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“It’s just the story of one man’s family quietly going insane together.”
This quote, by auteur director Stanley Kubrick, may describe how many of us would tell our stories right now. We’re all a little Jack Torrance in the present moment. Isolated, stuck at home, compelled to make obnoxious Tiktok videos instead of writing our next novel. That’s all Jack wanted to do (okay, maybe not the TikTok part, but you get it). Our aspirations of hot bodies, focusing on our diet, writing that screenplay, starting a business, committing to a meditation practice, getting in touch with nature…you may feel you have a bit more time and opportunity than usual to focus on and grasp our goals. You’re just trying to build your best self, but the world outside is getting worse, covered in the snow of the current pandemic and sensationalized news telling you things are not okay. And maybe, just maybe, your inner demons are getting the best of you. Suffice it to say, some of us may have already joined the ranks of the Overlook Hotel. That haunted place in our psyche given form 40 years ago, today.
It was Memorial Day weekend, 1980, and Stanley Kubrick’s latest film was released in two cities before getting a wide release within the month. It would be the first time Kubrick had a mass-market release, as most of his previous works were limited, only growing in popularity due to word-of-mouth buzz. Kubrick, a fascinating recluse, known for adaptations of short stories and books, had acquired something special this time. The release had a slow start (much like the film itself), not reaching profit margins until the summer, but it’s safe to say that ever since that Memorial Day weekend, The Shining has never stopped gaining momentum. Like a Hans Zimmer riff, its continued presence in the cultural zeitgeist hums at a fever pitch of perpetual escalation, never quite dropping off the radar of cinematic consciousness.
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So, when we look back at a 40 year old film that doesn’t really require a “retro” in the honest sense of “hey, remember this forgotten gem…,” and has been analyzed, dissected, reviewed, and revered many a time over, where does that leave us? Well, in our present moment, the tale of one family, quietly going insane together, seems quite a bit more terrifying, and prescient, than ever. And here’s why.
The premise is well-known. A man, his wife, and their child take on the caretaking duties of a Colorado hotel in the off-season – a hotel with a dark past. For the man, it’s an opportunity to get back to his true passion: writing. For the wife and child, it’s a hope on the horizon to reset for their family troubles and have a sense of starting fresh. But the cold, the isolation, the ghosts of the Overlook, and the hotel itself have plans for their new tenants. In a slow build of anxiety, shocking imagery, and a touch of the supernatural, Kubrick paints a portrait that’s consistently unsettling and easily deemed one of the greatest horror films of all time.
“It must be plausible,” Diane Johnson, Kubrick’s co-screenwriter, said of writing the script, “use no cheap tricks, have no holes in the plot, no failures of motivation…it must be completely scary.” Though the script was written daily, the formula of Kubrick’s vision was meticulously planned the achieve the goal of absolute terror. Too many times, horror directors attempt to derive horror from the “why something is happening” angle, where Kubrick focuses on the execution of ambiguity. If anything, much of the “why” is set up and stripped away early on, from the introduction of the supernatural forces within Danny to the fact that Jack is an abusive alcoholic that potentially threatens the lives of his wife and child. These aspects serve only to set up the ambiguity of a threat, the unease of potential horror, and the suspense of knowing something might happen. It is the unknown from where the horror derives. The film becomes an unnerving study in the psychology of madness.
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There’s a lot to be said of how Kubrick is able to expertly encourage this anxiety. From use of one-point perspective that continually turns the grand floorplan of the Overlook into claustrophobic synecdoches, to the subjective/objective vantage points that undermine what’s real and what’s manifestation. He includes music cues that work against the visual plane: gradually intensifying violins humming violently as Danny tricycles through the halls indicates a looming threat, though nothing happens. Or, no music at all as the camera zooms frantically into close up when Danny whips his head in the game room and sees the twins, giving no musivisual clues or motive to the actions of the screen. These exercises in breaking our expectations prove that while the story may be haunting, the visual storytelling carries The Shining into the eschlons of great horror cinema.
Though based on the Stephen King novel, Kubrick’s The Shining is a strong departure from the source material, spending time developing atmosphere and letting the Overlook breathe as a character itself. It’s a well-known fact that King is not a fan of Kubrick’s adaptation, however it’s lesser know that, in 1981, King admits in his book Danse Macabre that it was one of his “personal favorites” and it “contributed something of value to the genre.” It’s no surprise King took an interest in being involved in many of his ‘80s adaptations after this. King’s story is inherently about the family, about Jack and Wendy, and how their relationship is tested by the ghosts haunting the Overlook Hotel. It’s also about Danny, and his psychic connection to world and his own father’s demons. The argument stands that the human connections in The Shining are missing in Kubrick’s interpretation, and yet nothing feels inherently lost by this decision. I have often heard, when my non-horror-fiend friends watch The Shining for the first time, that Shelley Duvall’s Wendy was “annoying,” an opinion I very much disagree with. But instead of attempting to debate them on this, I simply ask, “did that make it any less scary?” This is typically followed by a pregnant pause, as though they don’t want to admit just how affected they actually were.
And circling back to our present moment, The Shining might just be the most relevantly terrifying study on our collective and simultaneously individual psyches. The forced perspective of our lives is bounded to a single place, tossing and turning our egos with the frenzy of white noise, and thwarting our expectations of normalcy. Social media is our typewriter, staring back at us, and mocking us with our inability to escape the madness in our own minds. The characters in The Shining are just aspects of our own minds, struggling through a terrifying new reality and seemingly hopeless to escape.
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You are Wendy: optimistic yet terrified as your immediate surroundings plunge into nothing you’ve experienced before, just trying to keep some semblance of control as everyone around you wears a mask, keeping you from seeing their true selves.
You are Danny: shining bright, but too naive to know how to use it. You have your whole life ahead of you, and yet you still go into Room 237 even though Hallorann told you specifically not to. Though you try to run away, something is going to chase you.
You are Jack: drinking too much and just trying to ignore the voices in your head while the virtual ghosts around you tell you how to think, how to act, and how to be. And you’re just counting the days until you finally snap.
Wendy, Danny, and Jack project our internal struggles back at us. Effective horror lives in the ability of the audience to put themselves in a story, to relate and interpret their reactions to an extraordinary series of events. How many times have you watched a horror film and thought, “If I were in that situation…” The Shining forces that viewing process, and then systematically undermines our ability to know or understand what threatens us.
But if there is one thing I know, it’s that great horror does one thing extremely well: catharsis. Though the eerie similarity exists, as you sit at home reading this, eyeing the kitchen knives because your neighbor with the shared wall decided now was a good time to redo the kitchen, it’s time to watch The Shining. It’s time to live through the slow decline of Jack Nicholson’s Jack Torrence, manically engaged from interview to axe murder. It’s time to hang with Danny Lloyd’s Tony and Danny, exploring the gifts we’ve been given and confronting the demons of memory. It’s time to stand with Shelley Duvall’s Wendy, protecting our loved ones and believing in the end, there is a way out. Whether is your first time or your fortieth, it’s time to watch The Shining.
Author’s Note: I recognize after finishing this testament to 40-year-old terror that I did not mention Hallorann, played with grace by Scatman Crothers, and just wanted to take a post-mortem to say his brief presence in The Shining, those enigmatic moments of a man duty bound by The Shine, make his demise the saddest, scariest, and most “gutting” moment in the film for this writer. Shine on, Scatman.
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i am so excited to read this about my favourite film!
With anxiety, I am led to believe one coping mechanism is to know the when to adapt and when change. the theme of change I am not sure of. but adapting to trauma runs through the whole film. I see Danny covering his footprints as symbolic of him erasing his existence to his father. it is opposite to the allusion of hansel and Gretel that wendy makes earlier in the film ( about “leaving breadcrumbs.” so a child can be rescued from a wicked stepmother by their father.)
thank you, i will give feedback later !