Stanley Kubrick: Photographic location research. Paper given at The London Design Museum, Kubrick Symposium, 2019

Please note that for rights reasons I am unable to reproduce archived images from @ualarchives here

Kubrick’s Photographic Location Research

Matt Melia.


Image: Manuel Harlan

T he medium of photography is essential to an understanding of Stanley Kubrick’s work from its earliest beginnings as a young photojournalist for Look Magazine between 1945 and 1950. As author Philip Mather has observed, these early photographic images in which he documented the urban life of post war New York city with its boxing matches, news stands, half way houses, fairgrounds, subway trains, street life and street urchins, urban architectures and built environments are of intrinsic value to an assessment and understanding of the later cinema where these images are recycled, restaged and reproduced. The photographs are formative and they connect the poles of his career in both image and theme – Children for instance, are a frequent presence in these images of urban street life, as they are in his cinema where childhood (and the corruption of youth) is a dominant theme. As Mather notes, these photojournalistic images taken for Look, “shed light on the aesthetic and ideological factors that shaped the development of Kubrick’s artistic voice as well as our own understanding of his later film work” (Mather, 2013, 3)

However, in this paper, I hope to offer some notes and observations, based on my own research (predominantly around A Clockwork Orange) in the Stanley Kubrick Archive (UAL), on the practices surrounding another photographic aspect of Kubrick’s work ( and across which I will note imagistic and thematic consistencies with the Look photos): the pre-production location photography/research pertaining particularly to A Clockwork Orange, Full Metal Jacket and to a lesser extent – Eyes Wide Shut. The material pertaining to these films is the most self-evidently London-centric (in comparison to the other films) and it is with A Clockwork Orange, the only film to be produced outside of a studio, where this photographic location research becomes more pronounced and prolific. These images of London document areas of the city, its architectures, environments and its outlying locations. In discussing the earlier Look photos, Rainer Crone observes that they ‘Transcend the then current mode of WPA-Style documentary image making” and that “Kubrick’s photography created no only visual archives of the time but also social critiques that expressed his intuitive mind and subversive sense of humour” (Crone, 2018, 7). Like the Look photos these later pre production images are also not simply a record or document of potential shooting locales, they are themselves carefully composed images worthy of close critical examination in their own right and as with the Look photos, in which Kubrick attempted to reveal, photographically the thrumbing life and identity and of New York City – to get to its truth (although we must recognise that, according to Kubrick scholar Nathan Abrams, some of the photographs were set up to give the impression of ‘capturing “the moment”), these location photographs with their fetishisation of brutalist and (post) modernist architecture; post industrial decay; images which incorporate the gothic (an underwritten aspect of Kubrick’s cinema) – uncanny forests and landscapes etc all contribute to a sense that getting to the truth of space and place via the photographic image was increasingly central to Kubrick’s pre-production practice, particularly from 1970.

With the photographs for A Clockwork Orange, there is also a sense that not only do the photos work as an urban record or document of the time, capturing (and fetishizing) the proliferation of urban brutalism, but as with photographs of the Thamesmeade Estate, frequently ‘civilians’ wander into shot or are caught in the image, freezing them in time ( Elsewhere, like several of the Look images they are deliberately posed ) Here also we may see evidence of the sustained interest, carried over from Look, in capturing ‘street life’, young urchins. In another image, of an bedroom interior on a council estate, the room’s occupant, a young girl has wandered into shot and is presented in looking directly into the camera.

Yet this sense of placehood, identity nad ‘truthfulness- is immediately and deliberately problematized and compromised in the location research for both Full Metal Jacket and Eyes Wide Shut, where locations such as the decaying post-industrial Gothic ruins of Beckton Gasworks in East London or the declining Commercial Rd in Tower Hamlets become stand ins for other locations – war-torn Vietnam or bohemian Greenwich Village. Duality is, of course another dominant Kubrickian theme [Pile / Animal Mother; the two opposing halves of FMJ; the Shining Twins etc etc] thematically, narratively AND within the mechanics and processes of production.

When addressing this location research, however, we should remember  that unlike the earlier Look photos these images where NOT  actually taken by Kubrick.  As we heard from  Milena Canonero yesterday, it was she as well as production designer John Barry and production manager Terry Clegg that were tasked with going out with the camera, finding locations and photohraphing them. Furthermore in her  interview with Deborah Nadoolman, Canonero indicates that ACO  was her first major project and  Kubrick trained her in in the practicalities of photography, what to look for, what he wanted from the image in order for her to undertake the photographic costume research for A Clockwork Orange..  And as Filippo Ulivieri has noted it was Martin Hunter, who worked in the sound department in The Shining and then edited FMJ, as well as others in the art department, who were responsible for most of that film’s location research and for EWS it was mostly Manuel Harlan who photographed  that film’s UK locations (for example, taking the panoramic shot of the Commercial Rd, on display here at the Kubrick exhibition), Kubrick’s influence and presence is nevertheless felt across the photographs and while there  little in the archive to indicate which (if any) photos he took himself, he certainly curated and chose  the shots taken. 

This of course raises all sorts of questions over the authorship of the image, and its tempting as well  to consider Kubrick working in the manner of a Renaissance artist presiding over a workshop of assistants. These images, as we will see, may be taken by his associates and colleagues but they are rooted in his own photographic and cinematic perspective.

Consistencies and Trends

Film and Fan studies scholar Rod Munday has previously observed the presence of a “Kubrick Cinematic Universe” in which the films segue and intersect via image, theme and narrative, I propose here, however, that there is another level of interconnectivity beneath this that exists in the mechanics and processes of  pre-production, particularly the location research photography where we may observe some  trends and consistencies in image type, content, framing, in the duplication of locations scouted across different films – for instance the archived photographic files for Eyes Wide Shut show that there were a large number of London bars and clubs scouted  for the Sonata Café scene in which Dr Bill (Tom Cruise) is first given the password, Fidelio, for admittance to the mysterious Orgy. The scene was  filmed at famed Soho burlesque club, Madam Jojos but the files tell us that while this was the chosen locale, other venues such as the WAG club (Shaftesbury Avenue) and Soho Jazz venue Ronnie Scott’s were also considered – two venues which also were considered as locations for The Korova Milk Bar in A Clockwork Orange. Production here came the closest to filming at Ronnie Scott’s [Slide 15] as it would also with Eyes Wide Shut, before another location was eventually chosen. Although it seems natural, expedient and efficient, however, that Kubrick would return to locations for other films and refit their purpose accordingly, it also helps us to map the connections and inter-relatedness of the films, and how one production comes to inform another. 

The archived location photography also alerts us to some interesting parallels and contrasts between ACO and FMJ, and offers a pictorial juxtaposition between the ordered and minimalistic architectural brutalism of the first film and the evanescing post-industrial architecture of the second. Both images however are imbued with a sense of the Gothic – the imposing and towering concrete architecture of the ACO and the post-industrial gothic ruins of Beckton Gasworks with FMJ. Setting both images side by side allows us not only a snapshot of the proposed locations but also a condensing of the transition from forward looking utopian and utilitarian urban design and architectural practice at the end of the 1960s/ start of the 1970s to post industrial decline and decay towards the end of the 1980s. Here we can also hark back to the Look photographs, several of which, similarly looked to architectural decay and decomposition in the post war Manhattan slums. Interestingly despite the architectural constrasts, we may note consistencies and trends in the framing of these architectures: through the prism of doorways, windows and apertures. The view through the doorway, locates the photographic image here within the two distinct and overlapping traditions where such framing devices proliferate – fine art / painting and cinema (Flemish renaissance and Hollywood cinema). In one photograph we view the tower block through the aperture of the door and through a circular aperture – the circle is a recurring motif in Kubrick in films like Strangelove, Eyes Wide Shut and Full Metal Jacket. From a photographic perspective, framing in such a manner also allows one to experiment with depth and perspective.

If the images frame such architectures through the lens of the ‘Gothic’ then we should also consider the presence of nature in the photographic research images – the files for A Clockwork Orange, contain location research taken in woods and forests (for the sequence in which Alex is tortured and beaten by his ex-droogs), a common gothic trope and a locale of uncertainty and anxiety, and the photographs (sadly not present here frame them as such). Similarly, the photographs of Cliffe Marsh in Kent (now an RSPB sanctuary), offer a similarly bleak and blasted ‘Gothic’ image of the landscape.

The archived material for A Clockwork Orange, also houses a folder containing a small envelope of photographs taken of commuters on the Victoria line (for ACO) and an accompanying hand written document of train times, when trains and stations are at their busiest, when they are at their quietest and other such information. These images are notable for their striking similarity to the early Look photographs taken on the New York Subway, another clear indication of how the later work is informed not only in the cinematic image but how these early photographic images are embedded within the photographic research for the films. They are at their root. The archive holds a wealth of location photographs which were taken as part of the pre-production research and which indicate both alternative locations for scenes in A Clockwork Orange which DID make the final cut (the tunnel at Battersea Train station, for instance was scouted for the scene in which Alex and his Droogs beat up the old tramp) and for scenes from Burgess’s novel which were never filmed The photographs of Friar’s Square in Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire are of particular interest, intended for the scene in which Alex and the droogs threaten the old man leaving the ‘Public Biblio’ (Library). The square (now a covered indoor market) was a public space dominated by a monolithic, overhanging futuristic modernist cafeteria, below which sat some moulded plastic ducks (here being ridden by some mini droogs) – a location suited to the film’s integrating of both modernism, kitsch and the gothic.

One final example of pre-production photographic practice that we note really starting with A Clockwork Orange and recurs across subsequent films, connecting them, is the use of the panoramic (even annotated shot) – this TYPE of shot is used to frame both architecture and landscape – the key example of this is of course, Manuel Harlan’s celebrated panaroama of the Commercial road in East London. But it is also interesting to note that if the these expansive images (often comprised of several photos fixed together) experiement with scope of vision, there is also an evolutionary process in the way Kubrick experiments with depth. The archived panoramic image (not present here) of the F.Alexander’s house are affixed with “stuck on grease proof paper indicating manipulations to the location that need to be made to achieve the desired look for example, to cover up scaffolding on a house in the background.” (quote from the archive catalogue) These are 3 dimensional adornments/ drawings of proposed set dressing and by time Kubrick was in pre-production for Eyes Wide Shut, he would employ the use of 3 dimensional models and dioramas as part of the pre-production practice.

Talking it’s starting point as A Clockwork Orange, this paper has focused predominantly on three films, ACO, Full Metal Jacket and Eyes Wide Shut, to the exclusion of both Barry Lyndon and The Shining. In taking the discussion further, we could also point to corroborations and connections in terms of locations types scouted: the mutual exploration of the country estate, stately home across BL  and EWS – the home as a built environment is one that Kubrick has a keen interest in, for Kubrick the home is a site of anxiety – the elegant surfaces and surrounding locations of the stately home masking the deviant and sinister goings on of the interior. In A Clockwork Orange,  Kubrick specifically references Richard Hamilton’ s Just What makes the modern home so different, so appealing?  [Slide  17]. Here though the  modern home may be contemporaneously designed, but it is anything BUT appealing – it is a site of   invasion, assault, displacement and replacement and torture. It has a DUAL identity. In A Clockwork Orange,  the books of slides containing location scouting photographs for Modernist houses can be set in contrast and parallel with the country houses scouted for Barry Lyndon  and Eyes Wide Shut. Sadly time has not allowed a fuller account here.

To conclude, this paper has attempted to give an overview of Kubrick’s pre production photography, to observe its trends, practices, modes and interconnectivity, and it has also attempted to demonstrate the resonance of the early Look photos across these later images.

With many thanks to Georgina Orgill and the staff of @ual_archives

I Am the Pretty Thing that Lives in the House: Samuel Beckett and the Gothic

Paper given at @Gothflix conference, Feb 2020, Lancaster University – A Work In Progress


  1. Introduction

Oz Perkin’s 2016 film, the spectral, ethereal and gothic,  I am The Pretty Thing That Lives in the House (herein referred to as Pretty Thing) arrived with and was, in fact,  greeted with less fanfare than other more contemporary Netflix dramas –horror or otherwise. Jess Jono, reviewed the film in an online article for Mashable UK,  suggesting that the muted response to the film was due to a number of factors – the company’s inability to market its own Original material – and a particular inability to  market Pretty Thing on account of its unwieldy, lengthy, none search bar friendly title  and  “because this ghost story is often categorized as a horror movie, but better suited to suspense lovers”. Furthermore its arthouse aesthetic allowed it to be buried under a “never ending barrage of more populist, more consumable content”. Perhaps more saliently  Pretty Thing went up online in October 2016, 3 and a half months after Netflix’s juggernaut, the gothic nostalgiafest, Stranger Things, and has since been relegated to a forgotten corner of the streaming service as which teenage viewer wants to watch a glacially paced, Beckett-inspired minimalist ghost story when there are Demagorgons to enjoy elsewhere!?

This paper is an attempt to right that. Although my own research and writing has engaged with the Gothic, I am not a Gothicist  by profession , my own doctoral research lay in the post war theatre of the absurd, architecture and cruelty and in particular the work of the Irish dramatist Samuel Beckett, whose work has a distinct presence in Perkin’s film. Pretty Thing… and has some interesting and visible intersections with the tropes and traditions of the Gothic, particularly as they are filtered through the prism of Beckett’s (post) modern, post war  drama – in particular, the later, shorter, experimental and  female centric drama or ‘dramaticules’:  plays such as Come and Go (1966); Not I (1973);  Footfalls (1976) and Rockaby (1980) – pieces which are defined by the presence of the spectral, evanescing and traumatised female image trapped within the imprisoning darkness and void of the stage space; trapped by the circularity of the experience, diminished by their search for, and resistance to, a sense of personal subjectivity and Cartesian reasoning and understanding. This paper, therefore, aims to (re) consider Pretty Thing, through the lens of Beckett’s work, offering a close reading of the films mise-en-ecene (with a focus on the film’s opening and ending (SPOILERS}) and to illustrate the distinct thematic and visual presence that Beckett has in the film. I wish to propose also thAT film deliberately and consciously draws on, makes reference to, and incorporates (both textually and stylistically) Beckett’s work in its presentation of a minimalist but nevertheless gothic film space

2. Samuel Beckett and the Gothic

In his article, “NO MORE THAN GHOSTS MAKE”: THE HAUNTOLOGY AND GOTHIC MINIMALISM OF BECKETT’S LATE WORK” Graham Foster notes that Beckett’s dramas (and prose) are at first glance  not easily associable with the Gothic – given their austerity, minimalism and context within a post war European experimental avant garde. Foster proposes Beckett’s work as ‘Minimalist Gothic’ and reminds us

Beckett’s writing has always exhibited characteristics that seem to invite, yet resist, being taken for Gothic. From the late 1940s on, Beckett often employed posthumous narrators haunted by disembodied voices and bizarrely tormented, confined figures and used forms, such as repetition, ambiguity, and narratorial anxiety or dread, that appear in more traditional Gothic literature. (1)

We might also suggest here that the empathy Beckett show’s even towards his more monstrous characters (Pozzo in the second half of Waiting for Godot or Hamm in  Endgame,  for instance) resonates with the empathy demonstrated towards the monster in certain Gothic narratives. Furthermore Graley Herren offers observing Beckett’s work as a prism for the horror text. In the article Monstrous Beckett: Viewing Eh Joe Through the Peephole of Psycho,  he notes  that

For all his well-deserved acclaim as one of the canonical writers of the previous century, there is a substratum of criminal pathology, sexual perversion, and voyeuristic sadism in Beckett’s work, features that put him much more at home with conventions of horror than defenders of his august reputation would generally allow. (2)

While the notion of perversion may not impact directly on an analysis of Pretty Thing…  it offers a platform for understanding more broadly Beckett’s relationship to the genre. Of course, the later drama in particular offers a range of disquieting images from Happy Days Winnie, buried up to her waist in sand under a burning sun, then up to her neck; a disembodied ‘Mouth’ hanging in a void of blackness [Image 1]  vomiting out a torrent of traumatised, visceral,  experience as a cowled, hooded figure standing in a dim spotlight can only ‘raise his arms in a gesture of helpless compassion’; or the spectral figure of May [Images 2 and 3] “in Footfalls as she walks back and forth across an imprisoning beam of light within the centre of an empty dark stage, the disembodied voice of her mother calling to her, until she has disappeared completely.  Beckett’s drama also  presents set of  imprisoning theatrical spaces that may be understood within the context of the ‘Gothic’ space : the ‘Shelter’ of Endgame (1957) [Image 4] for instance which is dominated by the monstrous, blind wheelchair bound Hamm and his put upon servant Clov, while  his parents Nag and Nell are imprisoned in Dustbins (age, decay and decrepitude, are shared Beckettian and Gothic tropes).  Key productions of the play have emphasised the imposing Gothic identity of the dwelling, interstingly however, the current production at the Old Vic in London starring Alan Cumming as Hamm and Daniel Radcliffe as Clov presents the ‘Shelter’ as a domestic sitting room – not unlike the setting for Pretty Thing, which for all it’s Gothic tropes of spectral visitations, decay and evanescence, also locates its narrative in such a setting.

Image 1: Lisa Dwan in Not I (Sky Arts/ Justin Downing)

Endgame (

Furthermore In her article, “Strange laughter”: Post-Gothic Questions of Laughter and the Human in Samuel Beckett’s Work” author Hannah Simpson connects Beckett to the Gothic through the trope of laughter, stating:

Gothic and Beckettian texts exploit our narrow sense of human laughter both to render certain figures more unsettling and to question the boundaries of our definition of the human. Whereas certain critics have read Beckettian laughter as redemptive of the miserable human condition, Beckettian laughter in fact gestures toward a simultaneously human-and-non-human condition, with complicating implications for the link between laughter and mortality, following the Gothic precedent. (3)

3. I am The Pretty Thing That Lives in The House, Beckett and The Gothic

The narrative of Pretty Thing.., focuses on  a nurse, Lily (Ruth Wilson),  who moves into the haunted Massachusetts house of an ailing, elderly author of horror novels, Iris Blum, who is suffering from dementia and who’s visual introduction (Images to the narrative is iconographically similar [Images 5 and 6] to the rocking chair bound image W. in the 1980 short play, Rockaby, whose life appears to be winding down as she slowly rocks herself toward death (“rock her off. Fuck life”), but also Dicken’s Miss Haversham. [Image 7 ]  The house is haunted by the spectral figure of Polly,  a woman in 19th century clothing, who we learn was murdered by her husband there on their wedding day. The film, opens with Lily’s  disembodied voice (we later learn why) over a black void, brokenly exclaiming “I have heard it said that a Home with a death in it can never again be bought by the living; it can only be borrowed from the ghosts that have stayed behind”

Image 7: Billie Whitelaw in Rockaby (1981, Alan Schneider; Image: Pennebaker Hegedus Films)

The film positions itself within a Beckettian  stylistic  framework:  the disembodiment of the voice, the introduction of a traumatised Gothic space which imprisons and  traps the subject and the opening monologues intimations towards the circularity of such experience. Instead of opening on an establishing shot, the film presents a non-image of emptiness – emptiness pervades the mise-en-scene of the film throughout. Against this dark, empty void, the spectral figure of a woman enters into frame [Image 8] along a perpendicular line – recalling the movement of May in Beckett;s Footfalls.

Image 8: The Spectral Void

 The viewer is invited to ask,  is the voice that of this ghostly, figure that of the specter on screen?  Beckett’s novella Company (1979) poses a similar question, it opens with the line, “A voice comes to one in the dark. Imagine.”  In it a man lying in the dark, is haunted by memories of the past, he ponders the question, whose are the voices that he hears and are they speaking to him? If not him, then who? Beckett writes

       Though now even less than ever given to wonder he cannot but sometimes wonder if it is indeed to and of him the voice is speaking. May not there be another with him in the dark to and of whom the voice is speaking? Is he not perhaps overhearing a communication not intended for him? If he is alone on his back in the dark why does the voice not say so? Why does it never say for example, You saw the light on such and such a day and now you are alone on your back in the dark? Why? (4)

Even the title intimates at the spectral presence of  another. This dark void, with its uncertainty of voice and identity, its spectral, potentially supernatural figure (for Beckett, ghosts take the form of memories of the past rather than ontological entities), is a space of anxiety, and at various intervals across the film we fade back to this space which seems, at first to exist outside of the diagetic world of the film – it is OUR space, that of our screen which is haunted. At various points across the film, Lily attempts to resurrect a television set [Image 9], to get an image out of it (she only succeeds in getting disembodied sound) – ghosts are and have been (certainly within the work of screen writers like Nigel Kneale, as Abbot and Jowett have noted (5) ) presented as recorded, degraded broadcast  images of the past which flicker in and out of visibility and consciousness – there is a meta—textual connection between Lily’s broken screen and our own ‘haunted screen.’

Image 9: the Television (screenshot: Netflix 2016)

At one point in the narrative the spectral image of Polly in a moment of match-on editing, moves out of screen left, out of the darkness of the ‘non diagetic space’ and into the diagetic space of the film world, from screen right. She exists on the cusp of both spaces. Comparatively   Leading Beckett scholar Stanley Gontarski notes a  production of the short play Come and Go (three women on an empty stage two secretly discusses the third in her absence, the third comes on takes the place of the second etc- until at the end the three women join hands in a small act of resistance against death)   at the New City Festival in the US (1975). He states that

 The actors were situated behind and above the audience, in the balcony, their image reflected to the stage by a huge mirror through which the action was viewed. The result was disassociative, distanced and dehumanising, an assault on perception through voice and visual image emanating from various ends of the theatre, the spectral image allowing one woman to vanish into shimmering darkness while the other discuss her affliction. (7)

The opening monologue also  suggests that ghosts are “Held In Place”, anchored to their environment and architecture. Again we may draw not only upon the ghostly figure of May in Footfalls , held to a single space with a metronomic (as Beckett suggested) movement back and forth or W. s who is, as Beckett indicates is ““Prematurely old. Unkempt grey hair. Huge eyes in white expressionless face.” And who wears ““Black lacy high-necked … Long sleeves. Jet sequins … Incongruous headdress set with extravagant trimming to catch the light.” Beckett writes of May’s appearence that “One could go very far towards making the costume quite unrealistic, unreal. It could, however, also be an old dressing-gown, worked like a cobweb … It is the costume of a ghost..”. This being “held in place” (note also the three heads in Urns in Play) is a trope that runs through Beckett’s drama and prose – most famously in Waiting for Godot, where it’s two protagonists, Vladimir and Estragon are locked into a cycle of leaving and returning to the same deserted landscape (each act ending with “‘yets lets go’ THEY DO NOT MOVE”).

As the film moves from the haunted (non diagetic) space to pervasive silence of the house, we are presented with a montage of still shots foregrounding the emptiness of the house, its unused furniture fixtures and fittings. These empty silent shots of disused emphemera recollect the empty Beckettian stage, notably that of the writer’s shortest play, Breath, [Image 10] a only a minute long, in which the audience is presented with an empty stage containing nothing but a collection of junk, across which suddenly echoes a ghostly, pained, disembodied exhalation of breath.

The house itself is depicted as ghostlike, an empty image from the past, full of antiquated furniture and fittings [Images 11-16): a TV still trying to pick up a broadcast signal (there is Beckettian sense of irony and humour – given Pretty Thing’s status as a streamed Netflix drama), a Bakelite dial telephone (which at one point Lily struggles to use). .

Elsewhere in the film, during the opening segment, Lily finds the elderly Iris asleep with a cassette playing on an old tape recorder (we are given a close up of the spinning cassette). Not only is this further evidence of a the house’s temporal displacement – another example of analogue technology, but it recalls Beckett’s 1958 tragi-comedy Krapp’s Last Tape in which the elderly Krapp listens to one final recording of himself as a younger man on his birthday – the disembodied voice of his younger self resounding across the stage from the tape – a sonic image caught forever, and an example of the way Beckett bifurcates the self.

Evanescence and decay permeate not only architecture of the house – an unexplainable black mould starts to spread across the walks, and as it does Lily hallucinates that it has infected her own flesh – she is more and more connected to the house itself, this evanescence seeps into the film itself as scenes continually fade or dissolve into one another.  Subsequently we are presented with an image of Lily in the house [Images 17 and 18] wearing her yellow cardigan and nurses uniform. She drifts around the house and then upstairs, where in one shot she is relegated to the back of the frame, her image out of focus – another intimation of spectral evanescence.

In the film’s denouement and final reveal, further place the form and structure of the film within the spectral and gothic realm of the Beckettian – the house it seems is like a tape loop. In the final section Lily is confronted by the gothic specter of the murdered Polly and dies of a shock induced heart attack. In the final moments we see the Lily from the beginning of the film, wandering the house in her nurses uniform, like Mai and W. and other Beckettian characters, she is doomed to repeat the same pattern, anchored to the space of the house. The disembodied voice which opens the film, we realise now is her own spectral voice, separated from her decaying and evanescing  body (which we see on the floor of the house). In the film’s final image, Lily is revealed to occupy the same extra-diagetic world that Polly previously occupied – turning our screen into a ‘gothic space’ [Images 19-21],  and as Hamm says to Clov in Beckett’s drama Endgame

                        “The end is the beginning.. and yet you go on…”


(1) Fraser, Graham. (2000). “No More Than Ghosts Make”: The Hauntology and Gothic Minimalism of Beckett’s Late Work. MFS Modern Fiction Studies. 46. 772-785. 10.1353/mfs.2000.0051.

(2) Herren, Graley. (2018) “Monstrous Beckett: Viewing Eh Joe through the Peephole of Psycho”, Literature/Film Quarterly,

(3) Simpson, Hannah. ““Strange Laughter”: Post-Gothic Questions of Laughter and the Human in Samuel Beckett’s Work.” Journal of Modern Literature 40.4 (2017): 1-19. Web. (

(4) Beckett, Samuel. Company. London: Picador, 1982. Print.

(5) Jowett, Lorna., and Abbott, Stacey. TV Horror : Investigating the Dark Side of the Small Screen. London: Tauris, 2013. Print. Investigating Cult TV.

(6)) Nixon, M. F., ed. (2009) The international reception of Samuel Beckett. Continuum Reception Studies. Continuum Publishing Group,

Call for Papers: ‘Age is Just A Number’: Harold and Maude at 50 (Edited collection)

harold and maude

Call for Papers: Edited volume on Hal Ashby’s Harold and Maude

Though perhaps not as generally well-known as contemporaries such as Steven Spielberg, George Lucas, Francis Ford Coppola, or Martin Scorsese, Hal Ashby was one of the most significant American directors of the 1970s. A genuinely maverick auteur of the New Hollywood era, his distinctive, idiosyncratic, and darkly comic cinematic eye was brought to bear on an astonishing number of critically and popularly acclaimed films such as The Last Detail, Shampoo, Coming Home, Bound for Glory, and Being There. Beginning his Hollywood career as an editor (he won the 1967 Academy Award for his work on Norman Jewison’s In the Heat of the Night), Ashby moved into directing with his first feature being The Landlord. But it is his second feature film, Harold and Maude (1971), for which he is perhaps most well-known and celebrated. Though many critics were ambivalent about the film on its first release (Vincent Canby described it as “creepy and off-putting”) Bud Cort and Ruth Gordon each received respective Academy Award nominations for Best Actor and Best Actress in a Musical or Comedy. Over the subsequent decades its popularity and significance has continued to grow. It is ranked at #45 on the American Film Institute’s 100 Funniest Movies of all Time and in 1997 was selected for preservation on the National Film Registry of the Library of Congress for being “culturally, historically or aesthetically significant.” It is also acknowledged as a genuine cult classic with each new generation of film-goers discovering its deeply odd (and often troubling) disquisition on how we live and love, the nature of desire and sexuality, and the taboo-breaking celebration of romance between a young man and a woman old enough to be his grandmother.

With the 50th anniversary of the film’s release approaching, the editors invite submissions for a book collection, tentatively titled Age is Just a Number: Harold and Maude at 50.

Aspects of address are wide open but might include (without being limited to) the spectrum of thematic concerns in Ashby’s films and his treatment of race, gender, and sexuality; the film’s relationship to the counter culture and its broader 1960s and 1970s cultural context; the Vietnam war; the New Hollywood and auteurism; the star system; genre studies; the aesthetic and political aspects of Ashby’s work; comparative pieces within the history of Hollywood and other film industries; formal practices of filmmaking; Ashby’s influence on other films and filmmakers; representations of age and aging in the Hollywood tradition. As stated above, we encourage as broad a range as possible of theme, topic, and analytical focus as well as an equally broad range of theoretical and disciplinary perspectives. Essays should not exceed 8000 words.

Please submit completed essays by December 1, 2020. Submissions should conform to The Chicago Manual of Style, 15th edition.

Direct any questions and correspondence to:

David Wall (


Danielle Tirado Green (

CFP: The Jurassic Park Book



Call for contributions: The Jurassic Park Book

Editors: I.Q. Hunter and Matthew Melia

Proposals are invited for contributions to a proposed edited collection of new essays on Jurassic Park (1993), its sequels, franchise, and spin offs.

Steven Spielberg’s Jurassic Park (1993) took over $50 million dollars in its opening weekend and went on to gross over $1 billion worldwide at the box office. One of the definitive Hollywood blockbusters, Jurassic Park met with almost universal critical and popular acclaim, broke new ground with its CGI recreation of dinosaurs, and started one of the most profitable of all movie franchises.

To mark the film’s 30th anniversary, this collection aims to interrogate the Jurassic Park phenomenon from a diverse range of critical, historical, and theoretical angles. Proposals are especially sought for 6 – 7000 word chapters on gender, race, and colonialism; international distribution, marketing, reception and audiences; merchandising, toys, video games and other spin offs; CGI, SFX, film form and production design (cinematography, editing, sound, music etc.).

Please send proposals of 250 words with a short biography and note on institutional affiliation to Ian Hunter: and Matt Melia: by 31 August 2020.

CFP: Behind Eyes Wide Shut – Reassessment, Reception, and Legacy




Behind Eyes Wide Shut: Reassessment, Reception, and Legacy

Editors: Nathan Abrams and Georgina Orgill

Twenty years since its release, Stanley Kubrick’s Eyes Wide Shut remains a complex, visually arresting film about domesticity, sexual disturbance, and dreams. This was the final enigmatic work from its equally enigmatic creator. It has left an indelible mark on our popular culture and remains as relevant as ever. Much maligned and much misunderstood when it first came out, Eyes Wide Shut has since been the subject of an animated debate and discussion among critics and academics. It has been explored from a wide variety of disciplines and methodological perspectives. This collection proposes to bring together scholars and fans from diverse disciplinary backgrounds, as well as those who worked on the film itself, to explore Eyes Wide Shut twenty years since its release, discuss its impact and consider its position within Kubrick’s oeuvre and the wider visual and socio-political culture.

Possible angles might include:

· Eyes Wide Shut – origins, influences, production, aesthetics, publicity, reception, afterlife, legacy

· Where does Eyes Wide Shut sit in Kubrick’s oeuvre?

· What is the cultural/film-making legacy of Eyes Wide Shut?

· What is the position of Eyes Wide Shut within the wider visual culture?

· Eyes Wide Shut and parenthood

· Eyes Wide Shut and race, ethnicity and otherness

· Eyes Wide Shut and Arthur Schnitzler

· Eyes Wide Shut and psychoanalysis

· Eyes Wide Shut as a dark comedy

· Eyes Wide Shut, audiences, fandom and ‘cult’

· Eyes Wide Shut and the conspiratorial imagination.

Please send 300-word abstracts, along with a brief biographical note, to Nathan Abrams ( and Georgina Orgill ( by May 1st, 2020.

A Clockwork Orange – New Perspectives (CFP) – deadline October 18th 2019


A Clockwork Orange: New Perspectives (working title)

Call for Chapter Abstracts

We are inviting abstracts for an edited collection on A Clockwork Orange that examines both Anthony Burgess’s novel and Stanley Kubrick’s film. This will be the first collection to deal with both and we are looking for abstracts which look at them individually and together. The aim of this project is to understand and excavate the cultural legacy of A Clockwork Orange and its histories and to engage new and original perspectives as well as contemporary readings based on new research.

We aim to publish the book in time to coincide with both the anniversaries of Kubrick’s film in 2021 and Anthony Burgess’s novel in 2022, reflecting on 50 years of the film and 60 years of the novel. We have had some very positive response from Palgrave MacMillan who seem interested in publishing.

Although the book plans to carry forwarded the momentum started by the Clockwork Symposium conference held at University of the Arts in London, November 2018, and to be a reflection of the ideas discussed at that event, we are looking for and welcome re-developed abstracts as well as new ones in order to fit the scope and remit of an academic publication. We will be giving priority to chapters which make use of both the Stanley Kubrick Archives held in University of the Arts London Archives and Special Collections Centre and the Archives of the International Anthony Burgess Foundation, Manchester. We are looking for chapters which offer original and contemporary perspectives, which present new research in the field and which make use of new archival discoveries.

If your abstract is not chosen to appear in this collection, we also plan to put out a special journal publication to accompany the book, to expand and broaden its scope.

We would like to collect all abstracts by no later than October 18th 2019 (revised deadline) in order to submit the proposal to Palgrave in a timely fashion.

Although we would welcome abstracts pertaining to either Kubrick or Burgess (or both) – at the moment we would especially welcome any abstracts that deal with Burgess’s novel.

Subjects may include (but are certainly not limited to):

* The legacy of ACO in contemporary culture

* ACO and art history

* ACO, design and fashion

* ACO in Burgess’s other work

* Writing and reception of the novel

* Crime and punishment in novel and film

* ACO and the music video

* ACO and censorship

* ACO and authorship

* ACO and gang culture

* ACO and fashion

* ACO, Punk and other subcultures

* ACO, humour and parable

* ACO and representations of sexual violence

* ACO and theatre

* Imprisonment, punishment and reform

* The dystopian aesthetics of ACO

* Production and costume design; location research

* Fandom and ACO; the clockwork orange ‘clubs’; fan letters and writing

* The Kubrick / Burgess relationship

* ACO in relations to the wider work of both Anthony Burgess and Stanley Kubrick

* Influences on both film and novel

* Comparative representations of youth in film and literature

* Nadsat / language

* ACO as cult text

* (Post)modernism, Brutalism and architecture

* Philosophy and ACO

* ACO and film / literary theory

* ACO and politics

* ACO and the archive (s)

Please email the co-editors Matthew Melia ( and Georgina Orgill ( with abstracts, and do not hesitate to contact us with any questions

A Clockwork Orange: Stanley Kubrick’s Design and Costume Research (Paper given at SCMS 2019, Seattle, March 2019): A Work in Progress.


Copywright, Warner Brothers.

[Please note, due to rights issues I am unable to publish photos held by the Stanley Kubrick archive, where possible I have used similar online images and referenced them, as well as giving the references for the original archived images]


In 1971, author, art historian and critic Robert Hughes, reviewing Stanley Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange, for Time offered the following precis of the film’s idiosyncratic aesthetic:-

“The time is somewhere in the next 10 years; the Police still wear QEII’s monogram on the cap’s and politicians seem to be dressed by Mr Blades and Mr Fish. The settings have the glittery spread out look of a Milanese design fayre – all stamped Mylar and womb form chairs, thick glass tables, brushed aluminium and chrome, sterile perspectives of unshuttered and white moulded plastic”.

A Clockwork Orange lays claim to be Kubrick’s most design-led film and, in its incorporation of utopian neo-futurist style and design (which I will presently discuss), it continues a trend established in his previous film, 2001: A Space Odyssey. In fact Hughes’ allusion to the look of a ‘Milanese design fayre’ is not too far off the mark: , an assessment and excavation of the pre-production costume and design research material, indicates the forensic nature of Kubrick’s research and the extent to which he and production designer John Barry looked to cutting edge, forward looking European design and designers for the contemporaneity of the film’s aesthetic. Furthermore he worked with Italian costume designer Milena Canonero. This was her first film and first collaboration with the director (she would go on to design and source costumes for both Barry Lyndon and The Shining). In an interview for Deborah Nadoolman’s book Costume design, she offers some insight into Kubrick’s approach to the film and to it’s preparation:

“He said: “first you help the production designer John Barry. I want you to learn how to scout locations. In the meantime think about the movie. I don’t want science fiction. Its more ambiguous. It’s now. Its tomorrow”” (in Nadoolman, Costume Design, Rotovision, 2005)

Kubrick also consulted Italian production designer Luciana Arrighi, who writes to him recommending a range of modern European designers and couturiers including Daniel Leonelli (“who is responsible for many very exciting experiments in plastics and “environment”, [Stanley Kubrick Archive,Sk/13/2/8/6/4]); Quasar and Emmanuelle Khan in Paris (“He is an architect – designer and doing really marvellous environment things, and she has done really advanced fashion design”[Stanley Kubrick Archive, Sk/13/2/8/6/4]); Reuben Torres (“men’s wear absolutely ten years in advance and seen in the Mexican Olympics, using synthetic fabrics – very important – following natural body lines”[Stanley Kubrick Archive,Sk/13/2/8/6/4]) and even a young Paco Rabanne (among others). This desire for utopian, contemporary design which runs through the film and which manifests itself in several of the interior spaces in the film (The Korova milk bar; the professor’s house) offers a stark contrast to the austere (and I will argue, Gothic) post-war brutalist architectural exteriors which have come to define the look of the film over the years in the popular consciousness. Furthermore In their online article, Stanley Kubrick, The Analogy and Dichotomy of Adaptations ( for the 2018 Chelsea Space project), Callegero and Jaria propose that Arrighi “Insists that the most important thing was to define a unique style in order to project what the novel described”, however this paper maintains that, in fact, while adaptation certainly concerned Kubrick, this insistence on European contemporaneity was less to ‘project’ Burgess’s novel but to re-fit it within a ‘Kubrickian style’ which he had established in 2001: A Space Odyssey (a film, which, as I shall presently discuss, is referenced intertextually in A Clockwork Orange).

In choosing the car Alex and his droogs steal, Kubrick eventually opted for the British made Probe 16 [Image 1], however archived material (cuttings, photos requested from manufacturers, correspondences) that he had considered a range of Italian sports cars, as well as English, including the Bertone runabout[Image 2], sourced by Canonero (letter, Stanley Kubrick Archive, SK/13/2/5)





A Clockwork Orange (Warner Bros) (screengrab)

bertone 2


A Clockwork Orange is also a film in which, famously, the sculpted and designed object play a central role (aesthetically and narratively) , as evidenced by the use of Herman Makkink’s provocative phallic sculpture Rocking Machine religious Pop Art Kitsch [Image 5] of Christ Unlimited [Image 6] as well as the Allan Clark influenced erotic furniture [Image 7] (here photoreels in the archive tell us that Kubrick had used a model on which to base the furniture design) , and which also looked to contemporary commercial design in its production (as I will later discuss) and as Hughes goes on to note that:

“The designed artefact is to Orange what technical gadgetry was to 2001: a character in the drama, a mute unblinking witness.”

In this discussion, I wish to draw from across and discuss a range of the archived pre-production costume and research material (Stanley Kubrick Archives, London) and ask what they tell us about Kubrick’s research methodology and his approach to the design of the film. I take the term costume in the broadest possible sense not only discussing the costume designs of Italian designer Milena Canonero and modelled by the actors in pre-production photographs, but also other key aspects of the film’s production design (set dressing, location research, props etc.). I will ask these how these archived materials contribute to this holistically designed filmic world whose visual aesthetic collages, harmonises and sets in opposition a range of (sometimes ironically chosen) aesthetic modes and styles including post-modernism, neo-futurism, brutalism, Pop art and even the gothic! In my critical assessment and survey of this research material (of which I have selected a few examples, both time and sheer volume prevent a comprehensive analysis) this paper will also consider the extent to which Kubrick’s own designed and sculpted vision of the film’s world breaks with or adapts that conjured by Anthony Burgess in his novel.



christ unlimited




A Clockwork Orange (5-7) (Warner Bros) (screengrab)

So what form does these materials take? As with both 2001: A Space Odyssey before it; Barry Lyndon and The Shining the materials gathered in the archive illustrate the extent and minutiae of the Kubrickian pre-production process. In his book Stanley Kubrick, New York Jewish Intellectual Nathan Abrams notes of Barry Lyndon, that

“Kubrick spent almost a year on pre-production research in pursuit of authentic clothes, furniture, props, architecture, carriages, hairstyles and locations.” (Abrams, 2018, p168)

The research material for A Clockwork Orange, offers an embarrassment of riches when it comes to offering insight into the director’s approach: literally thousands of pages cut from architectural journals like The Architects Journal with page upon page of contemporary designs and advertisements cribbed from magazines and Sunday supplements [Image 8] which offer possible points of departure for costume and design aesthetic (here ‘a port in every girl’ offers both a bawdy double entendre and also a gender switch appropriate to Alex’s own cross-gender look) as well as European design exhibition catalogues. The diversity of sources offer further reflection of the tension between austere dystopianism and forward looking utopianism which lies at the heart of the film. Furthermore the emphasis on modern design also reveals an obsession with surfaces (plastic, concrete etc.) reflected in the film’s pop art aesthetic (which I will presently return to).





(This image found in the Stanley Kubrick Archive, SK/13/2/6, here reproduced from The Oberserver Magazine, July 1970; A Clockwork Orange (Warner Bros) (screengrab))

Louis Porter has already offered some valuable insight into Kubrick’s use of Architectural Journals as a design source for the film. This corroborates with my own archive research, in these pre-production folders, the cuttings (which date back at least 10 years) reveal a range of bureaucratic and public spaces: University buildings. Public shopping precincts, hospitals, local government buildings etc., and through a survey of these images, one can construct a picture of how Kubrick creates, evolves and develops the environments of the film – the auditorium where Alex undergoes the Ludovico technique, the hospital et. As Porter reflects:-

“The pages in the Definitiv [Kubrick’s modular filing system], which often feature hand written annotations cover a wide range of building types such as churches, labs, residential properties, motorway amenities, a ‘school for maladjusted children’ and a psychiatric hospital. The emphasis is on notable examples of Modernist architecture and the cuttings include interiors, furnishings and details such as stairways and doors…”

(Porter, Louis “Clockwork Concrete” A Magazine: for RIBA Friends of Architecture, no. 6, 2017 Spring, p. 18-23.)

A Clockwork Orange obsesses around the tension between public and the private brutalist spaces of authority and the modernist “utopian’ design of the home interior. Brutalism was a postmodernist utilitarian (initially intended as utopian) architectural style typified by the use of unadorned concrete. It tends to typify post war British architecture in the 1960s and 1970s which had government (Local or otherwise) investment and can usually be seen as public buildings, council estates, social housing etc. Michael Kubo describes it:

“The reduction of Brutalism to a stylistic label exclusively associated with concrete coincided with changing attitudes toward the government and the decline of state investment in the public realm. Originally seen to reflect the democratic attitudes of a powerful civic expression – authenticity, honesty, directness, strength- the forceful nature of Brutalist aesthetics eventually came to signify precisely the opposite: hostility, coldness, inhumanity… Brutalism became an all-too-easy pejorative, a term that suggests these buildings were designed with bad intentions.”

(Kubo, Michael, Chris Grimley and Mark Pasnik. “Brutal” in CLOG, edited by Kyle May and Julia Van Den Hout. “Brutalism” CLOG (February 2013): 166.)

Such buildings where erected with the intention of creating a new utopian post war Britain but became to be associated with the opposite. The shining example of this is the Thamesmeade estate in south London where Kubrick filmed ACO, when it was erected right out on the south bank of the Thames, on Marshland to take the overflow from the city people were invited to be re-housed there with the promise of it being its own little city, with fast rail links into London, access to public services etc., promises which were not kept leading to it being an isolated concrete fortress which over time developed a myriad of social problems (drugs, gangs, etc.).

Porter offers that:-

“In adapting Anthony Burgess’s 1962 style of delinquent ultra-violence meets state sponsored Pavlovian conditioning for the screen, Kubrick wanted to construct an absurd but plausible near future London, using modern architecture as a framework. To achieve this, he developed a programmatic approach to selecting the locations for filming, eschewing the use of location scouts in favour of a process of visually constructing the film from the images found in architectural magazines.”

(Porter, Louis “Clockwork Concrete” A Magazine: for RIBA Friends of Architecture, no. 6, 2017 Spring, p. 18-23.)

While it is not the intention here to dispute Porter’s claim as to the importance of these journals in contributing to the built world of the film, it seems however that rather than eschewing location scouting entirely , these pages where used as a starting point for location research. The archive holds a wealth of location photographs which were taken as part of the pre-production research and which indicate both alternative locations for scenes which DID make the final cut (the tunnel at Battersea Train station, for instance was scouted for the scene in which Alex and his Droogs beat up the old tramp) and for scenes from Burgess’s novel which were never filmed: the photographs of Friar’s Square in Aylesbury, Buckinghamshire [SK/13/2/1/1] are of particular interest, a location intended for the (unfilmed) scene in which Alex and the Droogs threaten the old man leaving the ‘Public Biblio’ (Library). The square (now a covered indoor market) was a public space dominated by a monolithic [Image 10], overhanging futuristic modernist cafeteria, below which sat some moulded plastic ducks (here being ridden by some mini Droogs [Images 11, 12]): a space apposite for Kubrick’s film, defined through modernism, brutalism and kitsch. This enormous eatery, an imposing steel and glass structure would have stood in for the library: a dystopian centre of re-education as opposed to a welcoming cathedral of learning.



duck 2

(11)duck 1


Archive: SK/13/2/1/1

In her interview with Nadoolman, Milena Canonero also reveals the importance of photography to Kubrick’s research process. This can, of course, be traced back to his days as a photographer for Look Magazine (a period which impacts across his career): photographs dominate the pre-production files (one image shows Kubrick with a camera shooting locations himself). These photographs are highly composed with a taken as well with a documentary eye, something he encouraged in Canonero:

“I went out taking hundreds of photos all over London. I was inspired, for the films costumes, by the Skinheads on the streets of London. I devised a stylises look for our Droogs and designed all the costumes to create a sort of surreal imagery..” (in Nadoolman, Costume Design, Rotovision, 2005).

Pop Art / Gothic / Brutalism

Among the pre-production files, there are numerous pages culled from European design magazines and German neo-futurist design-exhibition catalogues which contrast with the austere architectural journals. Pages from magazines like Domus,[Images 13-14] offer possible starting points, not just for the interior design of the sets for A Clockwork Orange, but also offer possible inspiration for the design of certain future films.





Among the pages in the folder, one that is of particular interest, and I would argue is key to understanding Kubrick’s approach to the film’s aesthetic is an article by neo-futurist designer Warren Chalk, entitled “Owing to Lack of Interest Tomorrow Has Been Cancelled” [Image 15], published first in Architectural Design, 1969.


Warren Chalk, Architectural Design, September 1969

In the article, Chalk discusses Richard Hamilton’s Pop Art Collage Just What Is It That Makes The Modern Home So different, Appealing?’ (1959) [Images 16].Kubrick directly transposes this image his film during the sequence in which Alex returns to the Professor’s house in search of sanctuary [Image 17].

home 1


home 2


Richard Hamilton, ‘Just What Is It That Makes The Modern Home So different, Appealing?’ (1956) (16)

A Clockwork Orange (17) (Warner Bros) (screengrab)

home 3


A Clockwork Orange (Warner Bros) (screengrab)

In Kubrick’s shot, the Charles Atlas-like image has been replaced by real life body -builder David Prowse (here playing the Professor, F.Alexander’s (Patrick Magee) minder, Julian); the mise-en-scene of the home interior in Hamilton’s image is also transposed, from the placement of the stairs to the replacement of the images on the walls (in Hamilton’s image) with mirrors and artwork in Kubrick’s; the settee on which the woman reclines has been replaced by a weight-bench (Julian is coded as both minder and lover). Furthermore the woman to the right of the picture plane in Hamilton’s collage is absent in Kubrick’s version, her film avatar, the Professor’s wife, we learn has killed herself after being assaulted by Alex in the first half of the film. Kubrick uses the image ironically therefore: the modern ‘HOME’ [Image 18] may be contemporaneously designed, but it is anything BUT appealing – a site and space for ineffectual parents, invasion, assault, displacement and replacement and torture. It also illustrates Kubrick’s interest in surface design (Hamilton’s piece is a pop art collage and therefore also concerned with surface). Chalk calls it a ‘’mythic environment” which segue’s with the film’s narrative theme that Alex’s social conditioning via the Ludvico technique only addresses the issues of his violent tendencies at a surface level – and that the Minister of the Interior is concerned with little more than that.

Here Modernist and Kitsch interiors sit in contrast with Brutalist and Gothic exteriors: the exterior of Alex’s parents’ house as “Brutalist gothic” and the gothic ‘home’ of the professor to which Alex stumbles again in the second half of the film as a Frankenstein looking for shelter [Image 19]

home 4


A Clockwork Orange (Warner Bros) (screengrab)

On more than one occasion Alex is presented as a ‘Gothic Monster’ [Image 20 and 21]. Furthermore, Kubrick’s photographic location research [SK/13/2/1/1] for the Brutalist locations which appear in the film, frame these structures as Gothic, brutalist edifices [Image 19].

alex 1


droogs 2


A Clockwork Orange (18) (Warner Bros) (screengrab)

Chalk’s article was reprinted in Archigram magazine in 1970, which is where Kubrick seems to have pulled the archived version from. The Archigram group where a group of British Avant garde, neo-futurist architects out of the from the late 1960s and 1970s who emerged from the Architectural Association School of Architecture, and whose style has been described as anti-heroic, pro-consumerist and neo-futurist – itself defined as utopian, a break from post modernism and defined aesthetically through its use of soft, undulating curves. It is a style which occur throughout the design of A Clockwork Orange – particularly in the Korova Milk bar sequence (and which may also be seen in the red furniture of 2001: A Space Odyssey). From a survey the archived material , one might deduce that the influence of both Archigram and neo-futurism runs through the film’s style. The location research files also indicate that Ronnie Scott’s Jazz club in Soho, London [Stanley Kubrick Archive: SK/13/2/1/1] – with its undulating, tiered dancefloor seating fitted the interior aesthetic that Kubrick was looking for and had in fact been agreed upon (before it was cancelled) with the club’s management as the location for the Korova milk bar. This unused space, the UK’s foremost Jazz venue, and a space for progressive, modernist (musical) innovation and experimentation, also seems both an apposite and meta-textual space for the film and a conscious choice (given the film’s own propensity for conflicting, oppositional, innovative and experimental styles (in both production design, costume AND soundtrack).

Further to this, within the Set Dressing files (SK/13/2/7) are exhibition catalogues for the Bayern neo-futurist exhibition Visiona: a pleasure boat, which, during the Cologne Furniture Fair was turned into a showroom for Verner Panton’s exhibition Visiona 2. The exhibition offered a ‘fantasy’ landscape of neo futurist design [Images 22-24], whose style has visual echoes in A Clockwork Orange during the Korova Milk Bar sequences:

“The resulting room installation consisting of vibrant colours and organic forms is one of the principle highlights of Panton’s work. In terms of design history this installation is regarded as one of the spatial designs of the second half of the 20th century. The creative firework which Panton lit his studio within a preparation time of only a few months is expressed not only in the highly diversified room designs but also in the wide range of furniture, lighting, wall coverings and textiles, developed specifically for the presentation”



A Clockwork Orange is positioned between 2001: A Space Odyssey and Barry Lyndon (1975), and if 2001 drew upon some of the mid-century modernist design which characterised Doctor Strangelove (1964), then A Clockwork Orange adopts and adapts 2001’s techno-futurist aesthetic while anticipating the costume driven look of Barry Lyndon. All four films engage Kubrick’s obsession with wayward, often murderous, children who break their programming (HAL, Alex, Barry, the atom bomb), A Clockwork Orange also anticipates Barry Lyndon’s picaresque journey of an upstart young man, as Nathan Abrams points out in his recent examination of Jewishness in Kubrick’s cinema, Stanley Kubrick: New York Jewish Intellectual “Barry stands as the untamed (Y)id encountered in A Clockwork Orange, adopting various dis/guises to pass”. Given, also, that post-2001 Kubrick had been concerned with producing his unmade passion project Napoleon, and then with trying to develop a screenplay adaptation of Schnitzler’s Traumnovelle (finally made as Eyes Wide Shut, (1999)), and that production had begun on Barry Lyndon in 1972, Kubrick produced A Clockwork Orange from start to finish in about a year. This seems an incredible of feat given the enormity (and contemporaneity) of the research which had gone into the film’s visual design.

As both Peter Kramer, Rod Munday and other scholars have noted Kubrick’s cinema exists within its own meta and inter-textual universe, that it has itself, a ‘design’: 2001 and A Clockwork Orange are connected by the hopeful gaze into the camera of the Star Child at the end of the 2001 which is shattered by Alex’s malevolent, challenging stare which opens A Clockwork Orange, and whose narrative anticipates that of Barry Lyndon. Interestingly the dramatic leap back in time, between the two films, to the past from an imagined future has (inverse) echoes of the time jump in 2001: A Space Odyssey, as the film cuts from the dawn of man to an imagined future. As Nathan Abrams also notes,

“Kubrick, it seems, also wants us to identify Barry with his previous everyman, Alex, to whom he bears great resemblance. The Minister Of the Interior describes Alex as “enterprising, aggressive, outgoing, young, bold, viscous” Such as description is just as fitting for Barry. When Barry cavorts with two topless women in the scene immediately after the birth of his son, it mirrors those sequences of Alex with two biblical handmaidens…the Similarities between the two films are announced almost from BL’s opening words, Nora Brady says “Now what shall it be?” which almost duplicates Burgess’s opening question in ACO “What’s it going to be then, eh?” (Abrams, 2018, p184)

This concern for blending of these film worlds, the creation of a holistic sealed (intertextual) space or ‘universe’ (as Rod Munday identifies it) is visually reflected in the some of the design choices made in A Clockwork Orange. In the Cat Lady’s house for instance we see the blending of costume and architecture via colour scheme [Image 25] and the interior of the room also recalls, replaces the ‘Georgian’ set design seen at the end of 2001 with a kitsch reproduction and inversion (the renaissance images replaced by pornography; the monolith shaped monkey bars on the wall; the antique furniture..) [Images 26 and 27].

cat lady 1


A Clockwork Orange (Warner Bros) (screengrab)

cat 2


2001 room


A Clockwork Orange (26) (Warner Bros) (screengrab)

2001: A Space Odyssey (27) (Warner Bros) (screengrab)

The film identifies costume with the film’s architecture (indeed as a crucial part of it): the droogs own stark unadorned uniform connects them with the brutalist spaces that they stalk and in the sequence in which Alex returns home only to find he has been replaced by Joe The Lodger, Joe’s red top blends with the interior design of the home (signifying his absorption into it, where Alex’s blue jacket makes him stand out from out (signifying is now lack of belonging) and identifying him with the exit [Image 28] and his way back out of the door.

joe the lodger.png


A Clockwork Orange (Warner Bros) (screengrab)

In the archived costume research photographs [SK/13/2/6] Malcom McDowell’s employs a range of poses, while modelling the Droog costumes and its iterations, which recall a variety of romantic English attitude’s: the lean on an imagined cricket bat (ironically connoting fair play and sportsmanship or shooting stick or that of a solider at attention (anticipating Lyndon’s 18th century aesthetic and connoting Alex as ‘leader’ or commander of foot-soldiers). This heroic modelling of costume is of course laden, again, with irony given the films (ambiguous) presentation of Alex as anti-hero. These images and poses ironically recall the era and romantic idealisation the “Heroic” British Empire and its values during a period when the Empire itself had not long fully collapsed and Britain itself was undergoing an extended period of post-imperial, post war crisis and where these “heroic” values where coming increasingly under scrutiny.

Furthermore, Kubrick appears to have experimented with a range of 18th and 19th century international headwear [Image 29] :



This image taken from

The Dandyish image of The Droogs, engages Burgess’s own presentation of the droogs as pre-20th century Dandies (as was the cultural zeitgeist of the early 1960s) and we see this clearly in the sequence in which Alex picks up to the two girls at the record store [Image 30]:



It also diverges from Burgess’s novel. here Alex describes their dress code:

“The four of us were dressed in the height of fashion which in those days was a pair of black very tight tights, with the old jelly mould, as we called it, fitting on the crutch underneath the tights, this being to protect and also a sort of a design you could viddy clear enough in a certain light, so that I had the shape of a spider, Pete had a rooker (a hand that is), Georgie has a very fancy one of a flower and poor old Dim had a very hound and horny one of a clown’s litso (face that is), Dim not ever having much of an idea of things and being, beyond all shadow of a doubting Thomas, the dimmest of we four. Then we wore waisty jackets without lapels but with these very big built up shoulders (‘pletchoes’ we called them) which were a kind of mockery of having real shoulders like that. Then my brothers, we had these off white cravats which looked like whipped up kartoffel or spud with a sort of a design made on it with a fork. We wore our hair not too long and we had flip horrorshow boots for kicking” (Burgess, A Clockwork Orange, Restored Edition, Penguin, 2012)

The positioning of the codpiece on the OUTSIDE in Kubrick’s film is a small but significant detail. It is in direct contravention of Burgess’s description in the novel, and where other commentators have noted this to be an external manifestation of phallic or priapic power, we may also argue that this externalisation also illustrates Kubrick’s concern with the identifying of costume with contemporary architectural form, not only brutalist but post-modern. In 1970 Richard Rogers and Renzo Piano had won the competition to design the now iconic Centre Pompidou (Image 27) in Paris (opened in 1978), a building whose iconic design has its internal systems: its pipes, elevators and stairs on the outside of the building. For Alex and the Droogs the “pipes” are also on the outside (another of Kubrick’s visual double entendres, like camera ‘pulling out’ at the start of the film, or as Nathan Abrams has observed, the ‘Shaved Privates’ at the start of Full Metal Jacket (1986)). This mode of design is ironic, parodic and self-aware, and exhibits the functionality of both building and wearer. If this hypothesis is correct then it would also support the assertion and the dichotomy that Kubrick not only looked to contemporary forms of British post-war dystopian styles (brutalism etc.) but also contemporary, forward looking European designs as inspirations for the stylistic choices made in the film. An assertion emboldened by the earlier statement that Kubrick looked to European designers and in Milena Canonero employed a European (Italian) costume designer

In conclusion this discussion has attempted to offer a critical survey of just SOME of the pre-production research materials for A Clockwork Orange contained within the Stanley Kubrick Archive London and through them has tried to offer some insight into the starting points, methodologies and approaches taken by Kubrick and the films production design team John Barry and Milena Canonero, and to demonstrate a set of tensions between utopian and dystopian and British and European design which underscore the film and contribute to the overall holistic nature of Kubrick’s cinema.

Burgess, Kubrick and Sade: Whats it going to be then, eh? A Clockwork Orange at the Liverpool Everyman, 2018


Nick Bagnall’s production of Anthony Burgess’s 1987 musical stage adaptation of A Clockwork Orange, (Liverpool Everyman) walks the line between paying homage to Kubrick through its stark, minimalist staging by Molly Lacey and Jocelyn Meall (whose cubic stage structure and use of lighting reminded me at times more of 2001: A Spade Odyssey than A Clockwork Orange) and attempting to reclaim for Burgess his text. A Clockwork Orange which for many years was something of an authorial battleground, with Burgess’s later stage directions indicating a trumpet player bearing the likeness of Kubrick to come on at the end only to be kicked off stage.

Burgess returned to his most celebrated work (and the one he had initially dismissed as ‘throwaway’) in 1987, transforming it into a musical (of sorts), a stark “ultra-violent cabaret” He wrote the score, the songs and re-set the ‘Nadsat’ language of his novel to the music of Beethoven. It’s not hard to see this as a re-assertion of authorial control, a reclamation of the text which for so long, in the popular, collective consciousness, had come to be known as a Kubrick film rather than Burgess novel (having said that Irvine Welsh’s Trainspotting and its use of the thick and often impregnable Leith dialect owes a large debt to Burgess).

In 1972 Kubrick published (through Ballantine) a ‘book of the film’ under his own name (although with the sub-title ‘based on the novel by Anthony Burgess’) increasing tensions with the author. Furthermore, and famously, Kubrick pulled the film from release and distribution in the UK after an incident of alleged copycat violence (the bulk of the fan mail in the Kubrick archive is from the US), an act which seems to run counter to Burgess’s own feelings about censorship. It would not be seen on the big screen again untill 1999, shortly after the directors death.

In 1969 Burgess wrote a defence of the ‘Divine’ Donatien Alphonse François, Marquis De Sade in Horizon (Vol XI, No 1) entitled ‘Our Bedfellow: The Marquis de Sade’ (archived at the International Anthony Burgess Foundation, in Manchester). By 1969 Sade’s reputation was again in the descendant, in the popular collective mind (although about to enjoy a cinematic rejuvenation in the early 1970s via a set of provactive Sadeian, controversial, provocative films, to which the idea of libertinage and free will where central and which (as I will argue in November at the the forthcoming conference A Clockwork Symposium: A Clockwork Orange- New Perspectives) included both Ken Russell’s The Devils (1971) and A Clockwork Orange (1971). However to the general public at least Sade had become inextricably linked to the horror of the Moors Murders (1963-1965), owing to the fact that a copy of Justine had been found on Ian Brady’s bookself amongst a range of other ‘deviant’ literature and pornography. In his recent essayAnthony Burgess, Pamela Hansford Johnson and the Moors Murders‘, Will Carr goes into detail about the debate between Burgess and Johnson (who had witnessed Brady’s trial) and critiqued Burgess for his stance:

“She quotes an article by him about Céline in which he states that ‘a world in which everyone is both torturer and victim [is] better than bourgeois death’: attacking Burgess as a ‘rhetorical poseur’, she accuses him of indulging in aesthetic responses to literature while ignoring its effects in the real world.” (Carr)

Carr also reminds us that,

“A year before Anthony Burgess moved to Malta in 1968, he became involved in a controversy about the banning of books closer to home. On the question of whether or not books should be suppressed because they might incite people to commit crimes, he robustly came down on the side of free expression”

Burgess’ defense of the Marquis de Sade is part of a series of attempted cultural and critical recuperations which really began in the late 19th century with the Austrian-German psychologist Richard Von Krafft-Ebbing whose own writing and research into criminal sexual psychology in his major work Psychopathia Sexualis (1886) reclaimed Sade as the chief case study for deviant criminal sexual psychology (then a science still in its infancy) – giving the world the term ‘Sadism’. Sade’s reputation underwent further critical recuperation with the Surrealist movement, where he became the ‘Divine Marquis’ and patron saint of the freeing of the Sexual subconscious. He underwent still further rejuvenation in the years after World War II when the left wing intelligensia of the left bank in Paris re-wrote him as an existentialist hero, Simone De Beauvoir in her essay ‘Must We Burn Sade?’ (1955) offered the first female defence of the Marquis, going far as to intimate his latent feminism. Sade, as I argued in my own PhD thesis, Architecture and Cruelty In the Writings of Samuel Beckett, Jean Genet and Antonin Artaud (Kingston University, 2007) found a new place in the early to mid 19th century: both a reminder of the mechanics and architectures of cruelty endemic of the right and provocative champion of the freedom of speech and anti-authoritarianism, a critic of bourgeois values and personification of the values of the left.

In Burgess’s essay he discusses how Sade’s Justine had been condemned as an instrumental factor in the horror of the Moors murders which had taken place between 1963 and 1965 in and around his native Manchester, writing:

Pamela Hansford Johnson, the novelist, has published a book called On Iniquity, which consists chiefly of moral meditations on the Moors murders in England. These, as everyone knows, were perpetrated for no gain or revenge. They were disinterested, very sophisticated acts of horror in which dying screams were taped and edited with a melange of popular music, in which the tortures administered were “beyond belief” and for which there was no expression or remorse….The murderers were discovered to possess, along with Mein Kampf and various cheap examples of the pornography of violence, a copy of Justine, one of the few works of the Marquis de Sade available to the British Public……Miss Johnson raises, albeit with diffidence the question of desirability of suppressing any book that leads to one sadistic murder and the question is still being endlessly debated. If a work of the Marquis de Sade is capable of inspiring acts of lethal cruelty should not his name be thrust back into the darkness?….……I don’t think so. I think it is very important that the Marquis be brought back into the light of close examination. He is one of the prophets of our age. As for his malign influence – well its has it has already been pretty conclusively demonstrated that when there is a will to cruelty and murder the pretext of a literary example is supererogatory..

One, therefore, wonders, that with his strong feelings around censorship and ‘copycat’ behaviour in mind , what he felt about Kubrick’s self-censorship/withdrawal of a film which had its origins in his own novel and which bore his name? There is little specific reference to this issue, however, as central to the tension in the Burgess/Kubrick relationship in the correspondence in either the Burgess or the Stanley Kubrick Archive in London so for the moment it must remain something of a hypothesis that it contributes to the seemingly disintegrating and complex relationship between the two (although, other material in the Harry Ransom Centre suggest that Kubrick had approached Burgess to adapt Schnitzler’s novel Traumnovelle in 1976 – the novel that would eventually become Kubrick’s final film Eyes Wide Shut as well as using Burgess’ Napoleon Symphonies as a jumping off point for his own unrealised passion project Napoleon ). However this hypothesis does feed into the tensions around the issues of authorship that are apparent from the existing correspondence: that Burgess increasingly felt like he was being written out of the narrative surrounding his own novel and its jump to the big screen. A letter to Warner Brothers from 1972, however, attempts to set the record straight on his feelings towards Kubrick’s film, countering press allegations that he was unhappy with it. He maintains (at this juncture) that his feelings have remained unchanged and that it was a true and faithful adaptation of his own novel BUT he remains vexed that he should be called upon to defend the film – surely this should be the job of its director (who, lest we forget, would withdraw it from circulation in UK cinemas!)? From this point on Burgess seemingly begins to cool towards Kubrick and (as correspondence in the archive shows) is infuriated by the fact that Kubrick’s release of the book of the film went under ‘Stanley Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange‘. Throughout the course of the correspondence Burgess displays something of a conflicted attitude to Kubrick’s film, both unhappy about his financial share from it and also how the film had turned him into ‘the writer of A Clockwork Orange’ despite the fact he had 30 other books behind him!
A Clockwork Orange at the Everyman

The current Liverpool Everyman production of Burgess’s stage adaptation of his own 1961 novel, which Burgesss stated is frame-worked by two key events in his his life: his mis-diagnosis with a Brain tumour in the late 1950s and the brutal attack on his wife Lynne, carried out by two American deserters during a blackout – an event which he believed led to her alcoholism and ultimate death):

“This violence, so brutally rendered in the novel, could have been inspired by an incident from Burgess’s own experience. He claimed that the kernel for Alex’s brutal behaviour lay in an attack suffered by his first wife Llewela (Lynne) Jones. During the wartime blackout of 1944 London, Lynne was beaten up and robbed by a gang of American soldiers. A similar attack happens in the novel, when a writer’s wife is beaten and raped by Alex and his droogs.”

(International Anthony Burgess website, A Clockwork Orange)
A Clockwork Orange at The Everyman

A Clockwork Orange at the Everyman Theatre, Liverpool, directed by Nick Bagnall and starring George Caple as Little Alex is staged, in the round, around a system of cruel (and comic) stage architectures: the cube like structure in which the action takes place also reminds the viewer of the cubic frames which contain the writhing and melting bodies of Francis Bacon or a cubic ‘human zoo’ (recalling readings of 2001).

The play opens on a thunderous burst of Beethoven’s 5th, Little Alex standing spotlit, his arms violently conducting an imaginary orchestra (in reality, multi instrumentalist and percussionist Pete Mitchell, perched in the Balcony above the stage: like the ghost of Hamlet’s father, Mitchell’s performance inhabits the spectre of Lovely Ludwig Van whose presence pervades the performance). The stage, is suffused almost throughout with a dystopian and distancing and disorienting ultra-violet light, it permeates the play like the ultra-violence on stage. With a burst of song and the repeated refrain of ‘Whats it going to be then, eh?’ We are off on a noche of the old Ultra-violence and the old in-out in-out with Alex and his Droogs. Trapdoors open in the floor out of which characters emerge out of and disappear into only to re-appear on the other side; pits into which bodies are flung and out of which state sanctioned torturers emerge. The production utilises a range of self-aware (Brechtian) devices – the prison governor is a muppet-like puppet on the arm of the ‘Minister of the Interior’ while during the centre-piece of the play: the Ludovico sequence, Alex is tethered by each limb to the cubic frame which contains the performance space, like a a grotesque marionette:


Source The Stage, Photo: Marc Brenner

The theme of puppetry, of being controlled, the lack of choice and free-will is physically, powerfully, rendered – we are all puppets of the state, our freedom is illusory. During the sequence we are also reminded of the power of the cinematic and televisual image to control, the floor beneath Alex becomes a harrowing photographic/cinematic montage of staring traumatised ‘glassies’. This is visible to those in the balcony, less so to those audience members in the round – trauma and violence in the play is mediated to the audience by their distance and spatial relationship to it.

The production and its staging are reminders of the Sadeian core at the heart of Burgess’ text: its stage architecture becomes both a prism and a prison: a prism through which to debate the issue of choice and free wil: in which we view Alex and his droogs enact their own cruelties – the results of their freedom to choose – and a prison in which Alex is subjected to the tortures of the state in attempt to ‘cure’ him of his freedom to choose. In fact, returning to the tragedy and Sadism of The Moors Murders, Kubrick’s novel and this production in their juxtaposition of violence and music anticipate and remind us of

“the very sophisticated acts of horror in which dying screams were taped and edited with a melange of popular music, in which the tortures administered were “beyond belief” and for which there was no expression or remorse….” (Burgess, 1972)

The play does hint at the presence of Kubrick: the drawn out tones of Richard Bremmer as Mr Deltoid (Bremmer also play the Prison chaplain as a jaded alcoholic, critical of the state) remind the audience of the speech patterns of Aubrey Morris in the film. Alex’s Droog costume is half way between the white costume of Malcom MacDowell and the Dandyish costume worn by Burgess’s Droogs in the novel. This production also excises the Kubrick-esque trumpet player who is kicked off stage – apparently because this reference might be lost on younger viewers.

With thanks to both the Kubrick Archive and the Archive of the International Anthony Burgess Foundation

Ken Russell at Deptford Cinema!

It’s the last week to buy tickets for our fantastic Ken Russell tribute on May 26th! Join us for a double bill screening of two absolute Ken classics: Gothic (1986) and Altered States (1980).

There will be quizzes, food and reasonably priced drink. There will be special guests including screenwriter and all round British Horror legend Stephen Volk (Gothic, Ghostwatch (1992, BBC), The Awakening (2011), Aferlife (ITV, 2005) The Guardian (1990) ) (Stephen will be joining us for a Q and A to talk about his work on Gothic, with Ken, his work and all things horror.

Meanwhile Cult film, British cinema and Ken Russell specialist, Dr Matt Melia (Kingston University) will be introducing and discussing Altered States.

This is a rare chance to see these two mind blowing, hallucinogenic and phantasmagorical films together on the big screen, so join us and get your tickets while you can!

A Clockwork Symposium: A Clockwork Orange, New Perspectives. November 1st -2nd 2018, University of The Arts, LCC, London- Call For Papers.

This year opens a decade of Kubrick celebrations and 50th anniversaries (as well as the 20th anniversary, next year, of both Eyes Wide Shut and Kubrick’s death). This conference aims to contribute to this commemorative era in Kubrick studies by celebrating and discussing A Clockwork Orange (1971). We are looking for papers which engage and provoke discussion not only around Kubrick’s film butalso Anthony Burgess’s novel (s), dramatic interpretations and the cultural legacy of the text itself in all its forms (Warhol’s 1965 film Vinyl for instance; or its influence over David Bowie).

The conference aims to ask what we can learn from A Clockwork Orange and what its contemporary relevance is in 2018 for society, culture, politics and aspiring filmmakers. To what extent does it still have the power to shock and provoke in a culture that is becoming increasingly un-shockable? We aim to address its aesthetics, origins, variations and histories. We are especially looking for papers which offer a set of insightful, new critical perspectives on the text and which showcase new and original research carried out across both the Burgess and Kubrick archives and which offer original contributions to the ongoing critical study of both Kubrick and Burgess

We are looking for papers which may include discussion of (but are certainly not limited to) the following:

– The legacy of ACO in contemporary culture
– ACO, design and fashion
– ACO in music and the music video
– ACO and (Self) Censorship
– ACO and gang culture
– ACO, Punk and Other Subcultures
– ACO, humour and parable
– ACO and representations of sexual violence
– ACO and theatre
– Imprisonment, punishment and reform
– The dystopian aesthetics of ACO
– Set design and location research
– Fandom and ACO; the clockwork orange ‘clubs’; fan letters and writing
– The Kubrick / Burgess relationship
– Authorship
– ACO presence elsewhere in the work of both Anthony Burgess and Stanley Kubrick
– Influences on both film and novel
– Comparative Representations of youth in film and literature
– Nadsat / language
– ACO as cult text
– (Post)modernism, brutalism and architecture

The conference is a joint collaboration across the University of Arts London Archives and Special Collections Centre; Kingston University (Kingston School of Art); the Anthony Burgess archive and the International Anthony Burgess Foundation. We are happy to announce that among our keynote speakers will be Professor Andrew Biswell, director of the International Anthony Burgess Foundation and Mr Peter Kramer (Senior Fellow of The School of Art, Media and American Studies, UEA; film historian, Kubrick scholar and author of, among other things, A Clockwork Orange (Controversies), Palgrave MacMillan, 2011).

We are also excited and honoured to welcome on the second day, our third speaker, Mr Jan Harlan. Jan was Stanley Kubrick’s long term producer and collaborator as well as brother-in-law and guardian of the Kubrick estate and legacy. Jan worked as assistant to the producer on A Clockwork Orange and acted as executive producer on all the films thereafter, from Barry Lyndon (1975) to Eyes Wide Shut (1999). Jan has also acted as executive producer for Stephen Spielberg (A.I. Artificial Intelligence, 2001) and is director of the documentary film Stanley Kubrick: A Life In Pictures (2001). He has also been a regular guest lecturer at the European Film College, Denmark and The University of Hertfordshire.

With special thanks to Sarah Mahurter (Manager, Archives and Special Collections Centre, University of the Arts London); Georgina Orgill (Stanley Kubrick Archivist, Archives and Special Collections Centre, University of the Arts London) Julian Rodriguez (Head of Film and Photography, Kingston University), Professor Andrew Biswell (International Anthony Burgess Foundation, Manchester) and to the Kubrick Family, Warner Bros and the SK Film Archives LLC .

Venue: London College of Communication, University of the Arts London, Elephant and Castle, London SE1 6SB, UK

Conference organiser: Dr Matt Melia (Kingston University, UK)

Dates: November 1st and 2nd 2018

Please email abstracts to

Deadline for abstract (Max.300 words): July 1st 2018

Cost: £40 (£20 for students / free for Kingston University and UAL Students)

Registration and Booking open soon.

Facebook event page:

Link to Kingston University Conference Page