Reflecting on the recent “conspiracy theory” documentary chronicling interpretations of The Shining’s true meaning, The Atlantic’s Jason Bailey posed a salient question: can movies be solved? A cryptic and haunting movie, The Shining asks more questions than it answers; on top of this, its famously elusive director Stanley Kubrick was known for his meticulous attention to detail and big picture thematic undertones. With these facts on the table, it becomes clear that The Shining may have an agenda beneath its horror movie veneer.
Room 237, the aforementioned documentary, explores the spectrum of Shining interpretations. One theorist believes the film was set up as a nuanced apology to the injustices inflicted upon the Native American peoples. Another proposes a subtle nod to Kubrick’s complicity in the “staging” of the moon landing. The list of fanatical theories continues: the reversibility of the film’s plot, the Holocaust undercurrents, and the less fanatical notions of displacement.
Bailey is concerned with the validity of these claims. Are they all equally preposterous? To answer this, one must consider Kubrick’s side of the story; he is, after all, the mastermind behind the film’s intricacies. As Kubrick was infamously quiet about the meaning of his films, attempts at gleaning facts from his statements are futile.
To oversimplify a bit, all we know about the guy are his perfectionist nature, erudite mind, and intentionally equivocal films (if you look up “mind fuck” in the dictionary, odds are 2001: A Space Odyssey will be prominently featured). His films are more than they appear—no doubt about that. It’s worth going to the film community to work out the tangles of Kubrick’s oeuvre.
But, seriously—moon landings? Was Kubrick out to tackle these subjects? They’re not even tangential to the plot. Does the “watching The Shining backwards” theory have any more weight than these utterly preposterous claims? Let’s be real: no. Kubrick had a lot more on his plate than a forwards-and-backwards subtext. Can anyone prove this? Unfortunately, no. And who is responsible for this inane “subjective” bulwark of silly interpretations? Film theory.
Film theory is to film what relativism is to ethics. It makes any definite claims about films impossible, but more caustically, it places all film interpretations—no matter how ridiculous—on nearly equal footing. Remember that annoying guy in your literature class who constantly emphasized the importance of colors in scenes simply because he had nothing valuable to contribute? He’s probably busy writing essays about Space Jam as a metaphor for the rise of the Illuminati. Even worse, his papers are probably making their way through film school journals free of reproach. Because of the inherent subjectivity of art and the inability to know an artist’s true intentions, it is nearly impossible to dismiss these theories without finding primary source contradictions.
Room 237’s theories may sound comical, but chances are they would be given consideration in a standard film class. Unless professors weigh the validity of claims, film and literature classes are threatened by an overwhelming wave of bullshit that dilutes the more refined, objectively superior points. But can a point in these classes be objectively superior? No, and that’s where teachers, audiences, and film scholastics must take a stand.
If someone makes a provocative claim with little or no backing, they need to be called out. The “tolerant school of ideas” has flooded classrooms, embracing fallacies that overextend interpretation to the un-interpretable. I’ve taken a few film classes. I’ve said some really stupid things only to be met with the instructor’s approbation. The teacher should have responded by calling me a pretentious asshole. To borrow a phrase from Christopher Hitchens, if I were given an enema in these situations, you could have fit me in a matchbox.
Let’s not put down film theory in general, though. Works of art deserve to be given their fair share of analysis. Subtexts, metaphors, and symbolism are an intrinsic element of respected filmmakers’ work. Nevertheless, when semiotics allows the seeds of absurdities to flourish, it cheapens film theory. A simple admission of superior and inferior theories would do a world of good for film schools and journals; a quick dismissal of the more ridiculous theories would be even better. That said, there’s one ostensibly outlandish theory that stands at the zenith of film scholarship: there’s no doubt in the mind of the rational human being that Kubrick helped stage the moon landing.
