Last night I watched Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining with my parents. Referring to the heroine and “best supporting” actress Olivia Duvall, my mom said, “You know, she wasn’t’ such a wuss in the book. She was a much stronger character.” The book about which my mother was speaking, of course, is the original novel The Shining written by Stephen King
After his first scotch, earlier that evening, my old man said, “You know, I think this movie only makes it because of Jack. I think Jack kind of makes this thing.” How sad, I thought, for Stanley Kubrick, that my dad could only give any credit to the genius of the film to its star, Jack Nicholson.
Both of these interpretations of the film seemed to suck some major dick, in my opinion.