Spooktober II Review #31 - The Shining

The Shining (1980)
Stanley Kubrick

"God, I'd give anything for a drink. I'd give my goddamned soul for just a glass of beer."

How appropriate that my final review of Spooktober II is my favorite movie of all time, The Shining. If you have ever had a conversation with me about movies, there's no doubt that I've brought it up and told you how I think it's perfect, and how perfection is so rare in film. Maybe that's how everyone feels about their favorite movie, and I'm willing to admit that it doesn't HAVE to be everyone's objectively favorite film, but what makes it so special to me? 

I've seen The Shining many times throughout my life. I can still remember the first time, when I watched a VHS copy on an old CRT television while my parents were out grocery shopping on a Sunday morning. It must've made an impact, because I can still remember little details about when I watched it, and how the movie sucked me in. When my parents came home, they weren't exactly sure why I chose to watch The Shining on a Sunday morning nowhere near Halloween, and they seemed noncommittal about their love for it. This likely had more to do with fighting crowds at the grocery store than a true dispassion, but I can still remember feeling slightly wounded, because I was hooked from the jump, and I couldn't fathom someone else not feeling as excited about it.

The true impact of The Shining didn't really hit until I saw it on the big screen, with incredibly rich and loud sound. At the time, I was working as a social worker in a children's hospital and regularly met women and children who were in similar situations as Wendy and Danny. My first experience as a social work intern in 2010 was at a clinic in Michigan that did court-mandated assessments and group therapy for male offenders of domestic violence. I was trained to recognize the symptoms of power and control in an intimate partner relationship, and the tactics that male abusers use against their partners. 

That knowledge helped shape my deep appreciation for the honesty of the film's depiction of domestic violence. I've heard people claim that Jack Nicholson is "chewing the scenery" and Shelly Duvall looks and sounds ridiculous throughout the film (she was even nominated for a Razzie for worst actress in 1980), but those people have either never spoken to offenders/survivors of domestic violence, or are minimizing the effectiveness of the performances out of discomfort. The Shining means a lot of different things to different people, but for me it's first and foremost an honest and frightening study of domestic violence.

Let's jump right in with an easy example, and then we'll break things down as we go along:

In the director's cut of the film, there's a scene near the beginning when Danny passes out after Tony (the imaginary friend that speaks to Danny) shows him the bleeding elevator in the hotel. Wendy has a doctor come to the house to check him out, and they have a conversation in the living room about when Danny started talking to Tony. This is a scene I've lived in my professional life countless times: Wendy explains that Danny first talked to Tony after he was hurt a couple of years ago when his arm was broken by Jack. She says that Jack came home after drinking too much, saw that young Danny had thrown his papers around the room, and pulled on his arm to get him away from the mess. Wendy explains it as "the sort of thing you do to a child a thousand times," but that this was the time that her child's arm broke. She dismisses the potential threat going forward, because Jack promised never to drink again, and has now been sober for months. This is where Kubrick ends the scene and cuts to a long landscape shot, allowing the audience to process Wendy's faulty timeline. Jack hurt Danny years ago, but has only been sober for months. She is making the sorts of excuses innumerable women make in an effort to survive and keep their families together.

Jack's explanation of this incident later on in the film takes a different tone, but with a similar result:

He starts his imaginary therapy session with a non-existent bartender by claiming he never hurt Danny, but reflects on the broken arm situation Wendy described earlier in the film. Jack says the problem was "a momentary loss of muscular coordination" shortly after calling his son a "little fucker" and pantomiming just how hard he did yank Danny up off the floor. This is what we call minimizing, denying, and blaming.

If you're not familiar with the cycle of domestic violence and the power and control wheel, we'll do a little crash course:

This is the power and control wheel, and it does a good job of laying out all of the tactics that male abusers use against their partners. It's not an exhaustive list of the sort of abusive things that an intimate partner can use, but it's a good teaching tool to help survivors understand these signs and symptoms going forward. I should have handed these out before my showing of The Shining this year, because Jack hits every spoke of the wheel throughout the film.

Minimizing, Denying, and Blaming is the most challenging subject for male offenders who are in treatment to process effectively. The hardest thing someone can do is admit how wrong they were, especially when it comes to something so shameful as abuse toward a woman or child, and it takes a lot of work to make progress on this front. In the scene above, Jack is clearly locked into his cycle of denial. He denies that he ever hurt Danny (which is a blatant lie), gives in a little to say that maybe he hurt him once but only unintentionally (minimizing), and that really it was Danny's fault to begin with because the little fucker was making a mess (blaming).

The setup to that clip is Wendy finding Danny covered in bruises and with a ripped shirt, sucking his thumb. She logically blames Jack and lashes out at him (who else could have harmed Danny?), but is willing to give Jack another chance after Danny tells her (off screen) that a woman in Room 237 harmed him. Here's the payoff when Wendy tells Jack about it:

This is a classic example of emotional abuse. Jack's story is that he didn't hurt Danny, but he knows that Danny is covered in bruises. Wendy tells him that someone else is still at the hotel and harmed his son, but this is his response to his panicked wife. Does this mean Jack actually did hurt Danny, perhaps while 'shining' with the hotel? Maybe. It doesn't really matter, because Jack believes himself to be innocent, but is still not willing to listen to his wife when she presents an alternative explanation. He hates her, he doesn't respect her, and and he's lashing out. The derision he feels towards Wendy supersedes anything else going on in his life. It takes over the logic centers of his brain, and all that's left is rage and disgust.

Here's another good example of Jack's feelings toward Wendy when she's just trying to be nice and have a conversation with her husband:

As we learn later in the film, Jack isn't able to write anything of substance, and is just typing "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy" over and over again. There's no small amount of shame inherent in domestic violence, which can cause rage. Here, Jack is ashamed that he can't get over his writer's block, and finds a way to blame Wendy for his failings, lashing out at her in a wildly inappropriate (but brutally realistic) way.

The story of the woman who attacked Danny doesn't make a lot of sense on its face, because the family is so isolated. Jack's decision to take this crazy job as the caretaker of a secluded hotel has put his family in the middle of nowhere. Logically, how could there be another person in the hotel after so much time has passed? But Wendy is distraught by her son's injury and story, and turns to the only other person she can: her abusive husband. That's why it's an effective abusive tactic. If Wendy had any other options, she would have pursued them, but Jack has designed the situation to keep her reliant on him and him alone, even though he hates her and her 'interruptions.'

You get a sense for her isolation in a few other scenes as well. In the scene where she talks to the forest ranger over the radio, she seems desperate to carry on a conversation with him about anything at all. The ranger is the first person besides Jack and Danny who she's spoken to since Dick Halloran took her on a tour of the kitchen at the beginning of the film. There's also a palpable loneliness in the scene that Wendy has with the doctor in their home. She has no other friends or family for support during a trying time, and their tiny house doesn't look particularly great for entertaining. There's also the scene where Wendy and Danny are watching TV in the lobby of the hotel, and she has a flat, distant stare that seems well-practiced. She's used to feeling lonely and isolated, and she can sense Jack's rage building like a storm on the horizon.

Jack's use of male privilege and economic abuse are more subtle, but some of my favorite understated things in the whole film. Jack says he wants this caretaker job at the Overlook Hotel because it will allow him time to work on his novel while also earning money. It doesn't seem like a particularly complicated job: he has to make sure the boiler keeps working and some other light housekeeping duties. That's pretty much it. And yet, by the last act of the film, after only a month or two of being in the hotel, Wendy has fully taken on his duties without a discussion. 

It seems likely that Wendy does not usually work while at home (if Kubrick wanted us to know that she had a job, he would have included something about it in the film) keeping her economically tied to Jack. If they don't do their job here, they probably won't get paid, and the family will be in dire financial straits. Wendy understands this, so she takes up his daily tasks while he sleeps off yet another imaginary hangover.

When she tells Jack, after Danny has been attacked, that they should try to leave the hotel and make it to the nearest town in the snow car, Jack flips out:

Jack is forcefully adamant that he has responsibilities at the hotel and that he has chosen to take on this important job. But he's not actually doing any of the work! If he were a reasonable man in an equal partnership with his wife, he might be able to work out a compromise, but this is not a partnership. If Wendy leaves the hotel, who's going to do all his work for him while he sleeps and "writes his novel?"

He's the man, she's the woman, and she absolutely must be there to pick up his slack, no matter what other circumstances might arise...including the eroding physical and mental health of his only child.


The Shining is such a layered film. While we've explored how Jack fits the profile of an abusive husband to a T, there's more going on here that Kubrick weaves into the story so masterfully. I particularly like the scene where the manager of the hotel is taking Jack and Wendy on a short tour of the facilities, and explains that the hotel was built on an Indian burial ground, and that the construction workers had to fight off a few waves of Native attacks while trying to build it. This hotel, the western states, and frankly all of the United States were literally founded and built on violence, just like Jack and Wendy's relationship.

The documentary Room 237 (which you should totally see if you're a fan of The Shining at all) presents a number of theories as to the true meaning of The Shining. A couple are pretty outlandish and funny (that this is Kubrick's admission of guilt that he helped film the fake moon landing, or that it's a retelling of the Greek myth of the Minotaur) but one sticks out as probably having a kernel of truth: an examination of the genocide of the American Indian.

While I don't think Kubrick made the film solely about the extermination of Native Americans, the idea is there, and he teases at it throughout the film. There's lots of Native art on the walls, there's the explicit mention of the burial ground, and there's even the recurring shots of Calumet baking powder in the background:

There's a history of violence to the United States that we, as a society, have collectively decided to minimize our role in, deny that it ever happened, or blame the Natives for their role in it. It's not the central story of the film, but it's definitely part of the same theme. 

I'd even argue that Grady's use of the n-word to describe Dick Halloran is another example of the inherent violence to the American experience. Racism is a distinct and insidious form of violence, and the way he spits the word out gives it extra weight. It's a jarring scene, and always elicits some uncomfortable murmuring when it happens, but it has a distinct purpose. Kubrick was a genius obsessed with detail and perfection. There's nothing added to his films that wasn't meant to convey some sort of message or build upon the world he's created.


Another layer I love about The Shining is the power of addiction. It's also not a central plot point, but Jack's alcoholism is a powerful motivator and personal excuse for a lot of his behavior. This is also where Kubrick elevates the film above the source novel by Stephen King.

King's novel uses Jack's alcoholism as a plot device throughout, because addiction is something that King himself was dealing with in the 1970's when he wrote it. Maybe King doesn't particularly like the movie because it pushes the alcoholism into the background, making it a fuzzy static that adds to Jack's character, but doesn't wholly control him. Stephen King wants to blame all of his negative emotions, abuse, and self-doubt on his addictions, and this is common. 

The brilliant social worker who taught and guided me through my first internship had a great response when men would say that they only hit their wife/girlfriend/whoever because they were drunk or high. She would say, "how many beers did it take before you hit your girlfriend," and they would answer. She'd then ask, "how many beers would it take before you'd have sex with your grandmother," and they would contort their faces and exclaim that no amount of alcohol could ever get them to that place, because it's such a disgusting and improper act. And there's the lesson: fucking your grandma is abhorrent and completely unacceptable, but beating the mother of your children is not. Alcohol isn't the reason abuse happens, it's just the excuse.

I think that idea makes Stephen King uncomfortable (the novel mentions that there's cooking sherry in the hotel, and it's presumed that's how Jack is getting drunk and why he's doing all these bad things), but it's something that Kubrick doesn't shy away from. In the film, Jack can't get alcohol. There's not a drop to be found, and he certainly couldn't bring any from home without Wendy knowing. So in his desperation, he has to invent (or shine) a bartender to help him deal with his problems, and to excuse his upcoming behavior. He's coping like a child: just as Danny has Tony, Jack has Lloyd the bartender.

King ends the novel with Jack resisting the temptation to murder his family, and blowing up himself and the hotel by not maintaining the boiler. King believed that there was a goodness inside of Jack that was kept down by alcoholism and self-doubt. When Jack hits bottom (trying to murder his wife and child) he gets a glimpse of what he's become and has a presto-chango desire to be a good man. Kubrick understands that the journey toward recovery is long, painful, and requires a lot of help. Completely isolated from the outside world, and with a healthy supply of enablers (both imagined and real), it's unlikely Jack would be able to achieve recovery on his own. It's a darker, but more honest interpretation of the story.


So is Jack actually getting drunk in the film? Maybe. There's an undeniable supernatural element to the film, and the shine of the hotel has the power to manipulate some objects (it's how Jack is able to get out of the locked pantry near the end of the film), but since we don't see either Lloyd or a drink in Jack's hand when Wendy finds him at the bar, I believe he's just imagining it out of sheer desperation. 

So does the hotel want Jack to kill his family, like in the novel? Or does the hotel just have a strong shine that Jack is in tune with, and his consumption of imaginary alcohol unlocking the deep, dark thoughts he has tucked away in his brain after months of cabin fever? Great questions that don't really have a true answer. It comes down to how optimistic you are about the human condition. For me, I always assumed Jack just needed a nudge that the violent imagery that the hotel can shine provided.

This is also a good time to discuss the process of 'shining.' Mr. Halloran explains it to Danny and to the audience after the Torrence family arrives at the Overlook. It's where we realize that Mr. Halloran is afraid of the hotel, and that Danny has a powerful gift, perhaps even more powerful than Halloran's. We also learn that the ability to shine might be hereditary, since Halloran says that he and his grandmother could have a whole conversation without ever opening their mouths. Because of this, it's safe to assume that both Wendy and Jack have the ability to shine, and have passed it on to Danny.

But since the Torrence family does not cope well with problems, they all deal with their gift (or curse) in different ways. Jack tries to write, but ends up drinking to dull the voices; Wendy pours herself into Danny, but often seems to disconnect or disassociate, sublimating her gift into a desire to just keep the peace; and Danny has Tony, who is the voice of Danny's gift, but is a distinct personality brought about by the trauma of being abused by Jack a couple of years ago.

While people without the shine can probably spend time in the Overlook Hotel without incident (there have been many caretakers, and only two have gone wacky), the Torrence's aren't that lucky, and the hotel is able to manipulate Jack's mind to fulfill his darkest desires. It's not even like the hotel has to work all that hard. All it took was two fake drinks and a bathroom conversation with Delbert Grady (the former caretaker who hacked his family to pieces with an axe) to send Jack over the edge. Even without the hotel's influence, a forgotten bottle of whiskey and time would have achieved the same effect.



There are so many other things worth mentioning about The Shining, especially about the filmcraft, the production design choices, the pacing, and the way Kubrick handled his performers, but this has gone on long enough, and other reviewers have gone into detail on all of those things more ably than I could. So I'll just say that if you haven't watched The Shining before, or if it's been a while and you don't really remember it, tonight's the night. You'll be dazzled and scared and staggered, and you'll hopefully have the same sort of feelings I did watching it on a bright, happy Sunday afternoon so many years ago.

It's a masterpiece, the best film I've watched all month, and will probably remain my favorite movie forever. It's a perfect film, made by a director at the top of his craft, who was totally in control, and working on levels that people are still trying to unpack 37 years later.