用usb同步很简单，但需要注意的几个小问题
1、将笔记本上的 vista的Windows Mobile 设备中心（Windows Mobile Device Center）升级到 6.1 版本，自带的是6.0，官网有的下“
2、ppc（我的是多普达838）开始--设置--连接--由usb连接到pc ---那个“启用高级网络功能”的复选框不选，我看了很多帖子才看到这个，要选中这个，设备中心死活发现不了ppc。
剩下的就简单了，只要把数据线连上，Windows Mobile 设备中心会自动打开，有个同步设置向导，简单设置下同步内容就行了。
想让手机通过笔记本上网的话，好像只要在Windows Mobile 设备中心--连接设置--这台计算机已经连接到---Internet，就可以了。
如果是想通过蓝牙同步呢，就先用蓝牙配对，保证蓝牙连接，然后在手机里用activesync--用蓝牙连接就可以了
如果是想让笔记本通过手机来上网呢，先还是蓝牙配对，然后在手机的程序里有个Internet共享--选个接入点--点连接，电脑端，网络连接里会有个蓝牙的网络连接，双击--连接，即可
《台灣人物誌》故事主角定案
由行政院新聞與Discovery頻道合作的《台灣人物誌》系列節目拍攝計畫，經過行政院新聞局、Discovery頻道、協辦單位遠見雜誌的討論，以及觀眾線上投票活動後，終於選出六位在不同領域、卻同樣足以代表台灣、走向全世界的主角，包括「大眾文化與娛樂—張惠妹」、「商業經濟—劉金標」、「科技新知—李昌鈺」、「社會公益與環保—證嚴上人」、「藝術—林懷民」及「農業—陳文郁」等六位具代表性人物，並經由日前甄選出來的台灣本土製作團隊進行拍攝，要透過這六個人的故事，介紹台灣人的觀點與精神，紀錄台灣人的創新與活力，並讓全世界的觀眾認識台灣！
行政院新聞局局長姚文智表示是國際媒體第一次針對台灣人物做全面性的報導，透過不同領域的台灣人物故事，讓更多不同國家、不同地域的人更認識台灣，體會台灣人特有的毅力與活力。經由《台灣人物誌》的六個精采故事，可以看到台灣近年來發展的一個縮影，我們相信，看過《台灣人物誌》，一定可以從這些故事當中看到多樣的台灣。
Discovery亞洲電視網副總裁暨台灣分公司總經理林東民表示，Discovery頻道將透過《台灣人物誌》與更多台灣製作團隊的合作，以Discovery特有的敍事方式讓國際觀眾看到台灣人物精彩的故事。目前這六位《台灣人物誌》的主角，不但在其專業領域有特殊頁獻，並且充份展現台灣人創新又別具活力的精神，他們的成就不單單影響其所在的領域，甚至將台灣帶進世界版圖，被國際肯定，我們期待《台灣人物誌》能帶給大家更寬廣的國際視野，同時也讓國際的觀眾看到這塊土地的成長與進步。
《台灣人物誌》主角的誕生，分別參考一萬多名觀眾的線上推薦票選結果，並由行政院新聞局、Discovery頻道以及協辦單位遠見雜誌三方共同討論出最後結果，並與六位溝通後才正式定案，接受拍攝的六位代表性人物，皆符合當初設定的審核標準，包括擁有「立足本土，又能見諸於世界」的風範，與台灣有深厚關連性，在其專業領域具有特殊貢獻，也能展現台灣的創新與活力的精神，將台灣帶進世界，讓國際社會因為他的成就而認識台灣，也因此能夠勝任《台灣人物誌》主角。而這六位分別來自不同領域的主角，各自擁有一段精采動人、走向國際實現夢想的故事，而將這六人的故事集合一起，正好可以一窺台灣近年來邁向國際化的發展全貌。
對於自己的故事將呈現在國際舞台上，六位主角皆表示感謝與支持，並期待能在節目中透過自己的故事，能夠啟發台灣人更深遠的國際觀感與更廣闊的視野，這六個精緻的傳記影片，即日起將由三月份徵選的六組台灣本土製作團隊，開始執行拍攝工作。
〈一〉張惠妹
在競逐激烈的「大眾文化與娛樂」領域當中，以原住民身分躍為亞洲天后頭銜的張惠妹阿妹，獲得最多的觀眾推薦票數，因而獲得拍攝主角的機會，阿妹闖蕩亞洲歌壇的成功歷程，也樹立了台灣娛樂界邁向亞洲與全球的里程碑，大多數觀眾對於阿妹以一位台灣本土藝人的身分，能夠登上國際舞台，以歌聲以及舞台魅力征服世界大眾，給予極高的肯定與評價，成為《台灣人物誌》主角，阿妹對於自己能夠成為國際知名頻道的主角非常興奮，同時也接受了Discovery頻道與新聞局的邀請，出席《台灣人物誌》主角公佈的記者會現場，與媒體直接面對面暢談感言。
〈二〉劉金標
提到「商業經濟」領域的劉金標，或許有些人不甚熟悉，但若提到”捷安特”，相信不論是大、小朋友皆知。捷安特這個台灣自創的品牌，是目前全球營收最大、經營績效最佳的自行車品牌，且以高質感、高專業的商品定位行銷全世界。而就在台灣自行車產業發展慢慢蓬勃之際，也引發各界的討論與好奇，劉董事長初聞自己入選為拍攝主角後相當驚喜，因為台灣傑出優秀的企業體比比皆是，但是他沒有想到 Discovery頻道這樣的國際媒體願意拍攝台灣的傳統產業，劉董事長表示非常感謝Discovery頻道可以讓國際觀眾可以有機會了解巨大公司，這個台灣本土精神獨具的國際企業長久以來的奮鬥故事。
〈三〉李昌鈺
以精湛獨到的刑事偵查與鑑識技術享譽國際的李昌鈺博士，因屢破奇案而被美國新聞媒體冠上「當代福爾摩斯」、「物證鑑識大師」、「科學神探」與「犯罪剋星」等封號，他在美國家喻戶曉，也是各國爭相聘請前往演講的專家，迄今已獲八百多個榮譽獎項。是一位貧窮的台灣小子走向全球的傳奇人物。李昌鈺博士不但在科學鑑識領域貢獻卓越，揚名海外，並時常回台灣講演，致力於台灣科學鑑識教育發展，對台灣的的科學領域貢獻非凡，因此入選為《台灣人物誌》在「科技新知」領域的主角；李昌鈺博士也針對入選發表感想，表達對此一立意良善的節目製作的正面鼓勵與期待，他期望透過自己的故事，以及本身對於科學鑑識等相關專業知識，能夠吸引更多年輕人的注意與興趣，並激發年輕人朝向科學新知的領域發展。
〈四〉證嚴上人
「社會公益與環保」領域的主角證嚴上人，對於自己的入選，則是謙遜的表示，這並不是她自己個人的成就，而是整個基金會的成就；慈濟基金會在證嚴的帶領之下，逐漸擴大濟貧救難的工作至全球各地，自北極圈的天寒地凍到熱帶地區的酷熱難耐，只要有災難的地方，都可以見到慈濟志工的身影，除了物資的協助，也帶動災民互助互愛，促進災區的自立與重建，形成一個充滿大愛的地球村，由證嚴上人一手創立的慈濟基金會，已經是全台灣最大也最具公信力的慈善團體，致力於慈善、醫療、教育、文化等志業，目前全球有三十八個國家設有慈濟分支會或聯絡處，慈濟的大愛遍佈全球，可成為足以代表台灣的典範。
〈五〉林懷民
在「藝術」領域上勝出的林懷民，成立雲門舞集32年，不但帶動台灣的現代表演藝術的發展，同時也以堅強的舞蹈創作實力，經常受邀至國外演出，並屢獲國內外表演獎項肯定，他帶領台灣走到世界舞台，增加了國際能見度，影響至大。林懷民獨特創新的舞蹈語彙，成為西方世界最為熟知的東方編舞家。並在台致力創造優質的舞蹈教育環境。此外，林懷民曾獲許多獎賞，包括台灣國家文藝獎、吳三連文藝獎、世界十大傑出青年、紐約市政府文化局的「終生成就獎」，香港演藝學院榮譽院士等，林懷民在世界藝術舞台上的成就輝煌，讓他成為眾望所歸的台灣人物誌代表。
〈六〉陳文郁
「農業」領域的主角陳文郁已有79歲高齡，擁有「西瓜大王」的美譽，由他一手創立的農友種苗公司，歷經45 個年頭，是台灣蔬果育種的第一把交椅，全盛時期農友的種子賣到全世界28個國家，新品種的發表會總會吸引上百家來自各國的種子商來台選購，單就蔬果類，農友種苗可是位居亞洲前五大，多項品種位居亞洲第一。陳文郁驕傲的表示，過去60年來，全世界總共研發出6個新的西瓜品種，農友就占了4個，憑著種了45年西瓜的超強直覺，陳文郁還在持續努力研發讓全球西瓜市場風靡的品種；而對於自己成為《台灣人物誌》主角，陳老先生傳達了感謝之意，並表示能夠藉著國際媒體發揚台灣農業的發展，並讓大家了解西瓜的品種改良過程，感覺相當高興，透過陳文郁多年在農業耕耘的傳記影片，將使觀眾更了解台灣農業的發展。
《台灣人物誌》六位代表人物的傳記影片完成之後，可望於今年年底於亞洲地區的Discovery頻道同步播出，屆時，觀眾將可看到本土風雲人物在世界舞台綻放光彩的精緻影片！
Discovery頻道
Discovery頻道是Discovery傳播集團下的旗艦電視網，致力於製作全世界最高品質的紀實節目，並且是最有活力的電視網之一。Discovery頻道創立於1985年，至今已深入亞太地區超過9千7百萬個家庭，以及155個國家的4億3千萬個家庭，成為全世界收視戶最多的電視台。這個頻道提供觀眾引人入勝的高品質紀實娛樂節目，內容五花八門，包括優質的自然、科技、古代與當代歷史、冒險、文化和時事紀錄片。
一个小型的代理服务器
配置不全文贴了
下面是原文地址
http://bbs.chinaunix.net/viewthread.php?tid=291194
也可以查看《开源》电子杂志第二期，里面也有详细的配置介绍
[斯坦利·库布里克：电影人生].Stanley.Kubrick.A.Life.in.Pictures
下了很长时间，终于下完了，看完了
在豆瓣又看到一篇介绍的国外影评
地址http://www.visual-memory.co.uk/amk/doc/0096.html
（在豆瓣有个网友大致的翻译http://www.douban.com/review/1162422/）
在A.Life.in.Pictures结尾，Stanley.Kubrick的妻子转述了这么一句对话：
people：how are doing ，Stanley？
Stanley：I'am still fooling them.
人们试图通过各种方式和途径解读Stanley.Kubrick的电影，或者正如他自己所说“I'am still fooling them”。
原文如下：
Introducing Sociology
A Review of Eyes Wide Shut
by Tim Kreider
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?000 by the Regents of the University of California. Reprinted from "Film Quarterly" Vol. 53, no. 3, by permission of the University of California Press.
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"So... do you... do you suppose we should... talk about money?"
-Dr. William ("Bill") Harford
Critical disappointment with Eyes Wide Shut was almost unanimous, and the complaint was always the same: not sexy. The national reviewers sounded like a bunch of middle-school kids who'd snuck in to see it and slunk out three hours later feeling horny, frustrated, and ripped off. Kubrick was old and out of touch with today's jaded sensibilities, they said. The film's sexual mores and taboos, transplanted straight out of Arthur Schnitzler's fin-de-siecle Vienna--jealousy over dreams and fantasies, guilt-ridden visits to prostitutes, a strained discussion of an HIV test that echoes the old social terror of syphilis--seemed quaint and naive by the standards of the sordid year 1999. One last time Stanley Kubrick had flouted genre expectations, and once again, as throughout his career, critics could only see what wasn't there.
The backlash against the film is now generally blamed on its cynical, miscalculated ad campaign. But why anyone who'd seen Kubrick's previous films believed the hype and actually expected it to be what Entertainment Weekly breathlessly anticipated as "the sexiest movie ever," is still not clear. The most erotic scenes he ever filmed were the bomber refueling in Dr. Strangelove and the spaceliner docking in 2001. He mocks any prurient suspense in the very fist shot of this movie; without prelude, Nicole Kidman, her back to the camera, shrugs off her dress and kicks it aside, standing matter-of-factly bare-assed before us for a moment before the screen goes black like a peepshow door sliding shut. (You can almost hear the director's Bronx-accented voice: "You came to see a big-time movie star get naked? Here ya go. All right, show's over. Can we get serious now?) The main title then appears like a rebuke, telling us that we're not really seeing what we're staring at. In other words, Eyes Wide Shut is not going to be about sex.
The real pornography in this film is in its lingering depiction of the shameless, naked wealth of millennial Manhattan, and of its obscene effect on society and the human soul. National reviewers' myopic focus on sex, and the shallow psychologies of the film's central couple, the Harfords, at the expense of every other element of the film-the trappings of stupendous wealth, its references to fin-de-siecle Europe and other imperial periods, its Christmastime setting, even the sum Dr. Harford spends on a single night out-says more about the blindness of the elites to their own surroundings than it does about Kubrick's inadequacies as a pornographer. For those with their eyes open, there are plenty of money shots.
There is a moment in Eyes Wide Shut, as Bill Harford is lying to his wife over a cellphone from a prostitute's apartment, when we see a textbook in the foreground titled Introducing Sociology. The book's title is a dry caption to the action onscreen (like the slogan PEACE IS OUR PROFESSION looming over the battle at Burpelson Air Force Base in Dr. Strangelove), telling us that prostitution is the basic, defining transaction of our society. It is also, more importantly, a key to understanding the film, suggesting that we ought to interpret it sociologically--not as most reviewers insisted on doing, psychologically.
Michiko Kakutani of the New York Times tells us that Kubrick "never paid much attention to the psychology of characters, much less relationships between men and women," and in fact "spent his career ignoring (or avoiding) the inner lives of people, their private dreams and frustrations." [1] Unable to imagine what other subjects there could be, she, like so many critics before her, shrugs him off as obsessed with mere technique. She is, first of all, wrong; Kubrick examines his characters' inner lives through imagery, not dialogue; as he said, "scenes of people talking about themselves are often very dull." [2] (It could be argued that almost all of this film takes place inside Bill Harford's head.) Secondly, and more importantly, she misses the point: Kubrick's films are never only about individuals (sometimes, as in the case of 2001, they hardly contain any); they are always about Man, about civilization and history. Even The Shining is not just about a family, as Bill Blakemore showed in his article "The Family of Man," but about the massacre of the American Indians and the recurrent murderousness of Western civilization. [3]
Reviewers complained that the Harfords were ciphers, uncomplicated and dull; these reactions recall the befuddlement of critics who complained that the computer in 2001 was more human than the astronauts, but could only attribute it (just four years after the unforgettable performances of Dr. Strangelove) to human error. The Harfords may seem as naive and sheltered as the Victorians in, say, Galsworthy's Forsyte Saga, but to wish that the characters had been more complex or self-aware misses the point. To understand a film by this most thoughtful and painstaking of filmmakers, we should assume that this characterization is deliberate--that their shallowness and repression is the point. Think of Bill in the back of the cab, his face a sullen mask as he tortures himself by running the same black-and-white stag film of Alice's imagined infidelity over and over in his head. (Anyone who doubts that it is the character, rather than the actor, who lacks depth and expressiveness should watch Cruise in Magnolia.) Or of Alice giggling in her sleep, clearly relishing her dream about betraying and humiliating her husband, only to wake up in tears, saying that she had "a horrible dream"; her repression is complete and instantaneous. (She's like Jack Torrance in The Shining waking up shouting from "the most terrible nightmare I ever had," about chopping up his family, about twelve hours before he actually tries to do it.) The itensely staged vacuity of the Harford's inner lives should tell us to look elsewhere for the film's real focus.
One place to look is not at them but around them, at the places where they live and the things they own. Most of the film's sets, even the New York street scenes, were constructed on sound stages and backlots, just like the Overlook Hotel, which was as central to The Shining as its actors. Precision of visual detail is as integral to the meaning of Eyes Wide Shut as is the use of gorgeous faces famous from the covers of glossy check-out-aisle magazines to play a conspicuously attractive high-society couple (not unlike his choice of handsome, bland-faced Ryan O'Neill to play eighteenth-century social climber Redmond Barry.) Even the street sets (criticized by the uniquely provincial New York press as "inaccurate") are expressionistic, with newspaper headlines (LUCKY TO BE ALIVE) and neon signs (EROS) foreshadowing and commenting on the action. In Kubrick's work, nothing is incidental.
Stephen Hunter of the Washington Post mentions that the Harfords' apartment "must have cost $7 million," but only to make fun of Kubrick's apparent disconnection from contemporary America. [4] But the meticulously rendered setting of the film, the luxurious apartments and sumptuous mansions, are meant to raise eyebrows. Kubrick and his collaborator, Frederic Raphael, discussed exactly how much money a New York doctor like Bill Harford must earn per year. [5] The Harfords' standard of living raises questions about their money, and where it comes from--from Bill's sparsely scheduled private practice, or the sorts of under-the-table services we see rendered upstairs at the party? Dr. Harford is on call to that class of person who can afford not to wait in emergency rooms or die in hospitals--people like his friend Victor Ziegler, whose name denotes him as one of the world's winners. Bill uncomfortably tries to compliment the prostitute Domino's apartment by calling it "cozy" (and her use of the standard joke "maid's day off" to excuse the leftovers and mess only draws further awkward attention to the class gulf between them), but his own place looks cramped and cluttered compared to Victor's. Ziegler's house is reminiscent of the Overlook Hotel, with its vast ballrooms and grand staircases, its mirrors and gilt, its bedroom-sized bathrooms. And even Ziegler's place seems modest compared to the opulent Moorish palace of Somerton, where the secret orgy takes place (in Schnitzler's novella it is "a one-story villa in a modest Empire style." [6]) To some extent, the fact that no critics recognized this as deliberate is excusable; we've all learned to overlook the fantastic affluence of the sets and wardrobe in most movies and TV shows, just as black audiences had, for decades, to try to ignore the oppressive whiteness of everyone onscreen. But make no mistake: this is not a film about the "private dreams and frustrations" of what Victor condescendingly calls "ordinary people"; it is about really rich people, the kind that Lord Wendover in Barry Lyndon and Mr. Ullman in The Shining call "all the best people." And it shows us that these people are empty and amoral, using their social inferiors as thoughtlessly as if they were possessions, ultimately more concerned with social transgressions like infidelity than with crimes like murder--just as the film's audience is more interested in the sex it was supposed to be all about than the killing that is at its core.
There's no reason to assume we're expected to like Bill and Alice Harford (in fact, Kubrick once told Michael Herr he wanted to make a film about doctors because "everyone hates doctors." [7]) They don't, like typical Hollywood villains, literally slather or speak with foreign accents. The Harfords are what we think of, uncritically, as "nice" people--that is to say, attractive and well-educated, a couple who collect art and listen to Shostakovitch. But evil among our elites is more often a matter of willful ignorance and passivity--of blindness--than of any deliberate cruelty. And Kubrick emphasizes that culture and erudition have nothing to do with goodness or depth of character; in this film they have more to do with the exhibitionistic display of imperial wealth.
The paintings that cover the Harfords' walls from floor to ceiling (painted by Kubrick's wife Christiane) almost all depict flowers or food, making explicit the function of art in their environment as mere décor-art for consumption. Most of them probably come from Alice's defunct gallery, which brokered paintings like any other commodity. (Helena, the Harfords' daughter, helps her mother gift-wrap a massive collection of paintings by Van Gogh--the icon of an artist who died in obscurity but whose reproductions on calendars, ties, and coffee mugs now make quick millions for the canny marketers in the museum industry.) The Harfords aren't the only art--lovers in the film; the apartment of Bill's patient Lou Nathanson is decorated with even more expensive objets d'art (and his bedroom, like the hall outside the Harford's apartment, is wallpapered with imperial French fluers-de-lis); Victor Ziegler has a famous collection, including antique china arrayed in glass cases, a soaring winged statue of Cupid and Psyche in his stairwell, and, reputedly, a gallery of Renaissance bronzes upstairs; and the house in Somerton is hung with tapestries and oil portraits of stern patriarchs, and decorated in appropriated historical styles from Medieval to Moorish to Venetian to Louis XIV. Like the trashed mansion of the renowned playwright and pedophile Clare Quilty in Lolita, these people's houses are tastefully stacked with the plundered treasures of the world.
The film's elegant, antique appointments, its opening waltz, and its cast full of European characters (Sandor Szavost, the models Gayle and Nuala, the Nathansons, Milich, the maitre d' at the Sonata Café) all blur the distinction between Millennial Manhattan and fin-de-siecle Vienna, another corrupt and decadent high culture on the brink of an abyss. In the champagne haze of Victor's party the 1990s and 1890s become one, just as the '70s and the '20s merged in one evening at the Overlook Hotel. But the comparison is not only to the European capitals of the Gilded Age; a broad sweep of references establishes America's continuity with a number of previous imperial periods. Sandor Szavost, Alice's would-be seducer, inquires whether she has read Ovid's Art of Love, a reference fraught with sly implications. Art of Love is a satiric guide to the etiquette of adultery, set among the elite classes of Augustus's Rome, full of advice about bribing servants, buying gifts, and avoiding gold-diggers. (Szavost's drinking from Alice's glass is a move lifted right out of Ovid's pick-up manual.) And the fact that Ovid was an exile from his own center of empire further links him to the expatriate Hungarian. Szavost's extraordinary skill at the Viennese waltz, and his offer to show her Ziegler's collection of sculptures, extend the instances of imperially--sponsored high art from the Latin poetry of Rome to the ballroom dance of the Austro-Hungarian Empire and the plastic arts of the renaissance, bringing them all up to date in New York's glittering, art-encrusted façade.
While Alice resists Szavost's courtly come-ons, her husband is called away to the scene of a less polished assignation, where Kubrick shows us what lies behind that façade: unadorned exploitation and death. Behind the scenes at Ziegler's party, in an upstairs bathroom, Bill Harford finds the same thing Jack Torrance finds in room 237 of the Overlook, and that Private Joker confronts at the end of Full Metal Jacket: a woman's body. Banal dance music echoes from downstairs as we see the call girl Mandy sprawled naked in a narcotic stupor, while Victor hurriedly pulls up his pants, his use of her having been interrupted by an overdose. (Or has it?) After Bill brings her around, Victor impresses upon him that this near-scandal has to be kept "just between us"--but Kubrick, our own contemporary American artist-in-exile, in his own bitter Art of Love, tells all. With every detail and allusion he exposes the base, exploitative impulses behind imperial high culture: the erudite Szavost uses the classics, ballroom dance, and Renaissance sculpture as so many lines and props to seduce another man's wife, while Victor, looking distractedly down at Mandy as she lies naked and twitching, is framed by a painted nude. Asked about Alex's fondness for Ludwig Van in A Clockwork Orange, Kubrick answered, "I think this suggests the failure of culture to have any morally refining effect on society. Many top Nazis were cultured and sophisticated men, but it didn't do them, or anyone else, much good." [8] This point is reprised overtly in Eyes Wide Shut when we hear the title of a Beethoven opera used as the password to an orgy.
As omnipresent as the art in the film's backgrounds are its Christmas decorations. It isn't incidental that the story is set at Christmastime; Schnitzler's book, which the script follows closely in most other particulars, is not (it takes place "just before the end of carnival period"). [9] Stanley Kubrick seems to have gotten seriously into the Yuletide spirit in his last film. Hardly an interior in the film (except the Satanic orgy) is without a baubled Christmas tree. Almost every set is suffused with the dreamlike, hazy glow of colored lights and tinsel. In the film's first scene, the Harfords' daughter Helena wants to stay up to watch The Nutcracker on TV. And its denouement takes place in the toy section of a decidedly upscale department store, where they've taken Helena Christmas shopping. Eyes Wide Shut, though it was released in summer, was the Christmas movie of 1999.
There is a chain of allusions to the Judeo-Christian fall-and-redemption myth throughout the film: Alice's allegorical dream about being "naked," "terrified," and "ashamed," and fucking "in a beautiful garden," the Harford's Edenic apartment crammed with plants and paintings of gardens, the two temptresses at Ziegler's party, twined and undulating like serpents, practically molting out of their glittering skintight gowns, the picture of an apple with a single vaginal slice cut from it on the wall of the prostitute's kitchen, and the self-sacrificial "redemption" ritual at the orgy. This all seems like unexpectedly old-world symbolism coming from a famously atheistic director whose films all take place in a modern, Godless universe. (The most memorable Christian imagery in Kubrick's previous films are Alex's ceramic chorus line of can-canning Christs and his Hollywood-epic daydream about being a centurion who gets to flog Him in A Clockwork Orange. And in that film it's clear that Christianity is just a less effective version of the sadistic, Skinnerian Ludovico treatment.) But these Biblical references only serve to show us how bankrupt the Christian ethic is in America by the end of the second millennium A.D., how completely it's been coopted and undermined by commerce. As Ziegler angrily tells Bill in their final confrontation, "That whole play-acted 'take me' phony sacrifice had absolutely nothing to do with her real death!" No, her death had more to do with the cult of secrecy and power at the heart of wealth--in other words, just business.
In Eyes Wide Shut, much as in the real world circa 1999, Christmas is less a religious observance than an annual orgy of consumerism, the ecstatic climax of the retail year. MERRY CHRISTMAS banners hang in places of business alongside signs reading NO CHECKS ACCEPTED and THANK YOU FOR YOUR CUSTOM. Rows of Christmas cards are on display in Bill's office below a not particularly merry sign saying, "Payment is expected at the time of treatment unless other arrangements have previously been made." These juxtapositions undercut the supposed significance of the holiday and reveal the real nature of the season, its ostensible warmth and sentimentality belied by the bottom line. Even Milich, the Scroogelike owner of Rainbow Costumes, calls holiday greetings to the two men who have just come to "another arrangement" concerning the use of his daughter. The whole movie is brimming over with the spirit of the season. The equation of Christmas with crass desire is made explicit by the song heard in the Gillespie Diner: "I Want a Boy for Christmas." The Nutcracker is the story of a little girl whose toy comes to life and turns into a handsome prince, which the Harfords' daughter Helena wants to stay up to watch. "Christmas shopping" with Helena turns out to mean letting her run around picking out items she wants exclusively for herself.
The Harfords themselves (like most of the film's reviewers) don't really see their surrounding mise-en-scène--their wealth, their art, the ubiquitous Christmas glitz. They're preoccupied instead with their own petty lusts and jealousies. But again and again Kubrick visually links his characters to their settings, indicting them as part of the rarefied world in which they live and move, through which his relentless Steadicam tracks them like an omniscient presence. At Ziegler's ball, the starburst pattern of lights on the walls is echoed by the lace edging of Alice's gown and by the blue stelliform ribbon on Szavost's lapel. Bill is haunted wherever he goes by the colors blue and gold, the color of the wallpaper outside his apartment. Domino first appears in a black-and-white striped fur coat, a pattern repeated in the zebra skin stool at her dresser and the coat of the plush tiger on her bed. These people are as much commodities as the art and décor-that is, everyone can be bought.
Alice's obvious resentment of her husband, which she only expresses when she's dreaming or drugged, is motivated by her unconscious recognition that she is a kept woman. We know Bill's supporting her, her art gallery having gone broke. She tells Szavost that she's looking for a job, but we don't see her looking; mostly we see her being looked at. Alice's role as a voyeuristic object is defined by her first breathtaking appearance and by her first onscreen line: "How do I look?" (And it rankles her that her husband doesn't see her anymore--he tells her that her hair looks "perfect" without even looking, and asks her the babysitter's name about twenty seconds after she's told him.) Everyone she encounters in the first fifteen minutes of the film compliments her appearance; Bill dutifully tells her she always looks beautiful, the babysitter exclaims, "You look amazing, Mrs. Harford," and she's also flattered by such admirers of beauty as Victor Ziegler and Sandor Szavost. Ziegler tells her she looks "absolutely stunning--and I don't say that to all the women." "Oh, yes he does," retorts his wife--a joke that resonates unfunnily when we find out who "all the women" associated with Ziegler are.
Being beautiful is Alice's job, as much as it is the former beauty queen and call girl Mandy's or the hooker Domino's. During the quotidian-life-of-the-Harfords montage, in which her husband examines patients at the office, we only see Alice tending to her toilette: brushing her daughter's hair, regally hooking on a brassiere, applying deodorant in front of the bathroom mirror. Hers is the daytime regimen of a courtesan (or an actress), devoted to the rigorous maintenance of her looks. She's associated, more than any other character, with mirrors; we see her giving herself a critical once-over before leaving the party, and look of frank self-assessment in the medicine cabinet when she decides to get stoned. Her expression in the mirror as she watches her husband making love to her (the film's iconic image) begins as bemusement, giving way to fondness and arousal, but in the last seconds before the fade-out it becomes something more ambiguous, distracted and self-conscious; this is her moment of clearest self-recognition, an uncomfortable glimpse of what she really is.
Alice's real status is unmistakably suggested: the wife as prostitute. She's identified with the hooker Mandy through a series of parallels: they're both tall redheads with a taste for numbing drugs, we first see them both in bathrooms, and Mandy's last night "being fucked by hundreds of men" is distortedly echoed in Alice's dream. Alice is also associated with the streetwalker Domino by the purple of her sheets and Domino's dress, and by their conspicuous dressing-table mirrors (the essential accoutrement of anyone who lives by her looks). Mandy and Domino are connected, as in dream-associations, by the identical consonants of their names, just as Alice is connected with Domino's roommate Sally (their names being aural anagrams). When Domino disappears, she's replaced by Sally the next day, just as in dream-logic one person may turn into another yet remain the same. In a sense, there is only one woman in the film. Lee Siegel sees the various prostitutes that Bill meets as different incarnations of his wife, the woman he's really seeking all along. [10] But the similarities between them are more revealing (if less romantic) when read the other way--as insinuating that Alice is just another, higher-class whore. When we last see her in the film, in that toy store, she's surrounded by shelves full of stuffed tigers like the one on Domino's bed. (Kubrick also used tiger and leopard-print patterns in Lolita as a code to connote Charlotte Haze's predatory sexuality.) Even in this scene, as she delivers the film's ostensible moral, Alice is visually linked to a doomed hooker.
She's also grooming her daughter Helena (named after the most beautiful woman in history) to become a high-ticket item like herself. During the montage of their day at home, we see Helena alongside her mother in almost every shot, holding the brush while her mother gathers her hair into a ponytail, brushing her teeth at the mirror, learning to groom herself. When we overhear her doing word problems with her mother, she's learning how to calculate which boy has more money than the other. We hear her reading a bedtime story aloud, reciting the line, "...before me when I jump into my bed." In this film, a line about "jumping into bed" can't be innocent. Her mother silently mouths it along with her, echoing and coaching her. At Bill's office, we see a photo of Helena in a purple dress, like the one worn by the girl her father paid for sex the night before.
Like his wife, Bill Harford is defined by his first line: "Honey, have you seen my wallet?" She is a possession; he is a buyer. ("Doctor Bill," as both his wife and Domino call him, is a pun, like Jack D. Ripper or Private Joker.) He flashes his credentials and hands out fifty- and hundred-dollar bills to charm, bribe, or intimidate cabbies, clerks, receptionists, and hookers--all members of the vast, compliant service economy on whom the enormous disparities of wealth in America are founded. Including (unconsummated) prostitution, costume rental, assorted bribes, and cab fare, his tab for a single illicit night out totals over seven hundred dollars. He does not seem fazed by the expenditure. His asking Domino "Should we talk about money?" his repeated insistence on paying her for services not quite rendered, his extended haggling with Milich and the cab driver--all these conversations about cash are too frequent, drawn-out, and conspicuous to be included in the interest of verisimilitude. They do not occur in the novel. Doctor Bill is nothing if not a conspicuous consumer; he even tears a hundred-dollar-bill in half with a smirk.
Bill's nocturnal journey into illicit sexuality is, more importantly, a journey into invisible strata of wealth and power. Money is the subtext of sex from the very first temptation of Bill; the two models who flirtatiously draw him away from his wife at Ziegler's ball invite him enigmatically to follow them "Where the rainbow ends." At that moment he's called away, saying to them, "To be continued...?" After he's gone, the two models exchange a cryptic, conspiratorial look. The exchange foreshadows Bill's finding himself at Rainbow Costume rentals--"to be continued," indeed. We never find out exactly what the models meant, but everyone knows what lies at the end of the rainbow.
The colorful arc of Bill's adventure does lead to the pot of gold, Somerton, the innermost sanctum of the ultrawealthy where the secret orgy is held. The orgy scenes in particular were singled out by reviewers for disappointment and derision. Listen to the groans of critical blueballs: David Denby called it "the most pompous orgy in the history of film." [11] "More ludicrous than provocative," said Michiko Kakutani, "more voyeuristic than scary." [12] "Whose idea of an orgy is this," demanded Stephen Hunter, "the Catholic Church's?" [13] Again they misunderstood Kubrick's artistic intentions, which are clearly not sensual. When Bill passes through the ornate portal past a beckoning golden-masked doorman, we should understand that we are entering the realm of myth and nightmare. This sequence is the clearest condemnation, in allegorical dream imagery, of elite society as corrupt, exploitative, and depraved--what they used to call, in a simpler time, evil. The pre-orgiastic rites are overtly Satanic, a Black Mass complete with a high priest gowned in crimson, droning organ and backward-masked Latin liturgy. What we see enacted is a ceremony in which faceless, interchangeable female bodies are doled out, fucked, and exchanged among black-cloaked figures, culminating in the ritual mass rape and sacrificial murder of a woman.
The haunted ambiance here recalls that of the film's other big exclusive party, Zieglers; the opulent surroundings, the mannered, leaden dialogue, the camera afloat like the disembodied point of view in a dream. A ballroom full of naked, masked couples dancing to "Strangers in the Night" recalls not only Ziegler's party but the Overlook Hotel, whose ghosts also danced and coupled in costume. (Remember the quick, surreal zoom shot in The Shining of someone in a bestial costume fellating tuxedoed millionaire Horace Derwent in an upstairs room?) The two occasions, the party and the orgy, are conclusively linked in the back room of Rainbow Fashions, a sort of antechamber to Somerton, where we see a row of masked and costumed mannequins posed in front of the same cascade of glittering white lights that hung from the walls at Ziegler's.
The orgy makes the metaphor of sexual objectification visually literal. The prostitutes wear masks that render them anonymous and identical. Their nude bodies are unnaturally perfect, smooth and immaculate as mannequins, lit under a chilling white spotlight and photographed with that Kubrickian detachment that somehow desaturates them of any real eroticism. The ritualistic kisses exchanged are spooky and sterile, the sculpted white lips of one mask touching another's. The sex consists of static tableaux of spectators posed around mechanically rutting participants. A masked and tuxedoed valet on all fours serves as a platform for a fucking couple, a piece of human furniture like the tables at the Korova Milk Bar in A Clockwork Orange. One might remember, with a shudder, the Lugosian-toned Szavost inviting Alice to have casual sex upstairs, among the sculptures.
The masks worn by the revelers (Venetian--an allusion to another mercantile empire) serve a similar symbolic purpose: the transformation of the wearer into a soulless object. They certainly aren't expressive of ecstatic self-annihilation, as some critics suggested; they're creepy as hell. We see a bird with a scythe-like beak, a cubist face fractured in half, contorted grimaces and leers, a frozen howl, painted tears, blindly gazing eyes. These revelers have "lost themselves" not in erotic abandon but in the same way that the recruits in Full Metal Jacket lose their Selves, along with their hair and their names. The utterly still, silent shots of staring masks at Bill's "trial" are images of empty-eyed dehumanization, faces of death. Note that when Ziegler first sees Bill enter the ceremonial hall, even though they are both masked, he gives him a knowing nod. He recognizes him. Here the guests at Ziegler's party are unmasked for what they really are.
Masks and mannequins are a recurring motif in Kubrick's work: think of the fight with mannequin's limbs in Killer's Kiss, the anthropomorphic furniture at the Korova, the grotesque masks worn in The Killing and A Clockwork Orange. In Eyes Wide Shut we see them not only at the orgy but throughout the film, always as harbingers of death. A stone Greek mask keeps vigil by Lou Nathanson's deathbed. African masks gaze down, like the masked spectators silently watching the sex acts at Somerton, at the bed where Bill has his interrupted trick with the HIV+ hooker Domino. A "domino" is itself a kind of mask.
They also serve as metaphors for women being treated like possessions. Costumed mannequins surround Bill and Milich in the back room at Rainbow Costumes. "Like life, eh?" says Milich, just before he catches his daughter consorting with two men in wigs and livid makeup. Milich's daughter, for all the coquettish depravity at play in her face, looks somehow as eerily inanimate as the Grady twins in The Shining--her skin is smooth and white as the mannequins in the back room, her painted lips and glittering eyes flawless as a china doll's. In a carefully composed shot in the scene when Bill returns his costume, we see Milich and his daughter paired on the right side of the frame opposite Bill and one of the mannequins (seen through the door to the back room) paired on the left. "If Doctor Harford should ever need anything else," says Milich, hugging his daughter close beside the cash register, "Anything at all... it needn't be a costume." The line only reinforces the visual equation of the girl with the store's more legitimate merchandise. And the three times we see Mandy her face is always a mask: in Ziegler's bedroom, her eyes are lit to look like empty black holes in her face; at the orgy she is literally masked; and on the slab at the morgue her face is slack and white, here eyes wide open but sightless.
Although Bill doesn't actually fuck or kill anyone himself, he is implicated in the exploitation and deaths of all of the women he encounters. (Like the sign over the Sonata Café says... "The customer is always wrong.") He didn't give Domino HIV, but she contracted it servicing someone like him. Milich alternates with hilarious aplomb between berating the men he's caught with his daughter--"Will you please to be quiet! Can't you see I am trying to serve a customer?"--and unctuous apologies to Harford, conflating the two exchanges. (After all, Bill isn't just paying for a costume but for the illicit opportunity it affords.) And does it really make a difference whether Mandy was ceremonially executed by some evil cabal or only allowed to O.D. after being gang-banged again? Given Kubrick's penchant for blackly humorous literalism (think of "Gentlemen, you can't fight in here--this is the War Room!" or "I said, I'm not gonna hurt you--I'm just going to bash your brains in"), when Ziegler explains that Mandy wasn't murdered, "she got her brains fucked out," the contradiction should be obvious.
Bill learns about Mandy's overdose in a café whose walls are covered with antique portraits of women, while Mozart's Requiem plays. The setting and the music make the moment timeless, universal. Kubrick's last three films form a sort of thematic trilogy about our culture's hatred of the female. In The Shining, Jack Torrance despises his wife and child and tries to murder them, just as the previous "caretaker" murdered his wife and daughters. (We also hear, on a TV news bulletin, about a woman who's "disappeared while on a hunting trip with her husband.") In Full Metal Jacket, the institutionalized misogyny of the Marine Corps is pervasive, and the absence of women (we see only two hookers and a sniper) is so conspicuous it becomes a haunting presence. The film's climax is the execution of a fifteen-year-old girl. The requiem in the Sonata Café isn't just for Mandy but for all the anonymous, expendable women used and disposed of by men of Harford's class throughout the ages.
For all his flaunting of his money and professional rank, Bill Harford is ultimately put back in his place as a member of the serving class. Recall how he's summoned away from Ziegler's party in the same polite but perfunctory manner as his friend Nick, the pianist; like him, Bill is just hired help, the party doctor, called upon to repair (if possible) and cover up (if necessary) human messes like Mandy. When he goes to his patient Lou Nathanson's apartment, he's met by their housemaid, Rosa, who's also dressed in black with a white collar, in a perfectly symmetrical entry hall where every object is in a matched pair. The shot makes the doctor and the maid doubles; they're equals here. When Bill tries to infiltrate the orgy, he's given away by telltale class markers--he shows up in a taxi rather than a limo, and has a costume rental slip in his pocket. His real status at Somerton, as an outsider and intruder, is spelled out for him the next day when he returns to the estate, only to be dismissed with a terse typed note handed him through the bars of the front gate by a tight-lipped servant. (This isn't the only time we see Bill through bars--he has to bribe his way past the grated door at Milich's.) When Ziegler finally calls him onto the carpet for his transgressions, he chuckles at Bill's refusal of a case of 25-year-old Scotch (Bill drinks Bud from the can), not just because this extravagance would be a trifle to him, but because Bill's pretense of integrity is an empty gesture--he's already been bought. Bill may be able to buy, bribe, and command his own social inferiors, and he may own Alice, but he's Ziegler's man.
Although Ziegler has a credible explanation for everything that's happened--Harford's harassment, Nick Nightingale's beating, Mandy's death--we don't ever really know whether he's telling the truth or lying to cover up Mandy's murder. The script carefully withholds any conclusive evidence that would let us feel comfortably certain either way. But Ziegler does have suspiciously privileged access to details of the case: "The door was locked from the inside, the police are happy, end of story! [dismissive lip fart.]" He also claims to be dropping his façade and coming clean a few too many times to be believed: "I have to be completely frank," "Bill, please--no games," and finally, "All right, Bill, let's... let's... let's cut the bullshit, all right?" And notice how he introduces his explanation: "Suppose I were to tell you..." [emphasis mine]. He's not being "frank"; he's offering Bill an escape, a plausible, face-saving explanation for the girl's death to assuage his unexpectedly agitated conscience. (And it's one of the few things that Bill has a hard time buying--watch the way his hand adheres to his cheek and slowly slides off his face as he rises to his feet and walks dazedly across the room, trying to absorb the incredible coincidence Ziegler's asking him to swallow.) Ziegler's "no games" plea notwithstanding, this entire conversation is a game--a gentlemanly back-and-forth of challenges and evasions over a question of life and death, throughout which the two opponents circle each other uneasily around a blood-red billiards table.
When Bill persists in his inquiries, Ziegler loses his temper and resorts to intimidation and threats. He reminds him of their respective ranks as master and man: "You've been way out of your depth for the last twenty-four hours," he growls. Of his fellow revelers at Somerton, he says, "Who do you think those people were? Those were not ordinary people there. If I told you their names--I'm not going to tell you their names, but if I did, you might not sleep so well." In other words, they're "all the best people," the sorts of supremely wealthy and powerful men who can buy and sell "ordinary" men like Bill and Nick Nightingale, and fuck or kill women like Mandy and Domino. The "you might not sleep so well" is also a veiled warning, and it isn't Ziegler's last. His final word of advice--"Life goes on. It always does... until it doesn't. But you know that, don't you, Bill?"--proffered with an avuncular, unpleasantly proprietary rub of the shoulders, sounds like a reassurance but masks a threat. (We immediately cut from this to a less friendly warning, the mask placed on Bill's pillow.) Bill's expression, in the foreground, is by now so tight and working with suppressed and conflicting feelings that it's hard to read, but one of those feelings is clearly fear for his life--he looks as though he might burst into tears or hysterical laughter, and when Victor claps those patronizing hands on his shoulders, he flinches. In the end, he chooses to accept Victor's explanation not because there's any evidence to confirm it, but because it's a convenient excuse to back down from the dangers of further investigation. He finally understands that he, too, no less than a hooker or a hired piano player, is expendable.
So the questions remain: did Mandy just O.D., or was she murdered? Was Bill's jeweled mask left on his pillow by Alice as an accusation, or by Ziegler's friends as a third and last warning, a death threat like the horse's head in the bed in The Godfather? These are crucial questions, ones that Kubrick deliberately leaves unanswered. And yet most reviewers didn't even seem to notice that they were questions, instead automatically projecting their own interpretations onto the story--most assuming that Ziegler was providing redundant exposition, that Mandy's death was the coincidence Ziegler claimed it to be, and that Alice put the mask there herself. (Dream Story does not even include the character of Ziegler, or any final confrontation with a member of the secret society, and it also makes it clear that it was the protagonist's wife who placed the mask on the bed.) But Kubrick bends over so far backward to preserve these ambiguities that they become glaring, demanding of us that we, like Bill, consciously decide what we're going to believe. Bill's reaction when he sees the mask in his bed could be interpreted either as shame and relief at having his lies exposed, or as the terrified realization that his wife and daughter could have been murdered in their sleep. When Alice wakes up to Bill's sobbing, her expression doesn't betray whether she's startled to see the mask beside her or already knows it's there. When we cut to her the next morning, her eyes swollen and red-rimmed with weeping, we don't know whether she's crying because her husband almost cheated on her or because he's endangered their family. And the final dialogue between Bill and Alice is so vague and allusive ("What should we do?" "Maybe we should be grateful,") that it could as easily refer to Mandy's murder and the implied threat to their lives as to Bill's indiscretions. If we choose to believe the former, then the Harfords aren't just reconciling over their imagined and attempted infidelities; they're agreeing to cover up a crime, to be accomplices after the fact to a homicide.
This is the film's final test--a projection test, like the ambiguous cartoons with blank word balloons shown to Alex at the end of A Clockwork Orange to determine whether his conditioning has been broken. His lascivious and violent interpretations of the images proves that it has. But has ours? The open-ended narrative forces us to ask ourselves what we're really seeing; is Eyes Wide Shut a movie about marriage, sex, and jealousy, or about money, whores, and murder? Before you make up your own mind, consider this: has there ever been a Stanley Kubrick film in which someone didn't get killed?
In the film's upbeat but dissonant denouement, the Harfords have taken their daughter Helena Christmas shopping, but they respond to her wishes only politely, distracted by their own inner children. Like many reviewers, they're still wrapped up in psychology and sex, missing the sociological implications of what's onscreen. But, as in so much of Kubrick's work, the dialogue is misdirection; the real story is being told visually. As poor Helena flits anxiously from one display to the next (already an avid little consumer) every item she fondles associates her with the women who have been exploited and destroyed by her father's circle. Helena's Christmas list includes a blue baby carriage (like the blue stroller seen twice outside Domino's apartment), an oversized teddy bear (next to a rack of tigers like the one on Domino's bed) and a Barbie doll (reminiscent of Milich's daughter) dressed in a diaphanous angel costume just like the one Helena herself wore in the film's first scene. She herself has already become a doll, a thing to be dressed up with cute costumes and accessories. Another toy, conspicuously displayed under a red ring of lights, is called "The Magic Circle"; the name is an allusion to the ring of ritual prostitutes at the orgy, and the bright red color of the box recalls the carpet on which they genuflected to the high priest, as well as the felt of the pool table over which Bill made his own bargain with the devil. The subplot with Milich and his daughter is clearly echoed here, in another place of business, as the Harfords also casually pimp their own little angel out to the world of commerce.
ALICE: And, you know, there is something very important we have to do as soon as possible.
BILL: What's that?
ALICE: Fuck.
As Eyes Wide Shut closes, this final exchange between Bill and Alice suggests that all the dark adventures they've confessed ("whether they were real or only dreams"), and all the crimes in which they are complicit, have occasioned nothing more than another kinky turn-on, no more enlightening than the flirtations at the ball that inflamed their lovemaking when they got home. For all their incoherent talk about being "awake" now, their eyes are still wide shut. Reconciled, they plan to forget all this unpleasantness soon in the blissful oblivion of orgasm. (Try keeping your eyes open during orgasm.) Maybe, in the end, it is a film about sexual obsession after all; about sex as an all-consuming distraction from the ugly realities of wealth and power all around us. Maybe the customer is always wrong.
Certainly a subtler psychological reading of the film than has yet been attempted would be possible. But to focus exclusively on the Harford's unexamined inner lives is to remain willfully blind to the profoundly visual filmic world that Stanley Kubrick devoted a career's labors to creating. The slice of that world he tried to show us in his last--and, he believed, his best--work, the capital of the global American empire at the end of the American Century, is one in which the wealthy, powerful, and privileged use the rest of us like throwaway products, covering up their crimes with pretty pictures, shiny surfaces, and murder, ultimately dooming their own children to lives of servitude and whoredom. The feel-good ending intimates, in Kubrick's very last word on this (or any) subject, that the Harfords' daughter is, just as they've resigned themselves to being, fucked.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Acknowledgements: The seven hundred hours I spent in conversation with Rob Content about this film were invaluable in developing my argument. Bart Taylor of Giotto Perspectives pointed out some of the Christian imagery in the film to me. I am also indebted to Boyd White, guitarist and singer for The Sores, and to Ann Martin, editor of Film Quarterly, for their editorial acumen. Thanks to the University of California Press for permission to re-print this article.
Biographical Information: Tim Kreider is a cartoonist. His work can be seen at WWW.THEPAINCOMICS.COM and in the Baltimore City Paper.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Notes:
[1] Kakutani, Michiko. "A Connoisseur of Cool Tries to Raise the Temperature." The New York Times, 18 July 1999. p. 22. &Nbsp; back
[2] Ciment, Michel. "Second Interview" in Kubrick. Translated from the French by Gilbert Adair. New York: Holt, Reinhart, and Winston, 1980, p. 171. &Nbsp; back
[3] Blakemore, Bill. "The Family of Man." San Francisco Chronicle Syndicate, 29 July 1987. back
[4] Hunter, Stephen. "The Lust Picture Show: Stanley Kubrick Stumbled with his Eyes Wide Shut." The Washington Post, 16 July 1999, p. C5. &Nbsp; back
[5] Raphael, Frederic. Eyes Wide Shut: A Memoir of Stanley Kubrick. &Nbsp; back
[6] Schnitzler, Arthur. Dream Story. Translated from the German by Otto P. Schinnerer. Los Angeles: Sun & Moon Press, 1995, p. 128. &Nbsp; back
[7] Herr, Michael. Kubrick. New York: Grove Press, 2000, p. 13 &Nbsp; back
[8] Ciment, Michel. "First Interview" in Kubrick, p. 163. &Nbsp; back
[9] Schnitzler, Dream Story, p. 4. &Nbsp; back
[10] Siegel, Lee. "Eyes Wide Shut: What the Critics Failed to See in Kubrick's Last Film." Harper's Magazine, October 1999, vol. 299, #1793, p. 76 - 83. &Nbsp; back
[11] Denby, David. "Last Waltz." The New Yorker, 26 July 1999, p. 84. &Nbsp; back
[12] The ever-perceptive Ms. Kakutani, p. 22. &Nbsp; back
[13] That dimwit Hunter, p. C5. &Nbsp; back
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网友推荐的，是不是有用，大家自己看
可以去这里下载
http://www.007520.net/pblog/article.asp?id=437
http://cache.tianya.cn/pub/c/funinfo/1/1080527.166.shtml
http://cache.tianya.cn/publicforum/content/funinfo/1/1078498.shtml
有些确实挺逗，文学功底也不差
昨天在天涯乱逛，看到一个贴做广告说是什么天涯第一牛逼组织什么的，好奇驱使，进去看了一下，没什么新意，很黄很暴力的一个群，随便说了两句，管理不愿意了，炒了几十句，我不爱骂人，坚信“辱骂和恐吓（恐吓还好）绝不是斗争”的信条，尤其鄙视用脏话骂人，仅用此标准，此人很不咋地，翻看了一下该人资料，点进了博客，不出意外，啥也没有，意外的是，看到了下面这篇文章，没有写转载，没有原文引用地址，这样很不好（对于所有转载别人东西的博客），找不到源出处，最起码标明是转载而来，撇开和谐不谈，最起码不要误导后来者。文章写的挺牛x，确实够“装逼”，领教中。。。转回到开头，确实还的谢谢骂人的那位。哲学讲万事万物都有两面性，古语讲 福祸相依，塞翁失马，智慧啊。。。。。。。。。
原文：
很文艺，很小资
副标题：初级华语音乐装逼指南
你还在听蔡依林、孙燕姿、张韶涵、王心凌、 梁静茹么？出去怎么好意思跟人打招呼啊~~~所以我特地写这一篇来网普一下，造福广大装逼无门装精无路的小青年们。首先，本文是针对华语的，也就是两岸三地之内人声用中文演绎的歌曲，这里作为切入点比较合适。一上来就直接搞国外的Calla， Radical Face，Blonde Redhead，Windmill，The Shins之类恐怕段数太高，内功不够会走火入魔。而且我们搞这个是装逼用的，甩几个名字出来结果周围的人全没听说过就很尴尬了，恩，装逼未遂，你比对方更尴尬。其次，本文是初级的，提到的歌手和专辑全都很好找，有的甚至比主流还红，歌曲都上百度那个流行mp3下载榜的，等你把这些都搞定之后，并且发现你自己已经可以跟姑娘们炫耀可以跟二逼追随者们炫耀可以跟爸爸妈妈们炫耀可以跟老师校长炫耀可以跟全世界炫耀的时候，不要安于现状，不要知足，再去找更高阶的素材继续装吧。
听流行的不叫装逼，那应该听什么呢？听独立的啊，术语叫indie（你看看，不要说独立，中文土嘛！说independent又嫌太长了，四个音节，舌头都会打卷，重音一不小心还会发错。所以直接读前面一半，indie，多慵懒的感觉啊，爱死这个词了）。独立的歌手一定要自己写词自己写曲自己编曲自己配乐自己组团自己录制自己拍MV自己发行，上哪都要把乐队带着，演出到一半要一一介绍，“这是鼓手谁谁谁，guitar手叉叉叉，base手圈圈圈，keyboard啥啥啥”。写的歌不能老是情啊爱的，不然充其量也就一创作型流行歌手了。要写生活，写小事，写理想，写小性子，写小脾气，写海边，写寂寞，实在是要写爱那一定只能写爱自己，恩，也就是自恋啦。这样才叫小布尔乔维亚情调噻~
工欲善其事必先利其器，首先你会要用豆瓣，那里可以找到很多装逼者，共同学习，共同进步，我刚才列的那一排英文名字全部是在豆瓣随手拈来的，有没有把你们震住？其实我一个都没听过，所以说，豆瓣是个好东西，装逼必备啊。那里的最热讨论组，关于演员的不是金城武不是阿汤哥是Johnny Depp；（这里如果我说约翰尼·德普那就土了，刚才已经示范过嘛，悟性高的同学大概已经总结出装逼第一招了：碰到外国人名一定不要用中文译名，是英文就老老实实的敲，是日文就平假名片假名的拼，有人问了，要是是意大利法莫道不消魂国的，哪还不得去装字库啊？你傻呀，复制粘贴你不会啊？又有人要问了，那我现在是在学华语音乐装逼，没外国人怎么办吖？不着急，咱还是又办法的，后面会讲，装逼人民的智慧是无穷的）关于导演的不是张艺谋不是Steven Spielberg，是いわい しゅんじ（这个就是岩井俊二了，我也不知道写的对不对，不认得日文）；关于中文歌手的不是周杰伦不是李宇春，是陈绮贞。
好了，终于出现陈绮贞三个字了，铺垫到此结束，我开始进行地毯式的介绍（一句话点评），没有调查就没有发言权，以下每张专辑我都一首首的听过的，绝对不会忽悠大家：
旅行的意义 / 旅行的意义
CD / 好小氣音樂工作室 / 2006春季尋羊限定版 / 陈绮贞
陈绮贞，独立的内涵，流行的风格，文艺的调调，小资的气质。我靠，不列进来真是说不过去。这一首《旅行的意义》又好听又好唱，去KTV都能点，太难得了，站在钱柜包房里一唱，呗有面子啊！“我看过了许多风景，我看过了许多美女……”
陈绮贞 精选(1998-2005) / 陳綺貞精選(1998-2005) / 陈绮贞精选(1998-2005)
CD / 中国康艺音像出版社 / 陈绮贞
她专辑还真多啊，就不一一列了，再加个精选集进来，自己去听吧，你要是连她的歌都听不习惯，抱歉，没有装逼的天份了，老老实实回去听街歌吧~
La Dolce Vita / 甜蜜生活
cd / 前衛花園唱片公司 / 2007-11-08 / 臺灣版 / 魏如萱 / 娃娃 / waa
《女人痛经时》这都可以当歌唱，太有才了，哎呀我的天，哎呀我的天，哎呀我的天。
资源回收
Audio CD / 风和日丽唱片行 / ALBUM / 自然卷
碰到萝莉型的女生，不要急着推倒，给她听这张专集里的《低着头》吧，保证她的回答是：“太卡哇伊了！”
C'est La Vie
CD / 风和日丽唱片行 / 自然卷
自然卷是由奇哥和娃娃（就是第3张里的魏如萱）组成的，奇哥同时也是陈绮贞和杨乃文的乐手，不能只听歌啊，这些背后资料都要当作常识来记，然后在合适的时候很漫不经心的甩出来，装逼不是那么容易的。
我們在炎熱與抑鬱的夏天，無法停止抽煙 / 我们在炎热与抑郁的夏天，无法停止抽烟 / We Can't Stop Smoking in the Vicious an
Audio CD / 维港音乐 / 2007-10-10 / My Little Airport
这个不加进来都对不起专辑的名字啊，闷骚到极致了。
消失的光年
CD / 九洲音像出版公司 / 2007-07-12 / 首发现场纪念版 / 大乔小乔
内地的，一个大叔带着个小盆友，这种组合本身就很文艺了。看看专辑介绍吧：“她的叔叔会在安静的早晨听钟立风，小乔还抱着她的玩具熊在睡觉。她梦见了白云和风筝，而我们正在忙碌。”
只因当时太紧张 / 只因当时太紧张
維港唱片 / My Little Airport
听这张专集之前我还不知道太宰治是谁，所以说，装逼是相通的，赶快搞本《人间失格》看看吧
在动物园散步才是正经事
cd / 口袋唱片 / 2004-08-07 / 引进版 / My Little Airport
“XXXX才是正经事”这个句型很火了一阵吧，出处就在这张专辑了。粤语听起来很有feel啊~
A Wishful Way / A Wishful Way
CD / 上海声像出版社 / Import / 跳房子
田原是我初中校友啊，就在隔壁班上……不过我不认识她她也不认识我。
突破
吃草的鱼 / 2007-08-15 / EP / 范晓萱&100%乐团
萱最近反弹得厉害啊，上内地通告上得那叫一个密集。fans也越来越多了，还动不动就嚷嚷着“我喜欢她十几年了”，其实自己一共也就活了二十岁吧，真行~
My Life Will...
Audio CD / 新力博德曼音樂娛樂股份有限公司 / Import / 张悬
对Malaimo这首我要多说一句就表示我不够装逼
遇见我
cd / 创盟音乐钛友文化、星丝雨 / 2005年12月 / [引] / 曹方
这张一点都不闷啊，歌曲都朗朗上口，大家有福了，赶快拜谢曹芳小姐让装逼者不用太抑郁
2007小草地二年级同学音乐会 / 草地音乐同学会
CD / 默契音乐 / 2007-05-25 / Various Artists
大串烧，装逼cult神教开会了。。。赶快记名字吧，然后找每个歌手自己的专辑去听！
蜂蜜与白色樱草 / 露水十一合辑
CD / 露水十一 / 2007年10月 / 獨立發行 / Various Artist
同上，第二次开会了~至少给我们开到***吧，多传达点精神啊，装逼社会。。。
Close To 蔡健雅 / Original x Tanya Demo
CD / 亚神音乐 / 2007-10-03 / 蔡健雅
demo一定不要错过，indie才有啊，主流是不会出现的，一发行就是精装版豪华版限量版了。
OK / 思念是一种病
Audio CD / 滚石唱片 / 2007-07-06 / Album / 张震岳
张震岳也从主流走到非主流了，这张专辑太牛逼了，放在这里我都开始后悔这个列表整体的调侃和鄙视装逼的基调了。
只能谈情 不能说爱
厂牌：Wasabi工作室 / 《只能谈情不能说爱》是一本小说，也是一张小说配乐概念唱片，音乐 + 主题曲 / Various Artist
还有比把独白，配乐朗诵，几首歌放在一起更文艺的么？
思 生活 / The Private Life of Chetlam
CD / LYFE / Warner / 林一峰
什么叫“创作的歌曲要写生活”？看看这张专辑里每首歌的名字就会理解了。
无与伦比的美丽 / 無與倫比的美麗
CD / 林暐哲音乐社 / 2007-10 / 专辑 / 苏打绿
劳资都听到这厮的第三张专辑了，愣是没搞清楚到底是个男的还是个女的。回顾这个列表，80%以上都是女声啊。。。谁能告诉我，装逼的人里面到底是女的多还是男的多呢？
去听吧去听吧，听了不能白听，一定要写评论啊，
碰到陈绮贞就要说“她的声音总是清澈得让我颤抖。”
碰到范晓萱就要说“我喜欢这样敏感、坚韧、叛逆的女子。”
不知道怎么评论专辑和歌手的话，你就写你自己，至于歌随便扯上去就行了，例子：“我的07年过得如流水般平静，是这张专辑陪我度过了每一个失眠的夜晚，是这个歌手给了我生活的勇气和力量，谢谢。”
这你都不会，那再教你个万能的，至少你可以说说“买这张专辑，完全是因为它的封面，在CD店里看第一眼就爱上了。”（哪怕你都是bt迅雷电驴上下mp3，连附近哪有音像店都不知道也没关系……）
千叮咛万嘱咐，写评论的时候一定不要写歌手的原名啊！显得层次太低了，要拿出一副跟歌手很熟很亲切的样子，独立歌手都用英文名的，什么cheer啦，mavis啦，Tanya啦。不知道英文名的话至少你要把姓给省掉，比如晓萱（干脆直接叫萱，更好），绮贞，阿岳什么的。要是知道昵称就更好了，叫一声陈老师，外行都不知道你在说谁，然后你再慢慢解释吧，多有成就感~
原文地址http://xydonkey.blogbus.com/logs/12240099.html
看完原文，在注意看看下面评论，也满有意思。。。
