Kubrick's Game

  “And don’t forget the previous clue we had to solve: All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. The word ALL as it is written on countless sheets of paper is said to represent A-11, or Apollo 11. Thus, ‘Apollo 11’ work makes Jack/Stanley a dull boy. The dark secret was driving Stanley mad, just as it did Jack.”

  Wilson cued up another video. “Check out this scene after his wife discovers the writing. Listen to the words Jack says and imagine it’s Stanley.”

  “Does it matter to you at all that the owners have placed their complete confidence in me... and that l have signed a letter of agreement in which I’ve accepted that responsibility? Do you have the slightest idea what a moral and ethical principle is? Do you? Has it ever occurred to you what would happen to my future if I fail to live up to my responsibilities?”

  Wilson paused the scene and said, “Does any of that dialogue sound like it should be coming out of the mouth of a hotel caretaker? Would a signed agreement and ethical principal to babysit a hotel trump the well-being of his son and wife? What would happen to his future if he failed? Would he not get another caretaker gig? It’s just a temp job for him so he can become a writer. But if you put those words in Kubrick’s mouth, every word makes sense. A contract with the government is unbreakable, or they could do horrible things to him and his family. His future as a filmmaker would be at stake. The government held tremendous power over the creative community during the Cold War. Plus, if the government were in fact funding 2001, they could have easily pulled the funding and Kubrick’s great masterpiece would never have been realized.”

  “Wow,” said Sami. “That’s... a lot to take in.”

  “Are you there, Shawn? You’ve been quiet for a while.”

  “Sorry,” said Shawn. “I was just doing a little searching and found something interesting. Remember you said that A.I. was far less subtle about making its points. Well, take a look at this poster. It’s just a huge A-11.”

  Shawn shared the famous poster of A.I. in which the “I” is the shape of a silhouetted boy to form the negative space within the “A” and the bright “I” next to it. The doubling of “I” looked just like the number 11.

  Wilson slapped his forehead. “Oh man, how did I miss that? Sami, are you seeing this?”

  “Yes,” said Sami. “That double image might be another marker. It gives me an idea. One sec while I do a search.” After a few seconds, she said, “Holy crap. There it is.”

  “What is it?” said Wilson.

  “Sending through now.”

  “I’ve been looking for ‘Creation of Adam’ imagery, but I neglected the most obvious one. Check this out.”

  An image popped up on their screens.

  It was the iconic movie poster for E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial, in which an alien and a human finger touch in space, forming a magical spark of light.

  “That... is incredible,” said Wilson.

  Sami added, “The rising Earth looks like another image we’ve encountered in this game. Remember the doctored 2001 album in A Clockwork Orange?”

  “Guys,” said Shawn, starting to breathe heavily. “I’m almost afraid to say this, but I think our next objective is becoming clear. If all these images purposefully correlate, then someway, somehow, we’re going to have to make an audience with Steven Spielberg.”

  “One does not simply schedule a meeting with Steven Spielberg,” said Wilson. “The president of the United States would have a hard time getting him on the phone.”

  Sami laughed. “If the tasks are getting tougher, this certainly qualifies.”

  Wilson threw up his hands in exasperation. “We have a meeting scheduled for tomorrow night with an actual crewmember of the Apollo 11 mission. We could spend months trying to get a meeting with Spielberg.”

  “But what if Spielberg is in on the game and is expecting us?” said Shawn. “I think it’s worth contacting his office to see where it leads. We know Spielberg was a friend of Kubrick’s. This moon guy is dicey, plus he wants us to meet him on a deserted mountaintop at night. Would Kubrick want film students getting mixed up with the same dangerous characters he was trying to avoid?”

  “We can’t go after Spielberg!” Wilson exclaimed, becoming emotional.

  “Why not?” said Sami.

  “I’m... banned from ever seeing him.”

  “What? Why?” asked Shawn.

  “I had a bad audition with him.”

  “Come on, how bad could it have been?” said Sami doubtfully.

  “I was seventeen years old, the height of my hubris. Slice of Cheese, Hold the Ghosts had just been canceled, in part due to my outrageous salary demands. My agents were telling me I needed to launch my movie career. When I heard they were casting the new Indiana Jones movie, I made them get me an audition to play Indy’s son, the role that went to Shia LaBeouf.”

  Shawn and Sami started cracking up.

  “How the hell could you be the son of Indiana Jones and Marion?” said Shawn.

  “Indiana Jones is my favorite movie franchise of all time. The plot details were hush-hush. I figured I could convince them that I was adopted or Indy had an affair in the Congo or some crap like that. When I got in the room, I was nervous as hell, but felt confident. The reading started, I was fully into it, but then Spielberg and the producers stopped me halfway through and told me I wasn’t right for the part. I blew a gasket. I had spent days prepping with the best coaches in town. I kept on going even though they weren’t reading the lines back to me. When the scene ended I started improvising, fighting off attacking monkeys with an imaginary whip. As I was being dragged out by security, I called them all racists and cursed the production.”

  “That’s not good,” said Shawn.

  “To put it mildly. My agents informed me the next day that Mr. Spielberg would never audition me again. They also dropped me as a client because they said my behavior reflected poorly on the agency. That’s when I went on my downward spiral. I’ve been trying to climb out of the hole I dug for myself ever since. Even though Spielberg may never see me as an actor again, I can still become a director, make great films, and earn back his respect.”

  “I believe whole-heartedly you’ll do that,” said Sami.

  “Thanks. So I hope you understand why I can’t see Spielberg again. Not until I’m ready.”

  “Well, Sami,” said Shawn, “I guess that leaves us.”

  “What do we do?”

  “We call his office.”

  “When?”

  “First thing in the morning. Wilson, will you hold off meeting with this Apollo 11 guy until we gauge Spielberg’s reaction?”

  “You have until 6:00 p.m. tomorrow,” said Wilson. “Then I leave for Griffith Park.”

  Monday, 1:14 a.m.

  Shawn woke up from a dream he couldn’t remember with an idea burning in his brain. He opened his laptop and looked at the list of songs from the 2001 album.

  SIDE ONE

  1. “We’ll Meet Again” – Vera Lynn (from Dr. Strangelove)

  2. “The Blue Danube” – Johann Strauss II (from 2001)

  3. “William Tell Overture” (speed version) – Gioachino Rossini (from A Clockwork Orange)

  4. “Piano Trio in E-Flat, Op. 100” – Franz Schubert (from Barry Lyndon)

  SIDE TWO

  1. “Rocky Mountains” – Wendy Carlos and Rachel Elkind (from The Shining)

  2. “Surfin’ Bird” – The Trashmen (from Full Metal Jacket)

  3. “Masked Ball” – Jocelyn Pook (from Eyes Wide Shut)

  What if this is it? He thought to himself.

  He opened Final Cut Pro and went to work on a furious editing job. He cut together the scene from each of the films in which the particular music played into a montage sequence.

  It seemed to make sense. Kubrick knew that editing could make or break a film. He wouldn’t even accept Spartacus as his own, despite shooting every shot, based on how it was edited. Editing would surely be a skill he would desire the winner of his game to
possess.

  An hour later, the visuals of each song were edited in order: the nuclear holocaust in Dr. Strangelove, the space ballet in 2001, the hyper-fast threesome in Clockwork, the card game from Barry Lyndon, the mountain drive from The Shining, the movie-within-a-movie war zone from Full Metal Jacket, and the masked ball from Eyes Wide Shut.

  Shawn watched the sequence with intense focus. He felt certain that if he had done it correctly, a clue would be revealed to him in a dream.

  The excitement made it difficult to fall back asleep, but....

  Shawn walked toward a tall gate.

  A masked man in a tuxedo stood outside holding out a large key. Shawn tried to grasp the key, but the man closed his fist.

  “Password, please,” said the man.

  The scene was similar to Eyes Wide Shut, when Bill Harford sneaks into the party with the stolen password.

  Taking a cue from the film, Shawn said, “Fidelio?”

  “I’m afraid we cannot grant you admittance,” said the man.

  The world swirled to blackness around him and...

  Shawn woke up.

  I must be on the right track.

  He watched the film sequence again and went back to sleep.

  Again, he found himself at the gate.

  “Password, please.”

  “Um... Kubrick?”

  He woke up, wrong once again.

  At 9:30 a.m. Monday morning, when Hollywood offices would just be opening, Sami sat next to Shawn in his room, massaging his shoulders.

  “You got this,” she said.

  Shawn took a breath, then dialed.

  “Steven Spielberg’s office,” the hurried voice of a young man spoke.

  “Hello, my name is Shawn Hagan. This may sound strange, but I’m involved in a game created by Stanley Kubrick and I think Mr. Spielberg is a part of it. Does Mr. Spielberg have a clue for me?”

  “Hold please.” Three minutes later, “I’m transferring you to the second assistant.”

  “Steven Spielberg’s office.”

  “Hi, my name is Shawn Hagan. This may sound strange, but I’m involved in a game created by Stanley Kubrick and I think Mr. Spielberg is a part of it. Does Mr. Spielberg have a clue for me?”

  “Hold please. I’m going to transfer you to his first assistant.”

  “Spielberg has three assistants,” Shawn said to Sami.

  “This is Kelly.”

  “Hello, my name is Shawn Hagan. This may sound strange, but—”

  “You said you’re part of a game created by Stanley Kubrick?”

  “Yes, I—”

  “Hold please.” Five minutes passed. “Mr. Hagan?”

  “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Steven is shooting on location all week and is not available to speak to you.”

  “Oh.”

  “However, should you not wish to wait, the location of the shoot is in the Mojave Desert. Would you like an address?”

  “Yes! By the way, what’s he shooting?”

  “The new Indiana Jones.”

  Several hours later, Shawn and Sami were driving deep into the Mojave Desert in Wilson’s car, which he’d let them borrow provided they refill the gas tank.

  As they drove through the depths of Death Valley, Shawn’s natural flight instinct kicked in. Besides the fear of descent into the foreboding belly of the desert, he also worried about being followed by the other groups on the quest. He pushed those thoughts out of his head and ran through potential scenarios of what Spielberg might offer him.

  Will there be a test first?

  He wasn’t feeling comfortable with the upcoming encounter at all. He hadn’t solved the puzzle to his satisfaction, and could only hope Spielberg would offer a hint.

  The moon conceals the hand of God. He’ll take you to the Land of Nod. And once the final bridge is crossed, find Q’s identity that was lost.

  What is Q’s lost identity?

  Shawn still had no ideas.

  Sami broke the silence. “Have you talked with Desiree at all?”

  “She messaged me a few days ago that she needed help with something, but no contact since.”

  “That’s strange.”

  “If this is the end of the game, she probably doesn’t want to drop any hints.”

  “It seemed like you guys made a great team when you broke into McDowell’s.”

  “I guess deep down I was hoping we would be able to share the victory together. Not be competing against each other.”

  “Well, at least you’ll be meeting Spielberg. That’s gotta be exciting.”

  “I’d be more excited if I felt confident about the puzzle, but I’m feeling more lost than ever.”

  Yellow signs with arrows that read I-5 popped up along the road.

  “Those must be the production signs,” said Sami. “We’re getting close.”

  A few minutes later they pulled off the main road and headed down a dirt path. The tracks of immense truck wheels were the only thing that kept them on course.

  In the distance, a brigade of equipment trucks and Star Waggons came into view. A line of security guards blocked the road, and dozens more formed a perimeter around the area.

  As they approached, a guard standing in the road ordered them to halt.

  Sami obeyed and rolled down the window. In the background, they could hear the garbled sounds of megaphones and shouting.

  “Mr. Spielberg’s assistant Kelly told us to come here to speak with Mr. Spielberg,” said Sami. “It’s regarding Stanley Kubrick.”

  “Stanley Kubrick? Just a minute.”

  The guard retreated from earshot and spoke into his walkie-talkie. A minute later he approached the car. “You’re on with Mr. Spielberg.” He handed Sami his handheld.

  Shawn was breathless for a moment.

  “Hello, who am I speaking with?” The unmistakable voice of Steven Spielberg crackled through the walky-talky.

  “My name is Samira Singh.”

  “And I’m Shawn Hagan,” he said, leaning in.

  “Nice to meet you, Samira, Shawn. Sorry this has to be quick. I’m in-between takes. I hear you’ve been playing my old friend Stanley’s game.”

  “Yes sir,” said Sami.

  “Excellent. So, do you have a question for me?”

  “A question?” She looked to Shawn.

  He was dumbfounded and tried to think fast. “Um... what is Q’s identity?”

  There was a moment of silence, then Spielberg responded. “Jim, send them away. They shouldn’t be here.”

  “You got it, sir.”

  “No, wait!” Sami shouted, but it was too late.

  “You heard him,” said the guard. “You’ll have to leave.”

  “Please! We drove for hours. Just let us regroup and ask again.”

  “You are trespassing on a closed set. Turn your car around or you’ll be in very bad trouble.”

  A light rain fell as Wilson navigated the spiraling pass that led to the city’s iconic Griffith Park Observatory.

  Shawn and Sami sat silently in the back seat. After failing in their attempt to speak with Spielberg, they’d reluctantly agreed to join Wilson on his moon mission, but they felt more nervous about this excursion than any of the others.

  Passing through the vast wilderness of the park, Shawn was reminded of D.W. Griffith’s Birth of a Nation, shot on this very hillside. The observatory itself had been the setting for one of his favorite films: Rebel Without a Cause.

  They parked at the mountainside and took a short hike along a trail toward the entrance of the observatory.

  Wilson wiped raindrops off his phone screen and texted his mystery contact that they were close.

  Shawn and Sami followed behind, scanning in all directions.

  A man stood by the front gate, draped in shadow, wearing a raincoat with the hood pulled over his head. Smoke rose from a pipe hanging from his mouth. “Wilson Devereaux?”

  “Yes.” Wilson stopped a safe distance away.


  The man took the pipe from his mouth and said, “Welcome to Griffith Observatory.” He acknowledged Shawn and Sami, saying, “You must be the friends he was telling me about. You are certain you haven’t been followed?”

  “As far as we know,” said Wilson. “We drove around the mountain for an extra half-hour to be sure.”

  The man stepped out of the shadows. He was stout, in his mid-70s, with a wide face and black glasses. Strands of white hair peeked out from his hood.

  “Call me Dr. Brodsky,” he said. “That’s not my real name, though. If I don’t respond, it’s because I’ve forgotten.”

  “This is Samira and Shawn,” said Wilson. “Your message said you had information about the moon landing.”

  Brodsky coughed, put the pipe back in his mouth, and inhaled. “Don’t ever smoke, kids. I had at least ten years of research left in me. Now the doctors don’t expect me to make it another six months. There are things I know that I was planning on taking to my grave. I was warned if I ever told anyone that I’d be putting them in harm’s way. Knowing that, are you sure you want to hear it?”

  They came to agreement and nodded.

  “Ah, curiosity... it’s what killed felis catus, but it’s also what made us go to the moon. Yes, we did go to the moon, but that’s just the half of it. If you want to learn the truth, follow me.”

  Brodsky turned and began walking across the observatory courtyard. The iconic three black domes atop the white brick structure loomed over the landscape of the glimmering city. They followed as he continued past the obelisk at the center of the yard and up the observatory steps.

  “Dr. Brodsky, where exactly are you taking us?” said Wilson.