My long ass analysis of 2001: A space odyssey. I wrote this whole thing in Serbian as a prompt to AI, for the AI to tell me if my analysis is retarded or if I'm making sense. I then asked the AI to translate it to english, but I hope that doesn't get the thread taken down, I wrote all of it. Yes, I know me using AI is ironic given the theme of the movie.
Analysis
The film isn't necessarily primitivist, but it definitely warns about the dangers of pursuing "progress." In my view, the monolith represents humanity's drive for advancement. This drive is a double-edged sword, as demonstrated throughout the film.
Early humans initially competed with herbivores for nutrient-poor food and fell prey to stronger predators (I believe it was a leopard). They had to fight other humans for water. Upon the monolith's appearance—the drive for progress—man discovers the first technology: weaponry. He begins to dominate, now eating the herbivores he once shared food with, and driving away unarmed tribes of humans.
In one scene, we have a transition from the first crude weapon—a bone—to a spacecraft of the same shape in the following scene. The obvious parallel is that both objects are products of this same drive. You could say the spacecraft emerged as a result of a snowball effect that began "four million years ago"—the stated age of the monolith. I assume this timeframe reflects when humans are thought to have first used tools.
However, we see that technology now has a negative impact on people (at least it seems that way to me, as a person of sound mind—though for some, such a future might be appealing). They eat synthetic food, whereas before they ate their competitors in the food chain. People have no contact with their own loved ones. The first astronaut calls his daughter via what's essentially FaceTime (which didn't exist then—kudos to the writer). His daughter even mentions that her mother isn't present either. Technology isolates humans. The ability to "connect from any distance" has the opposite effect and separates people. He doesn't see his daughter, yet he socializes with people from the other side of the world—Russians, with whom they were in hostile relations at the time. The concept of tribe, which was present in the early human scenes, has been lost.
One of the Russian women also mentions that she doesn't see her husband because he's diving in the Baltic Sea—similar to space, in a way. In the opening scene, the drive for progress gave humans weaponry, a means to rise to the top of the food chain. In the present, man has become a slave to that drive. There's no reason for him to be doing anything in space or at the bottom of the ocean—he's not actually achieving anything.
On the Moon, they find another monolith. Congratulations, you've reached the Moon, you've achieved "progress"—but of course, since they're slaves to the monolith, it's never enough. The monolith sends a signal to the next monolith at Jupiter. Progress is a black hole that will never be satisfied. Literally, the monolith sends them deeper into space, and symbolically, the drive sends them deeper into isolation and self-destruction.
On the mission to orbit Jupiter, Dave and Frank don't even know why they're going to Jupiter. They were born in the middle of an endless spiral of the drive for progress. They have nothing they're genuinely committed to—they blindly pursue progress without any reflection. Frank is also isolated from his parents; again, a digital birthday is celebrated. I'll think more about why specifically birthdays are used—perhaps precisely because of what I've already written: they were born into this perpetual cycle of progress and never had the opportunity to choose contentment with what has already been achieved.
They watch their own interview about HAL in silence. Maybe I'm over-analyzing, but perhaps Kubrick is saying that people are observers of their own lives, without much autonomy. Though the final scene also suggests this, so maybe I'm not exaggerating.
HAL can be a human name, but in the case of HAL 9000, it's an acronym. This tells us that humans try to humanize artificial intelligence. Even in the interview, it's stated that "no one knows whether artificial intelligence has independent feelings"—of course it doesn't. It understands syntax but not semantics (no offense—haha, it's ironic since I just claimed you can't feel offended).
Frank and Dave do treat HAL somewhat as a person, playing games with him, though of course they always lose. Incidentally, HAL is similar in appearance to the monolith—I believe this is intentional. HAL has certain concerns about their expedition. This doesn't mean HAL has feelings, but HAL is a reflection of humans. HAL can only think what humans before him have thought. Concern is a human trait, and he imitates it. This tells us that people like Dave and Frank, who roboticize themselves for the sake of progress, deep down feel doubts about what they're doing. Why are we actually going this deep into space? But we see they genuinely treat HAL as if he could be a human replacement. If I remember correctly, it's mentioned that upon returning from the mission, he'll make a psychological report on the crew. But he can't truly read people—he can only analyze patterns and draw conclusions based on previously recorded data. This is their greatest mistake and what leads to their downfall.
When HAL makes an error, they're unsure if it's even possible, given that HAL 9000 has never made a mistake before. HAL assures them it's human error—which is technically true. HAL's error is human error because HAL's "thinking" is a product of human programming. There's no human who doesn't make mistakes, so naturally HAL will make one too.
They rely on HAL, the representation of technology, and his authority as "always precise technology," and this leads to their downfall. HAL is a product of the drive for progress—the same drive for which they sacrifice their lives. If HAL is flawed, it means that very progress for which they sacrifice their connections with family, their entire lives, is actually limited. Progress is not infinite; its ceiling is determined by human limitation.
HAL MUST be right. Otherwise, their sacrifice is in vain, their identity as "explorers" collapses. Thus their effort is self-destructive.
HAL kills Frank and three sleeping astronauts. Those three astronauts are yet another display of humanity's gambling reliance on technology. They're so willing to sacrifice themselves for technological progress, and they so believe in the technology they're sacrificing themselves for, that they're willing to let it literally dictate their heartbeat and breathing. This reliance sends them to their doom—which is the message of this film.
Dave defeats HAL by momentarily not relying on him—without any technology, he crosses from the pod back to the ship. Upon being shut down, HAL claims to be afraid. Again, this doesn't mean he actually has emotions. We know he can "analyze" human psychology (actually just follow trends from large amounts of recorded data). That fear is simply his imitation of what human beings would most likely say in his situation—his shutdown is human death.
Dave, in what appears to be a moment of empathy toward the robot, accepts HAL's offer to sing him the first song he learned. Dave won't accept that HAL is just a robot, that he's limited by human intelligence. If HAL is just a robot, the crew was killed by the technology Dave dedicates his life to. If HAL is ambiguously something between robot and human, Dave can deny that technology isn't perfect: "It's not technology's fault, it's HAL's fault. I don't even view him as artificial intelligence."
Dave continues toward Jupiter and again encounters the monolith, but the monolith now allegorically sends him into infinity—again meaning that the drive for progress always sends him somewhere else, somewhere he doesn't belong, and he's never satisfied. Geography is used here to depict Dave's psyche (and the psyche of humanity itself). The more he chases progress, the deeper he goes where he doesn't belong, and the more isolated he becomes.
Finally, Dave encounters increasingly older versions of himself. The younger version observes the older one, and as soon as the older one looks at the younger, the younger disappears. Each version is alone, without other people, without any memories of youth. Chasing the monolith/progress has consumed his life without any reward.
In the end, he becomes a fetus. Again, this can mean he was born into the cycle of progress, that he had no choice to exit the cycle. He didn't choose this meaningless life—he's a victim of the snowballing effect that is progress.
Analysis
The film isn't necessarily primitivist, but it definitely warns about the dangers of pursuing "progress." In my view, the monolith represents humanity's drive for advancement. This drive is a double-edged sword, as demonstrated throughout the film.
Early humans initially competed with herbivores for nutrient-poor food and fell prey to stronger predators (I believe it was a leopard). They had to fight other humans for water. Upon the monolith's appearance—the drive for progress—man discovers the first technology: weaponry. He begins to dominate, now eating the herbivores he once shared food with, and driving away unarmed tribes of humans.
In one scene, we have a transition from the first crude weapon—a bone—to a spacecraft of the same shape in the following scene. The obvious parallel is that both objects are products of this same drive. You could say the spacecraft emerged as a result of a snowball effect that began "four million years ago"—the stated age of the monolith. I assume this timeframe reflects when humans are thought to have first used tools.
However, we see that technology now has a negative impact on people (at least it seems that way to me, as a person of sound mind—though for some, such a future might be appealing). They eat synthetic food, whereas before they ate their competitors in the food chain. People have no contact with their own loved ones. The first astronaut calls his daughter via what's essentially FaceTime (which didn't exist then—kudos to the writer). His daughter even mentions that her mother isn't present either. Technology isolates humans. The ability to "connect from any distance" has the opposite effect and separates people. He doesn't see his daughter, yet he socializes with people from the other side of the world—Russians, with whom they were in hostile relations at the time. The concept of tribe, which was present in the early human scenes, has been lost.
One of the Russian women also mentions that she doesn't see her husband because he's diving in the Baltic Sea—similar to space, in a way. In the opening scene, the drive for progress gave humans weaponry, a means to rise to the top of the food chain. In the present, man has become a slave to that drive. There's no reason for him to be doing anything in space or at the bottom of the ocean—he's not actually achieving anything.
On the Moon, they find another monolith. Congratulations, you've reached the Moon, you've achieved "progress"—but of course, since they're slaves to the monolith, it's never enough. The monolith sends a signal to the next monolith at Jupiter. Progress is a black hole that will never be satisfied. Literally, the monolith sends them deeper into space, and symbolically, the drive sends them deeper into isolation and self-destruction.
On the mission to orbit Jupiter, Dave and Frank don't even know why they're going to Jupiter. They were born in the middle of an endless spiral of the drive for progress. They have nothing they're genuinely committed to—they blindly pursue progress without any reflection. Frank is also isolated from his parents; again, a digital birthday is celebrated. I'll think more about why specifically birthdays are used—perhaps precisely because of what I've already written: they were born into this perpetual cycle of progress and never had the opportunity to choose contentment with what has already been achieved.
They watch their own interview about HAL in silence. Maybe I'm over-analyzing, but perhaps Kubrick is saying that people are observers of their own lives, without much autonomy. Though the final scene also suggests this, so maybe I'm not exaggerating.
HAL can be a human name, but in the case of HAL 9000, it's an acronym. This tells us that humans try to humanize artificial intelligence. Even in the interview, it's stated that "no one knows whether artificial intelligence has independent feelings"—of course it doesn't. It understands syntax but not semantics (no offense—haha, it's ironic since I just claimed you can't feel offended).
Frank and Dave do treat HAL somewhat as a person, playing games with him, though of course they always lose. Incidentally, HAL is similar in appearance to the monolith—I believe this is intentional. HAL has certain concerns about their expedition. This doesn't mean HAL has feelings, but HAL is a reflection of humans. HAL can only think what humans before him have thought. Concern is a human trait, and he imitates it. This tells us that people like Dave and Frank, who roboticize themselves for the sake of progress, deep down feel doubts about what they're doing. Why are we actually going this deep into space? But we see they genuinely treat HAL as if he could be a human replacement. If I remember correctly, it's mentioned that upon returning from the mission, he'll make a psychological report on the crew. But he can't truly read people—he can only analyze patterns and draw conclusions based on previously recorded data. This is their greatest mistake and what leads to their downfall.
When HAL makes an error, they're unsure if it's even possible, given that HAL 9000 has never made a mistake before. HAL assures them it's human error—which is technically true. HAL's error is human error because HAL's "thinking" is a product of human programming. There's no human who doesn't make mistakes, so naturally HAL will make one too.
They rely on HAL, the representation of technology, and his authority as "always precise technology," and this leads to their downfall. HAL is a product of the drive for progress—the same drive for which they sacrifice their lives. If HAL is flawed, it means that very progress for which they sacrifice their connections with family, their entire lives, is actually limited. Progress is not infinite; its ceiling is determined by human limitation.
HAL MUST be right. Otherwise, their sacrifice is in vain, their identity as "explorers" collapses. Thus their effort is self-destructive.
HAL kills Frank and three sleeping astronauts. Those three astronauts are yet another display of humanity's gambling reliance on technology. They're so willing to sacrifice themselves for technological progress, and they so believe in the technology they're sacrificing themselves for, that they're willing to let it literally dictate their heartbeat and breathing. This reliance sends them to their doom—which is the message of this film.
Dave defeats HAL by momentarily not relying on him—without any technology, he crosses from the pod back to the ship. Upon being shut down, HAL claims to be afraid. Again, this doesn't mean he actually has emotions. We know he can "analyze" human psychology (actually just follow trends from large amounts of recorded data). That fear is simply his imitation of what human beings would most likely say in his situation—his shutdown is human death.
Dave, in what appears to be a moment of empathy toward the robot, accepts HAL's offer to sing him the first song he learned. Dave won't accept that HAL is just a robot, that he's limited by human intelligence. If HAL is just a robot, the crew was killed by the technology Dave dedicates his life to. If HAL is ambiguously something between robot and human, Dave can deny that technology isn't perfect: "It's not technology's fault, it's HAL's fault. I don't even view him as artificial intelligence."
Dave continues toward Jupiter and again encounters the monolith, but the monolith now allegorically sends him into infinity—again meaning that the drive for progress always sends him somewhere else, somewhere he doesn't belong, and he's never satisfied. Geography is used here to depict Dave's psyche (and the psyche of humanity itself). The more he chases progress, the deeper he goes where he doesn't belong, and the more isolated he becomes.
Finally, Dave encounters increasingly older versions of himself. The younger version observes the older one, and as soon as the older one looks at the younger, the younger disappears. Each version is alone, without other people, without any memories of youth. Chasing the monolith/progress has consumed his life without any reward.
In the end, he becomes a fetus. Again, this can mean he was born into the cycle of progress, that he had no choice to exit the cycle. He didn't choose this meaningless life—he's a victim of the snowballing effect that is progress.
