'A Clockwork Orange' Film Review

A Clockwork Orange was the second Stanley Kubrick film I ever watched (after The Shining), and walking in with only the outline of the story in mind and not having read Anthony Burgess’s source material beforehand, I was staggered by how much it differed from my initial expectations. I had been told that it was an eccentric and deeply conceptual experience with a tinge of black humor—however, upon actually watching the film, I realized that it was so much more.

The main character, Alexander DeLarge, offers a startling and tenderly-crafted performance from Malcolm McDowell. The first shot of him at the very beginning—beheld after a flash of red which briefly takes over the screen—with a wry smirk and a mischievous glint in his eyes let me know that his portrayal would be stand out to me. Despite how viscerally terrifying the film’s loose correlation to reality is (in terms of publicity stunts and feigned restoration of dignity), McDowell helps to truly carry the adaptation as it courses through its timeline between quick cuts to following sequences. These camera cuts, though sudden and jarring, have an effect on its intended shock value; certain parts are meant to take the audience aback, and those abrupt changes from one scene to another allow little reaction time, setting them on edge for what else is to come. How the turbulent symphonies that are used in scenes cease at once and fade into utter quietude after that transition is even daunting by itself. The way different moments contrasted with others were a highlight for me, as it made an impact in my first viewing.

Another part that became apparent to me was the production design. The story transpires in a dystopian society, and any cinematic depiction of reality that detaches from our own gives an unsettling atmosphere for me by default. Knowing that, I closely observed any details that I found outlandish, and most of them traced to the overall setting layout. In the DeLarges’ home, it seems that each room shown is drastically different from one another. Alexander’s bedroom is rather plain (besides his textured comforters, obviously): beige walls, a shelf full of vinyl records, etc. But, moving into the living room, it is futuristically styled: sapphire blue tiled walls on one side, fuchsia pink on the other, oddly-patterned sofas, and neon chairs. Going hand in hand with that, the costume designs are just as zany, but they complement the film’s quaint interpretation of futuristic fads, so its striking color scheme does not come off as too rough to the eye because it becomes customary after some time.

Within the antiquated lexicon of the dialogue and internal narrations by Alexander ("Your Humble Narrator"), the humor is the cherry on top. From the beginning, I found myself laughing at the characters’ antediluvian mannerisms and styles because, simply, I was supposed to. Just enough light is shed upon satirical entertainment in between the frequent moments of unease that I could still take it seriously once it reverted back to the latter. Thanks to an elaborate and clever script by Kubrick, the traces of humor flowed smoothly with the rest of his controversial film.

I enjoyed A Clockwork Orange more than I ever would have thought. Every element of it aligns perfectly with what I look for in a cerebral film that tampers with my mind (as for this one, I had to let it process for a good two hours or so before even contemplating my review). People had told me that, solely based on their knowledge of my taste in cinema, I would relish this film—and they could not have been more right.