Is "The Shining" Haunted?

There is a strange, dark feud upon the land.

When a river of blood cascades from an elevator in the Overlook Hotel, is there something else that flops out?   Some mass or object that is fleetingly obscured by the deluge?  This fascinating thesis suggests there is.

Repetitive viewings reveal what certainly looks like a mass at the foot of the elevator door, but that doesn't mean there is one. This video takes the opposing view, that what seems to be a mass or object is not. Instead, it is the blood, itself. Its surface sheen creates the illusion of an object at the foot of the elevator.

Bloomsday, the final arbiter of all things, conveniently asserts that neither side is persuasive.  But the thought that Kubrick thought to put a little subliminal somethin'-somethin' extra in the shot is slightly more entertaining that the thought that he didn't but it looks like he did.

It is worth noting that there's plenty of strange subliminal stuff in The Shining, including a faint word or sound uttered or whispered on the soundtrack multiple times in the film's first hour.  Its first use occurs as Jack passes two columns on his way to Ullman's office.  You'll also hear it several times during their conversation, and a dozen or so times thereafter. You may have to crank the volume loud, but you'll hear it.  This video provides the exact moments the sound appears.

As the blood settles, it may be worth noting that the elevator scene, itself, is placed first in Danny's mind as he talks to Tony in the bathroom mirror.  Could those gaping, unblinking "eyes" above the two elevators staring at the viewer during the gushing horror be witness to a heretofore unnoticed onscreen cameo of Tony?

The Annual "Shaming of the Pumpkin Breaker"

The Metaphysic of Malick

Terrance Malick's "The Tree of Life" has found its way to my fireplace mantle.  It sits there, along side photos of the most important moments - and people - in my life. This is appropriate, since the film, itself, is a survey of such things, delivered with a deluge of profound beauty.

Although it's narrative structure, snapping back and forth between past and present, between memory and imagination, bears little resemblance to cinematic convention, it does resemble our narratives within - facts commingled with fictions, emotions, fears, regrets. It also answers questions that few dare to ask themselves: the hows, the whys.

For those confused by the experience, I'll offer one bit of guidance on the cinematic agenda at hand: listen carefully to the elevator rides.

Twelve Ones in a Row

A coupla decades ago, I started thinking about the odometer of human history, those spinning numbers on western culture's dashboard.  It was years before the 9's rolled over to 0's on our calendar, but I thought long and hard about the end of the nineties and the beginning of the "aughts"; the end of the twentieth century and the beginning of the twenty-first; the end of our second millennium and beginning of our third.

This inquiry was devoid of supernatural numerology or religious fervor or computer panic, but it was, instead, about those things.  I theorized that a kind of mass hysteria would overtake reason as our society felt pushed to the year 2000.

I think it's fair to say my theory was correct: if you haven't noticed yourself as subject to mass hysteria in the past decade or so, then you've probably noticed it in others.  It may be diffuse and hard to define, but like obscenity (and isn't mass hysteria a kind of cultural obscenity?) you know it when you see it.

What never reached my inquiry was a simple question, in desperate need of an answer: When would it end? 


I suppose a significant slice of the hysterical pie chart would say, "With the Rapture, of course." But I was looking for a more reasonable, concrete answer.

I think we have a "prime candidate" for an answer: November 11.  On that day, a second will pass twice that provides plenty of grist for the Stop the Insanity mill.  In the coming weeks, I'll make the case for this theory, here, at The Bloomsday Device, but I'd encourage you to dwell on it, too.

For Our Anniversary: I Hired Wilco to Play our Living Room

Occupy: Clevelandia

For thoses at Moses
Your quadrant is wrong
The tune I'd be singing
is Tom Johnson's song

He sits in North West
amid pigeons and dung
and waits an eternity
for his song to be sung.

The music eludes us
but chanting is sweet;
you'll find all the lyrics
at Tom Johnson's feet.