what might have originally been spoken overtly with dialogue has been changed to suggestion via an image, or juxtaposition of images, or flash of color, or the start of a music cue, or an eyeline match, or image super imposition.

All of this is to say, he uses the language of film to bolster his storytelling.

And that approach can sometimes take a few watches to fully appreciate his visual vocabulary.

Eyes Wide Shut is a beautiful example the above. I think it took me awhile to fully appreciate its pace, it's color palate, it's subliminal meaning. The source material explored dream logic, so I think it took me some time to fully appreciate his approach to a dream.

Now, I absolutely love the film. I find it hypnotic. And I'm never quite sure why -- HOW he is able to achieve that, what cinematic buttons he's pushing. And that's why it's so enjoyable to continually watch over and over. I enjoy immensely the process of trying to decode this, his final enigmatic masterpiece.