Use of Space in 2001: A Space Odyssey

Discussion of physical space as a commentary on technology and human cognition in the 1968 film 2001: A Space Odyssey by director Stanley Kubrick first requires two definitions of space: the diegetic space of the film, and the filmic or cinematic space of the screen. This necessity stems from the way in which they must be referenced: while both spaces utilize length, width, and depth, they do not align with one another. Within the film’s diegetic space, as in our own reality, the canonical universe extends offscreen, every inch of it filled. In simpler terms, when referring to this diegetic space in the context of a character, viewers are required to suspend their disbelief and assume there is a world beyond the edges of the screen to which its subjects belong. Filmic or cinematic space, meanwhile, considers these dimensions only in reference to the flat plane upon which the film is projected, and cannot be detached from the screen without losing all meaning. The subjects are instead imprisoned behind the nine equal spaces that constitute the Rule of Thirds, in which vertical and horizontal lines divide the screen and create invisible control points (intersections) upon which to compose an image.

2001: A Space Odyssey provides a convenient element with which to discuss physical space in reference to technology and human cognition in its Monolith, the inky black structure whose presence punctuates the rising action of the film’s three acts. The way each epoch of humanity engages with the Monolith indicates their relationship with technology proportional to their proximity to the Monolith. This growth best adheres to archeologist André Leroi-Gourhan’s writings on human evolution in regards to determining comparisons, our advancement beyond the need to apply ourselves over machines designed to perform tasks for us, and the growing insignificance of the human individual over the human species.

In the film’s opening act, Dawn of Man, the increasing proximity of the early humans to the Monolith coincides with Leroi-Gourhan’s insights into two distinguishing features of humanity: their early reliance on touch, and their ability to draw comparisons. The early humans in the film bicker over resources, huddle together for warmth, and have no evident technology. When they awaken one morning to the first Monolith (00:12:23) their instinct is to scatter, to create distance from this potentially hostile entity. The most persistent shot of this sequence adheres to the Rule of Thirds: in filmic space, the Monolith dominates the left-hand vertical, while the humans arrange themselves between the first and second horizontal, with the furthest apes to the left and right establishing the first horizontal. The most assertive human frequently retreats to the lower-right control point, or intersection, of filmic space, and travels along the lower horizontal toward the Monolith. By the end of this sequence, the humans have huddled around the base of the Monolith in the lower-left control point. The arrangement and flow of filmic elements (the Monolith, the humans) reinforces the diegetic power the Monolith holds over these early humans: though the viewer sees only its narrowest side in this shot, its imposing size and the reaction to its presence are palpable in the composition. Within diegetic space, the growing proximity of the humans to the Monolith suggests a dawning awareness of and hunger for the possibilities of technology. Moreover, it highlights a key distinction between other creatures and humans. As Leroi-Gourhan acknowledges in Gestures and Speech, “One of the basic characteristics of humanity is the possession of a brain capable of making comparisons” (224). Here the film places a mechanically precise object in an otherwise natural landscape, presenting it to a people who have never distinguished between natural and unnatural before. Though it intimidates them, it also primes their brains to seek further distinctions. The early humans go from grasping at the Monolith to grasping bones and stones for use as weapons. They become hunters and murders, differentiating between us, the tool wielders, and them, creatures not yet evolved enough to stand on two feet and wield a bone club. Thus the film becomes a commentary on technology’s ability to influence behavior, and the influence our behavior has on technology. The first tool did not have to be a weapon. Yet the Monolith’s intimidating presence draws an early connection between technology and fear, and this—combined with the scarcity of resources and the rivalry between the two depicted groups of early humans—winds up inciting violence and othering. Again, the first tool did not have to be a weapon. But given the circumstances, what else could it have been?

The second Monolith sequence in Jupiter Mission is less straightforward. Here, the Monolith is discovered first by the gravitational disturbances it causes on the Moon. The offscreen effort to uncover it necessitates vast technological advancements before any modern human can stand before it, as their ancestors did before the previous one. Yet despite the difficulty of uncovering the second Monolith, the first shot composition in which it is visible suggests something is different between this Monolith and its predecessor. It appears small in the lunar landscape, illuminated on all sides by the lights of the dig site. It does not adhere to any of the established control points in the Rule of Thirds, forcing the viewer to make an effort to focus on it over other, more interesting elements in the shot (the distance Earth on the horizon, the line of humans shuffling into view). And though its visitors hesitate before descending into the pit, suggesting lingering echoes of the fear and awe displayed by their ancestors, the modern humans ultimately maintain their distance because they have no need to touch it. One does for curiosity’s sake, but most of the group indulges in their curiosity from afar. Regarding the relationship between human cognition and technology, their response suggests a departure from the necessity of using one’s hands and eyes as the primary tools for discovery. This is again in line with observations by Leroi-Gourhan, where he notes the simultaneous evolution of the human hand and our increasingly refined tool use, and our eventual departure from employing our motor skills altogether, save to start or stop machines in motion. “The manipulative action of the primates… was followed in the first anthropoids by directly motive action of the hand with the hand tool separable from the motive gesture. In the next stage... gesture became annexed by the hand-operated machine, the hand merely supplying its motor impulse by indirect mobility. In historic times motive force itself was transferred from the human arm, and the hand intervened only to start the motor process in animal-operated machines or mechanical machines such as mills. Finally, in the last stage, the hand is used to set off a programmed process in automatic machines that not only exteriorize tools, gestures, and mobility but whose effect also spills over into memory and mechanical behavior” (242). Being in the Monolith’s presence, while unnerving, is wholly unnecessary for this society of spacefarers and their advanced technology, as they could have examined it better through their exteriorized tools. They understand the Monolith no better than their ancestors did but have advanced to a stage where that ignorance ceases to intimidate them. While the first Monolith sparks a cascade of questions (“What is this? What am I? Who am I?”), the second serves more as confirmation (“Are we alone in the universe? No.”). This is further affirmed at the end of Jupiter Mission and the beginning of the third act, Jupiter and Beyond the Infinite, when David extinguishes HAL 9000 and discovers the real purpose of their mission.

The third Monolith’s introduction is more imposing than the second’s but lacks the impact of the first. It is first identified by a lack of starlight in the upper-left-third of a shot of Jupiter (the human brain’s ability to pick out differences again comes to the fore, this time in the viewer). It tumbles through the void of space, its size indeterminate with only the stars and other planets for reference. The compositions of the shots following its introduction follow the Rule of Thirds (placing the various planets and the Monolith at the control points) but are undermined by the blackness of the Monolith against the stars. It seems to have become part of the vastness of space, though this may be deliberate. After several shots of it in reference to planets and David’s ship, the surviving spaceman approaches in his exterior craft. Unlike his human predecessors, at no point does David lay a hand on the Monolith, nor stand close to it. His distance to the object is obscured by the indeterminate scaling of the scene. This could be taken as a commentary on humanity’s relationship to technology at this stage of discovery: the humans in the diegetic space of the film have become so advanced, David is more a representative of his species than an individual. He doesn’t need to touch the Monolith. No one needs to touch the Monolith. The experience it imposes on David becomes a testament to Leroi-Gourhan’s assertions of the diminishing significance of the individual in the evolution of humankind over the improvement of the species. “The compression of time and distance, accelerated rates of activity, nonadaptation to carbon monoxide and industrial toxins, permeability by radiation—all these facts raise the curious problem of our physical compatibility with the environment in which we must now live. The conclusion to be drawn may well be that progress is beneficial only to society, while the individual human being is already an outdated organism… already receding into the background to become the mere infrastructure of humankind in which “evolution” will henceforth be more interested than in the individual human being. Indeed, that would only confirm the identity of the human species with animal species, whose progress as a species is alone worthy of consideration” (252). Perhaps an entity like HAL is who this Monolith was intended for: a person wholly detached from humanity, representing the pinnacle of human technology and evolution but no longer constrained by its outdated form. but evolving beyond their constraints to make their own decisions. This interpretation is supported by the strange, technologically-inspired visuals of the wormhole which carry David into the next set piece, the strange room in which time becomes incoherent. It is a space in which David ceases to matter, where space and time are compressed, and neither the viewer nor David question whether he will survive the experience.

Altogether, physical space in 2001: A Space Odyssey becomes increasingly incoherent, its importance diminishing as the technology within the film and humanity’s ability to grasp complex ideas increases. While the various characters draw no nearer to understanding the purpose of the Monoliths, the presence of these imposing structures nonetheless directs the flow of human evolution over the many epochs depicted. The growing distance at which the Monoliths are experienced is inversely proportional to the degree of influence they exert: first a passive feature in a barren landscape, then a beacon, then a means of travel. This proportional shift is reflected in the growing complexity of human technology compared to the significance of the individuals encountering the Monolith: first a band of nameless early humans, then a cadre of named characters, then a singular man. From the viewer’s perspective David holds greater importance than any other character, yet within the context of the narrative when interpreted through Leroi-Gourhan’s lens, anyone would do. There is a broader discussion to be had than a focus on physical space alone can allow.

Works Cited

2001: A Space Odyssey. Directed by Stanley Kubrick, Metro-Goldwyn Productions, 1968.

André Leroi-Gourhan. Gesture and Speech. Translated by Anna Bostock Berger, Introduction by Randhall White with Adam Lehner. The MIT Press, 4 May 2018.

Annette Kuhn and Guy Westwell. A Dictionary of Film Studies, 1st ed. Oxford University Press, 2012.

ArtSavingsClub. “Break the Rules: Rule of Thirds.” 12 Mar. 2019, artsavingsclub.co.za/break-the-rules-rule-of-thirds/. Accessed 25 Apr. 2023.