Some Came Running

The current cinema, the "always-pleasant-and-easy-to-get-along-with-Jean-Luc-Godard" edition

The MSN Movies readers who objected to my review of The Hangover Part II will no doubt forgive me spontaneously once they digest my pensées on Jean-Luc Godard's latest, the totally screwball Film Socialisme. It recycles some of the observations I made on the film back when I saw it at the 2010 New York Film Festival, but hey, it's not like I changed my mind since then. 

The Hepburn-Tracy Project, #2: "Keeper of the Flame" (George Cukor, 1942)

For part one, go here. 

Glenn Kenny: I have to admit two things about Keeper of the Flame: first, that I’d never seen it, and honestly had barely even heard of it before encountering it in this collection. And that given the descriptions of it I looked at almost directly before viewing it, I kind of dreaded it, George Cukor behind the camera or not. Come to think of it I’m not sure why I dreaded it, since theme-wise, it bears a certain resemblance to a couple of pieces of political-sociological pulp of which I’m kind of fond, for instance, Gabriel Over The White House. Before I get ahead of myself, lemme describe the picture. The followup to the popular and Oscar-winning (for Best Original Screenplay, of all things; Hepburn got a Best Actress nom) Woman of the Year is not romantic comedy, not even vaguely. You’d think maybe it would, what with Cukor directing and a script by Donald Ogden Stewart (who adapted both Holiday and The Philadelphia Story for the screen). But no. This is a Great-Man-With-Feet-Of-Not-Clay-But-Potential-Fascist-Steel melodrama, with an intriguing twist: the Great Man is never seen. True, as it were, to  the film’s title. The flame is the heroism and ideals of the never-seen Robert Forrest, a national hero for we-never-learn-what-exactly. Forrest meets his death in a spectacular auto crash, and the vultures of the press descend on the town wherein his compound is situated, but only one, Spencer Tracy’s former war correspondent Stephen O’Malley, is crafty enough to make it into the manse, where he meet’s Forrest’s  widow Christine (Hepburn, of course), the titular keeper of the flame—or is she? Soon O’Malley finds all manner of creepiness under all manner of rocks, including a surly groundskeeper (Howard DaSilva), a worshipful uptight amenuensis (Richard Whorf, in a sinister variation, coincidentally, of Dan Tobin’s character in Woman of the Year, or so it seems when you watch the two pictures in close temporal proximity) and Forrest’s loony mom (Margaret Wycherly). We learn that at the time of his death Forrest was working on a project to…Make America Fascist. And the truth about him has to come out! But there are powerful forces working to suppress that truth!

The material, as you see, has a lot of contextually fascinating resonances to it. Some consider the film to be a pronounced critique of the isolationist politics and suspicious fellow-travelling of Charles Lindbergh, a theory bolstered somewhat by the film’s stubbornness in withholding just what it was besides wartime valor that made Robert Forrest such a renowned national hero. I’ve read a latter-day consideration of the film that posits the scenario could conceivably have provided some inspiration for Philip Roth’s alternative-history novel The Plot Against America. This is the sort of thing I should be all over, but in fact I was kind of scared that the film it would resemble most would be another Tracy-starrer, 1933’s The Power And The Glory, a Great-Man-With-Feet-Of-Clay picture with an excellent pedigree; its writer Preston Sturges pointed out that its narrative innovations, more or less ignored at the time, were similar ones to what Citizen Kane would be praised to the skies for less than a decade later. That may be true, but it’s also a demonstration that if your innovations don’t resonate on the screen, they don’t resonate period, and The Power and the Glory is so thoroughly pedestrian in its mise-en-scene and overall direction that one recalls it as a real slog. And for some reason I was worried that Keeper of the Flame would be that as well.

Claire Kenny: You and I are on just the same page here, in terms of the film both confounding our expectations of content, and exceeding our expectations of quality. I know that we both relished the viewing, and found this satisfying, and satisfyingly ridiculous (in the way only a really juicy melodrama can be), for probably much the same reasons. The main difference in the way we approached the film is that you were a far better student than I--the only "advance reading" I did was the copy on the DVD box, which left me with the same dread you mention, which I likewise shortly found myself unable to justify. You mention the pervasive creepiness, but what I felt more was suspense. We know as soon as Tracy shows up that there is Something to Investigate, but the big bad truth about Robert Forrest is a long time emerging--is he a wronged man who was killed by his wife's lover? was he involved in shady business dealings? is Hepburn protecting him or herself?--and the buildup is entirely delicious. It's then jarring in the best kind of way (although giant clues pop up throughout) when his secret turns out to be the Big F. In the context of the time especially, a threat of fascism surely couldn't have been much scarier, but it's such a high-minded plan to make fascism the villain of a popular entertainment--and since Forrest himself is never seen, fascism really is pretty much literally the villain. As dated as this feels (I'm entirely conditioned by the movies I've grown up with to expect the shameful secret to be something sordid and very physical, like incest or serial murder or a gimp with a ball gag in the basement), it's more a delightful relic of its time than a wilted old bouquet in the manner of, say, Woman of the Year.

Glenn Kenny: Yes, exactly. A lot of the delight has to do with the pacing. The themes and characterizations and their treatment are a, true, a bit creaky and antiquated and all, but the picture itself really moves right along. Tracy as always gives great Man-of-Integrity value, and Tragic Heroine was never really a problem for Hepburn, so they’re both very enjoyable here. (The supporting cast is also impeccable; DaSilve always gave good sinister grump, and could turn that into fundamentally warm decent guy on a dime; I didn’t mention some good early Forrest Tucker action, he plays a menacing relative of a character). What’s odd, or maybe admirable, is that there are not even subtextual sparks between them in their interplay (their characters do not become romantically entangled in this picture, making this unique in their canon); he’s all do-the-right- thing, she’s all torn-between-love-and-disillusionment-and-duty-but- duty-to-what, and they don’t have any opportunity to connect in any other way. Claire, did you find this alienating/off-putting, or did the anomaly add to the fun?

Claire Kenny: Well, I’ll tell you, GK, I actually don’t agree with the premise that there were no sparks between them—though now I’m starting to doubt myself and wondering if I saw things just because I was expecting to find them there? Definitely, there was not the overt romantic involvement of their other films, but I nonetheless thought that an undercurrent of sexual tension was inherent in the way their characters were set against each other: as an investigator bound on uncovering the secret Hepburn felt compelled to keep, Stephen was her antagonist; at the same time, as the one person in the world of the film with the wherewithal to reveal the truth that Christine didn’t really want to hide, he was her rescuer. As archaic as that whole damsel-in-distress/white-knight setup is, Christine’s conflict about her own role creates the classic push-pull at the heart of all romantic friction. I’d say the anomaly here—other than the fact that a real romance never comes to fruition—is that the classic Tracy-Hepburn battle is one of words, while Keeper of the Flame trades more in wordless stares and meaningful pauses. I was happy if unsurprised to find that they could handle this form of interaction just as skillfully as they manage pages of banter.

Up next: 1945's Without Love, the DVD of which happens to include one of Glenn's all-time favorite Tex Avery cartoons, Swing Shift Cinderella. Not sure if that will also be subject to discussion. "Um, pardon me miss, I'm lookin' for the dame they call..."

Ce n'est pas une juste image—c'est juste un image

"Right as usual, sir," New York Times edition

Not to be too much of a smart-ass or anything, but really. 

"The movie sometimes assumes viewers know the details of these luminous lives, so it may be helpful to understand some of the relationships that made Paris in that era both a dream and often something less [...] In 'Midnight in Paris' Gil suggests to Buñuel that he make a film about a dinner party gone haywire. Buñuel, of course, took up the suggestion. The film was 'The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie,' released in 1972."—"Decoding Woody Allen's 'Midnight in Paris,'" Joseph Berger, May 28, 2011

One has to love that "of course." Gil's suggestion, incidentally, is a scenario wherein the guests at a dinner party find that for some reason they cannot leave it. 

El ángel exterminador (The Exterminating Angel), Luis Buñuel, 1962.

The Discreet Charm of the Bourgeoisie features a leitmotif in which several different dinner/cocktail parties are invariably interrupted, in ways that make them impossible to resume.

Gil Scott-Heron, 1949-2011

The writer and performer was 62 years old.

Quiz: Lars von Trier, Ramones, or Blue Oyster Cult?

1) First rule is: the laws of Germany.

2) I feel like someone coming back from Vietnam.

3) I was a Green Beret in Vietnam.

4) Hitler's on the phone from Berlin.

5) Little German boy, being pushed around.

6) I come from a family of Communist nudists.

7) I'm a shock trooper in a stupor, yes I am. 

8) OK, I'm a Nazi.

9) Don't talk to commies.

10) I was naive and stupid.

Leon Vitali on the "Barry Lyndon" aspect ratio issue (updated 5/26/2011)

Leon Vitali plays the role of Lord Bullington in Stanley Kubrick's 1975 film Barry Lyndon. During that shoot Vitali and Kubrick became friends, and Vitali collaborated with Kubrick as a personal assistant and sometimes casting director on all of Kubrick's films up until the director's death after the making of 1999's Eyes Wide Shut. Since that time Vitali has been closely involved in the adaptation of Kubrick's work for home video. He was in New York today to speak to the press in connection with both the 40th anniversary release on DVD and Blu-ray of Kubrick's 1971 A Clockwork Orange, and the upcoming Stanley Kubrick: Limited Edition Collection on Blu-ray and Stanley Kubrick: The Essential Collection on standard definition DVD. I took the opportunity to ask him about the controversy concerning the 1.78 framing of Barry Lyndon on Blu-ray, which caused me a certain amount of confusion and the online community of cinephiles and Kubrick fans a fair amount of concern/consternation. What follows below is the best I could get to a verbatim transcription of our exchange on the matter. 

Glenn Kenny: "Well, there’s already controversy brewing because the Barry Lyndon Blu-ray is 1.78 and there’s some feeling that it should have been 1.66..."

Leon Vitali: "Well I can tell you what now, okay; never was it ever 1.66, it wasn’t shot in 1.66, we never released it in 1.66 in any format whether it’s film or television or DVD. It was 1.77.  It was shot it…I mean , the difference between 1.77 and 1.78 is miniscule, you couldn’t see it with a magnifying glass. And anyone who thought it was meant to be in 1.66 is sadly delusioned. Seeing as I was there, at every stage of it; shooting and everything, I should know. I should know."

Glenn Kenny: "Well, that’s about as definitive an answer as we’re likely to get; so where does it come from, then? Where’s the 1.66 idea come from…?"

Leon Vitali: "It comes from people who think they know and weren’t there and have something to say about Stanley all the time. You know, when I first went to Los Angeles, I could go to a party, and somebody’s voice would go up saying, ‘Oh, yes, that’s Stanley,’ and ‘Oh, Eyes Wide Shut,’ and I thought ‘Do they know Stanley, is this common that people at parties talk about him in a loud voice?” But it wasn’t that, it was because they knew…I was there. And you get those idiots…truly, who think they know.  [adopts orotund voice] ‘Stanley was a very philosophical guy.’ I say: bullshit."

The interview took place at Manhattan's Essex House, which is reasonably close to the New York Public Library of the Performing Arts at Lincoln Center, so I hiked over there to see if I could find any textual support to the idea of a 1.66 Barry Lyndon. Two biographies and five volumes of critical exegesis (including one actually subtitled "A Visual Analysis") later, and nothing. I shared Vitali's statement with a correspondent who I'll only refer to here as General Ripper, asking if he had any textual support for the 1.66 ratio, and he cited the old non-anamorphic standard-issue release of the film on DVD from Warner back in 2007, and added, "Vitali is on the WB payroll, not to be trusted." Okay, then. [N.b., there is no actual evidence to support General Ripper's surmise about the WB payroll and all. That's just General Ripper's surmise, reproduced here for your entertainment.]

In any event,the online Kubrick FAQ asserts, in an entry by David Mullen (question 11a), that Lyndon "was released theatrically in 1.66:1, even in the U.S. since Kubrick insisted on 1.66 hard mattes being sent to the various theatres showing the film (1.85 is the common 'flat' widescreen ratio in the U.S.)". There is no backup given for this, however, and many of the other questions on the FAQ have notes citing printed sources. And on the other hand, the massive Taschen book The Stanley Kubrick Archive, edited by Alison Castle "made in cooperation with Jan Harlan, Christiane Kubrick, and The Stanley Kubrick Estate" has a "Note About Aspect Ratios" on the contents page...which lists the aspect ratio of Barry Lyndon as...1.77. Not only that, all of the frame enlargements from Lyndon contained therein are in precisely that ratio. I don't recall all that many people on the internet gasping "oh my God where is that leaf!?!?" back when the book was first issued in 2004. 

I have more, but it's not what I'd call essential at this point in time, but it might come in handy later. I imagine this will turn out to be a fascinating thread. In the meantime, I think I'll check out a Blu-ray.

UPDATE: I asked for printed citations, as opposed to logorrheic, self-righteous spewings about Orwellian schemes, and reader Dwigt, in comments, was kind enough to provide one. He says, "There's an interview with the at the time Warner head of publicity for Europe in the Michel Ciment book where he states that Kubrick as curious about how the movie would be screened. He had a few questions for the theaters that were booked in France and Germany and discovered that most of them didn't own a 1.66:1 soft matte anymore, while it cost a few quids. So, they sent the matte to all theaters." 

Indeed, the interview is with Julian Senior, publicity director, and relevant passages are on pages 223 and 225 of the "definitive edition" of Ciment's Kubrick, published in the U.S. by Faber and Faber in 2001. Here is one passage on Kubrick's exacting methods: "He believes that every essential question can be answered through logic and common sense. I recall very clearly that, at the time of A Clockwork Orange, we drew up together what we jokingly referred to as a 'memory jogger' on releasing a film: how many prints should be made, how many trailers, does every cinema possess a projector with a 1.66 mask, do the TV networks prefer video or film, etc." (N.b., the Clockwork disc is in 1.66.) On Lyndon specifically: "For Barry Lyndon it was very important—given the experiments in lighting—for the projection equipment to be the best possible. Of course, we had neither the means nor the authority to replace them all, but what we discovered from checking all the principal cinemas in France and Germany was that two-thirds of them didn't have a 1.66 mask, something that costs no more than a few pounds. The projectionists told us that the image would overlap a little on the sides. So Kubrick's assistants had all the projectors equipped for a decent screening of the film—and at the same time for every other film!" 

So there's that. Is Senior still with us, and available for comment? I'm looking into it. 

Note that Senior's talking about Europe in the above cited-quote. A projectionist with whom I'm friendly had this to say about the situation in American cinemas: "I've read the stories about Kubrick sending 1.66 aperture plates during the initial release and I have to think they're a little apocryphal. In 1975, most USA theatres (other than maybe the major premiere houses in each major city, and that's a big "maybe") had fixed height screens with side masking adjustable for 1.85 and 2.39 scope only. Without a different lens (slightly longer in focal length than the 1.85 lens), sending a theatre with a fixed height screen a 1.66 aperture plate would be useless since all it would do is throw image onto the black masking above and below the screen. Of course, if the theatre did have the extra height and had adjustable vertical masking they could use the new plates and run it at 1.66 with their 1.85 lens."

The same projectionist also says, "I've handled a 35mm print of Barry Lyndon in 1993, and it was hard-matted to approximately 1.66 (I didn't get the calipers out to check it), and I ran it 1.85. The titles (which are the visual guide most projectionists use to center the framing) fit perfectly in the 1.85 area. My best educated guess is that it's designed for 1.66 (let's call it Kubrick's preferred ratio) and safe at 1.85 (since he had to know that most USA theatres would show it at 1.85). Warner, for some reason, chose to split the difference and put the DVD at 1.78." In a subsequent exchange, my friend says, "I pulled out the Taschen book last night as well and measured one of the storyboards—the one at the top of a right-hand page that is a montage of several photos and indicates the camera movements and timing. The 'blue box' drawn on the storyboard measures 1.77:1." The illo in question is on page 435, and is designated "BLY 20" for those who have the book. I took a photograph of the page in question and I apologize in advance for its poor quality:

This may never be what they call "settled law." And it wouldn't be the first time. 

The current cinema, "perhaps a blackout would be preferable" edition

Man, The Hangover Part II is bad. I know my friend Joshua Rothkopf of Time Out New York says it's good, but Joshua also once referred to Maurice Pialat as "undeniably second-tier." There's just no talking to that kid sometimes. Anyway, I'm right, he's wrong, my review is at MSN Movies, check it out. Also at MSN Movies: Glenn Whipp and myself virtually discuss the Sean Penn Perplex. Fun acting stuff!

Why "Slow Ride" is my own private "Niagara Falls"/"Susquehanna Hat Company"

Grooving to the "Ride" in Richard Linklater's Dazed and Confused, 1993

The comments thread on my post concerning my "The Tree of Life" review for MSN Movies has taken an intriguing turn, now concerning itself with the ways various directors incorporate previously recorded music into their films. Malick and Woody Allen are cited, of course, as is Richard Linklater, who Kent Jones calls "the most underestimated American filmmaker." Looking back on the director's 1993 Dazed and Confused, Kent affectionately cites the film's closing song, Foghat's "Slow Ride," calling it within the film's context "an ode to freedom."

If only I could hear it that way. Instead, whenever I get a taste of the chugging slide-guitar riff that fuels the song, it's like ashes in my mouth. It's not an ode to freedom; it's a reminder of my youth being taken away. 

Back in the early '70s, my uncle Jack, the head of the household known as "the Brooklyn Kennys," had this really delightful spread on remote Long Island, a converted farm complete with a barn. The occasional horse resided therein, but the barn was mostly notable for the swimming pool Jack had installed next to it. Summers of my early teens were spent there, in utter bliss. Jack's youngest boy, my cousin Justin, and Britt E., a cousin from Santa Monica (his dad had founded the Oar House, the hangout for the motorcycle gang in Corman's The Wild Angels, and, get this, was an early real-estate business partner of Arnold Schwarzenegger's) and I were all the same age, more or less, and we would camp out at that house for a month or so each summer, getting in to more and more "trouble" each year. Down the road lived one Kristin [sp.?] Gifford, reputedly a niece of Frank's, who was very cute and sweet and whom Justin had an enormous crush on. Britt would ostentatiously make as if to moon her whenever she was swimming underwater, which made poor Justin very nervous and agitated. We were all like 12 at the time. Our only adult supervision most of the time was our our aged grandmother and a couple of her equally elderly friends' they'd get up at the crack of dawn, put their tootsies in the pool for ten minutes, and then disappear until dinner, where we dutifully showed up and peppered the oldsters with questions as to what Herbert Hoover was really like. When country life got a bit too quiet, we'd hop on the LIRR into the city and hang a bit at Uncle Jack's brownstone in the Heights, and go into Manhattan and get into Central Park Wollman Rink rock concerts for free by bribing a security guard at the perimeter gate with a single can of Schaefer beer from the six pack we had somehow procured before making our way there. We saw Poco and the Charlie Daniels Band, as I recall. Why, I don't know. Then, once we'd annoyed our older cousins sufficiently with our pizza and beer and loud rock music, we'd go back to the farm house, and the pool, and give Justin shit about getting nowhere with Kristin, and make dandelion wine, and maybe get a little reading done. It was heaven.

And then it was gone. Around the time I was 13 going on 14, Jack announced that he had sold the spread. Rather bemused, he related that he had sold it to, of all conglomerates, a rock and roll group. Scottish, he believed. "Have you heard of Foghat?" Jack asked. I had. "Undistinguished blues-rockers from the ashes of Savoy Brown," I did not say. I'd heard some of their stuff on WNEW FM. Whatever. "Normally I don't think too highly of the rock people," Jack said, "but I have to say these fellows were complete gentlemen." Like I cared.

And years later I read in MOJO magazine, I think it was, about Foghat's move from Great Britain to Long Island, and the terrific converted farm they communally bought, and how they converted the barn into a studio, which was brilliant, really, you see, because there was a swimming pool right next to it, so if you ran out of inspiration or just needed refreshing you could just nip out and have a little dip. The resultant atmosphere was so relaxing that it resulted in a new creative high for the band, resulting in the 1975 album Fool For The City, which also yielded the group's sole hit single. 

Yup. It was "Slow Ride." Fuckers. Slowly I turn...

How to tell an aspect ratio from a hole in the ground (Updated again and again to reflect the fact that I myself cannot, either)

So this morning Hollywood Elsewhere's Jeffrey Wells decided to get all apoplectic, largely because it's just not a full day for Hollywood Elsewhere's Jeffrey Wells if he DOESN'T get all apoplectic about something. Seriously, I'm surprised the guy doesn't give himself a stroke. Or maybe he already HAS given himself a stroke, and Hollywood Elsewhere is its aftereffect. In any event, I don't normally bring my little differences with him here, but it so happened he chose to get apoplectic about something I'm in the middle of examining first hand myself. "It's only just hit me that Warner Home Video's Barry Lyndon Bluray...has been masked at 1.85 to 1...storm the barricades!" Um, yeah, sure, whatever you say. Lest you wonder just how this "hit" him—something to do with the voices in his head, maybe?—he reproduces a bit of the liner tech-spec copy, which, sure enough, specifies a 1.85 aspect ratio, whereas Barry Lyndon itself is a 1.66, or something like that. After a bit of obligatory spittle-flecking ("and I know I'm in the right on this one," blah, blah blah) Wells goes on to quote one Tyler Williamson, writing on the standard-def DVD release, and wishing for "a Blu-ray remaster with Barry Lyndon's 1.59 or 1.66 image (the difference in more or less negligible, so I don't really care) in the center of a 1.78 frame -- which is how Blurays handle films with aspect ratios less wide than 1.78. All the 1.66 and 1.37 films on Blu-ray are done this way: Chungking Express, The Third Man, etc." (The 1.78 frame, incidentally...or really not so incidentally, when you come down to it—being the native aspect ratio of your 16:9 displays.) 

And, er, guess what, kids? I actually have the Barry Lyndon Blu-ray, and I've actually looked at the image from the disc rather than just what turns out to be the misprint on the liner specs, and that's pretty much exactly the way Warner handled the approximately 1.66:1 frame of Barry Lyndon! I even took some pictures off my plasma screen, which I'm presenting uncropped to give the full effect of the centering. I even took a picture from the Criterion 1.66 Blu-ray of Chungking Express for context/comparison. Hell, I even took a picture from a genuine 1.85 Blu-ray, Raging Bull, for comparison/contrast. Check it out!

Barry Lyndon. Boy, that Leonard Rossiter's a stitch, huh?

Chungking Express. Pay particular attention to the BLACK BORDERING AROUND THE ACTUAL FRAME! CONCENTRATE!

Raging Bull. Behold its 1.85 glory.

UPDATE: And by the way, the screencaps from the BluBrew "sneak peek" that have so many of the fellas at the Criterion Forum in a tizzy are inaccurate as well. Jesus. 

From the "sneak peek." I don't know who the hell cropped this, but he or she...cropped it.

On my display. Note bottom of tree. Come on, people. 

So. Hold off on storming those barricades, people. While this proves one more unfortunate "right as usual, sir" (see the paddleball scene in Blazing Saddles) moment for Wells, the news is good for Blu-ray-ready cinephiles, who may buy Barry Lyndon with relative confidence in the integrity of its aspect ratio.

FURTHER UPDATE (5/24/11): Well, this has been enlightening. And embarrassing. Prompted by the observations of several commenters, most prominently the one who calls himself "The Fanciful Norwegian," I have been looking into just how a 1.66 image resolves itself into a 1.66 image on my own personal display, a Hitachi P50V701 50-inch plasma. The Norwegian, citing the display from Chungking Express among other things, suggested a calibration issue. Well, the good news is I'm not sure that my set needs recalibrating. The bad news is that I've often been using the incorrect setting to watch my Blu-rays.

The P50V701 has two settings for "16:9 Standard." One would assume that the first one, "16:9 Standard 1," would be the most accurate. But no. According to the owner's manual, "Use this aspect mode to display 16:9 sources...preserving the original aspect ratio showing 95% of the size." Say what? Yeah, 95%. Hence the problem on the Chungking Express frame cited below by the frivolous one, not to mention the paucity of black bars on the side of the screen. As it happens, quite counterintuitively in my opinion, it is the "16:9 Standard 2" setting that is "preserving the original 16:9 aspect ratio showing 100% of the size." Now sorry to put up blurry shots of a TV screen one more time, but here's the Chungking on said display in "16:9 Standard 2," now showing more lightbulbs and more indications of its 1.66 aspect ratio:

And here's Barry Lyndon, in, yes, 1.78:1, goddammit.

My apologies to you all and particularly to the BluBrew people (although, yeah, what Joel E. said, too; also, why crop your thumbnails so severely, I wonder?), but none to my frenemy Mr. Wells, who went off even more half cocked than I, what with going from box copy rather than the disc itself. As disagreeable as 1.78 is, it still isn't 1.85. And this story isn't over yet. As it happens I'm interviewing Leon Vitali, a keeper of the Kubrick flame, tomorrow, and this issue will be on the agenda. Stay tuned...