The color red appears in almost every shot of The Shining
You’d be forgiven for failing to notice some of The Shining’s more where can i buy disulfiram in the uk intricate details, since there’s a good chance you were covering your eyes with your hands the first time you watched it.
Those details really do add to the experience of Stanley Kubrick’s 1980 horror classic, however, including the fact that the color red appears in nearly every shot. Some of these appearances are obvious — that famous scene of blood pouring out of the elevator, the red-walled men’s room where Jack Torrance (Jack Nicholson) freshens up — but many are quite subtle. Did you ever notice that the darts young Danny (Danny Lloyd) plays with are red, for instance, or that a book placed on a table in the opening scene and the dress Wendy (Shelley Duvall) wears are red as well?
According to one analysis, the inclusion of the scarlet hue is meant to be a visual nod to Jack’s deteriorating mental condition as the Overlook Hotel takes hold of him. It’s just one reason The Shining has been the target of so much theorizing on the part of academics and fans alike; there’s even a documentary devoted to unpacking ideas about the film, called Room 237. Some of the theories are more outlandish than others — the idea that Kubrick used The Shining to confess to helping NASA fake the moon landing is pretty out-there — while others are just strange enough to feel at home in the Overlook
HAPPY JOINT SECOND BIRTHDAY!! What a joyous serendipity, to share the exact chronology of existence!
Oh, and Charlie: I’m pretty sure your birthdate is fraudulent. I don’t even know that you’re two yet.
See, your paperwork from the shelter lists your birthdate as 11/1/2020, but I suspect they figured out Jadie’s birthday and forged your documents to seal the adoption deal. I haven’t met a dog person yet who puts you north of 18 months.
But that’s the beauty of rescues: They fill whatever role they’re meant to play. And Chuck, yours is to be the 2-year-old; unpredictable, deliriously destructive and mouthy as hell. You still bark at the mail carrier every time, like you just saw Hitler in shorts. You eat my glasses. Hence and heretofore, your birthday is at midnight on Halloween, so we can still mark the occasion together while acknowledging the possibility of subterfuge.
And Jadie, of ruby lobes and Cali sunrise eyes, you are in full bloom. You have become the quiet(er), calm(er) sibling. You helped train Charlie on the dog door, taunting him with toys that you’d scamper inside. Now you both burst through the once-clear plastic flap like Starsky and Hutch on meth.
In fact, your first year together has been a bit like watching a 70’s cop show, where the patrol officers pretend to dislike each other. When we tool up for the park — leashes, music, water — you snap and snarl and growl at each other. You’ll grab each by the reins and drag the other to the door. ‘Why are you walking yourself? I’m not touching you. Does it bother you that you’re walking yourself? I’m not touching you.’
But then I open the hatchback, and you become synchronized swimmers, leaping and twisting and arcing leashward to the park, a place so sacred I have to say it in pig latin if it is spoken aloud. If I could rollerblade, we could Iditarod the 2-1/2 miles to the park, and we’d beat traffic (note to self: invent the rollerblade bobsled).
I’ll admit, I love the park, too, and not just for the fang and claw. The humans there, we’re all fractured in some way by a real world busted to bits. But we find grace in yours, where life is all windshield, no rearview mirror.
I try to imagine what that off-leash world is like. You lose your minds with unadulterated glee. Is it a Disneyland you vaguely recall, even though you were there just yesterday? A place where you know the rides by heart, but not what they do to yours?
Or do you remember everything, exactly, and it’s the memory that makes you that celebratory? I guess the answer doesn’t matter, but I wish you could see it.
Maybe you do. You both still have that verticality to your gallop, like you want to be airborne a moment longer, glimpse a moment extra, stretch a moment further. You both grin like hayseeds when you pant, so perhaps I’m anthropomorphizing a smile at the end of the day. But I could swear you dig Splash Mountain.
Anyway, happy second birthday! Who knows? To celebrate, we may go to the arkpay.
