Written by me in Spring 2024.
This iconic film from 1971, based on Anthony Burgess’s 1962 novel, delves deep into the philosophical dilemmas of free will versus control, employing the controversial fictional Ludovico technique to represent enforced conformity. By placing Alex, the protagonist, into a chair and forcing him to watch violent films while under the influence of a drug, the film raises critical questions about the morality of such psychological conditioning. This technique, aimed at curing Alex of his violent impulses, strips him of his agency, turning him into a puppet of state control. The film’s audiovisual design, combined with its distinct portrayal of societal and political contradictions, compels us to consider how style and cultural symbols can manipulate our perceptions and ethics, making us question the nature of freedom and the mechanisms of control in our society.
Interchanged Symbolism
Kubrick illustrates how style can manipulate our acceptance of morally questionable actions through his unique style and symbolic meanings. The sharp contrast between extreme violence and iconic cultural symbols like music in the film highlights the complex relationship between aesthetics and morality. About 10 minutes into the movie, during a scene where Alex and his gang invade a seemingly affluent couple’s home (Mr. Alexander and his wife), Alex begins singing ‘Singin’ in the Rain’—a song that embodies joy, exuberance, and innocence. As he commits acts of violence, including the assault and rape of the woman, the cheerful tune creates a cognitive dissonance in the viewer.
The choice of song adds a layer of irony and satire, which seem to be the originators of this discomfort in us. Perhaps it’s less about the song and violence but about the relationship with society and systemic oppression and violence. It parodies civilization and challenges us to reconsider the reliability and integrity of cultural symbols. What is typically a source of comfort and nostalgia is recast in a grotesque light, reflecting the dual capacities for creativity and destructiveness in human nature. It critiques how societal values can become corrupted. The song, a symbol of American cultural innocence and happiness, is twisted to underscore the perversion and moral corrosion lurking beneath the surface of society.
Similarly, Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony is used in the movie to show this contradiction. The Symphony, a piece celebrating universal dignity and union, becomes a tool for ideological manipulation and a backdrop for brutal acts, questioning whether elevated culture necessarily yields elevated morals. Its use illustrates historical contradictions: the symphony, and especially the song “Ode to Joy,” was used by the Nazi regime to promote German cultural superiority, but also was adopted by the European Union as a symbol of unity (“European anthem”). It has been used to celebrate Hitler’s birthday, as a protest anthem in the 1960s, used for some Christian hymns, and even for celebrations. A paradox on how cultural artifacts can be manipulated to serve divergent ideological purposes.
In a way, this is like the symbolism and meanings of the Statue of Liberty. It symbolizes freedom, embodies the core values of American liberty, and represents the secular ideals promoted during the Enlightenment. The official website even describes it as “a symbol of freedom, inspiration, and hope.” Simultaneously, its base lies along the path to the Ellis Island detention center, casting its guiding light toward a place of imprisonment for migrants. A place that symbolizes conditional liberty if you comply with this set of norms and way of thinking: work for a few pennies in my factory, follow my rules, and make me rich while you keep being poor. Thus, these contradictions suggest that it may not be a matter of one thing or another, but rather the nuances and varying degrees of complexity that render the issue intricate. Perhaps my proposal, instead of advocating for change right away, is first to recognize the array of ideologies, opinions, and discourses that influence us in diverse ways. By automatically accepting any narrative without critical evaluation, we risk losing our freedom.
Illusions and Paradoxes of Freedom
The film criticizes totalitarian government practices, portraying a state that takes extreme measures to control its citizens. The state’s stake in the Ludovico Technique is not purely rehabilitative but also pragmatic—it aims to reduce crime and create a compliant citizenry that allows them to stay in power.
The story presents a dystopian vision where the ideals of societal control and the underlying paradoxes of freedom and coercion intermix, revealing deep contradictions within both governmental and anarchic ideologies. At the beginning of the movie, a homeless person asks Alex, “What sort of a world is it at all? Men on the moon and men spinning around the earth and there’s not no attention paid to earthly law and order no more” (04:06:00). By portraying a society grappling with escalating crime and authoritarian measures, the film critiques the superficial layers of order and the complex realities beneath them, ultimately challenging the viewer to question the nature of freedom and control.
The key idea of the movie seems to become palpable in the scene where the Priest says to Alex when he arrives at the prison: “The question is whether or not this technique really makes a man good. Goodness comes with it. Goodness is chosen. When a man cannot choose, he ceases to be a man.” As Carolyn Strange claims, “Alex has no appreciation for high-minded moral philosophy and no desire to be a man. All he wants is freedom” (148). The freedom that Alex wants seems not necessarily from the prison, or even freedom from consequences, rather freedom of a coercive system that makes him behave this way. The inability to choose is what makes Alex stay on the other side of the established rules of how to behave in society. I’m not saying he shouldn’t be held accountable for violent acts on others, but going a step before that, why Alex behaves this way is a key question and essence of the contradictions the movie tries to make.
This opens up a broader paradox: those advocating for law and order are often the same forces that perpetuate violence, anchored in the rhetoric of justice and freedom. Such contradictions create a society where the promise of order and safety comes at the cost of personal freedom and ethical integrity.
The story uses scenes like the one where Alex volunteers for the treatment to illustrate the government’s manipulation under the image of societal benefit. The government’s intention seems to be not only to reduce crime by submitting individuals under conversation therapy and to clean their prisons to put their political prisoners, but also a way to keep them in power. About an hour into the film, a key scene unfolds where Frederick, the Minister of the Interior, visits the prison where Alex is. His purpose is to select prisoners as subjects for experimental treatments. These lines between the Minister and the prison governor encapsulate much of the purposes behind:
Minister: Cram criminals together and what do you get? Concentrated criminality. Crime in the midst of punishment.
Governor: I agree, sir. We need larger prisons, more money.
Minister: Not a chance, my dear fellow. The government can’t be concerned any longer with outmoded penological theories. Soon we may need all prison space for political offenders. Common criminals are best dealt with on a purely curative basis. Kill the criminal reflex, that’s all. Full implementation in a year’s time. Punishment means nothing to them. They enjoy their so-called punishment.(01:03:36)
This dialogue, which is masterly delivered, reveals the real goal: By conditioning prisoners to respond mechanically, almost robotically, to commands, the government ensures its continued dominance. Simultaneously, this strategy cultivates a perception among voters that they are in control of a well-ordered society, effectively pacifying the populace with the semblance of security and order. Strangely, it sounds pretty familiar to current political discourses.
The movie presents a profound “contradiction” where both sides of the political spectrum engage in similar manipulative behaviors, suggesting that the problem lies not with which side we align ourselves, but that we are all trapped within the same corrupt system. Initially portrayed as a liberal humanitarian, the character Mr. Alexander, sees Alex as a means to undermine the current government. He plans to expose the government’s brutal tactics by leveraging Alex’s suffering as a symbol of state cruelty, declaring that Alex could be the “most potent weapon imaginable to ensure that the government is not returned” (01:47:50). However, this strategy shifts dramatically when Alexander recognizes Alex as the perpetrator of the violent crime to his wife. Overwhelmed by anger and a desire for revenge, Alexander uses the same oppressive techniques he earlier criticized, ultimately driving Alex to attempt suicide. This act is quickly politicized, further illustrating how individuals are used as tools for political agendas. By the end of the movie, when Alex is in the hospital recovering, even the Minister of Interior seeks to manipulate the narrative and visit him. He says, “There are some that want to use you for political ends,” referring to the liberals and the opposite party, still he reveals his real intentions: “Alex, you can help us” and be “Instrumental in changing the public’s verdict.” Minutes later, the press arrived, taking photos of the minister redempting Alex while, in reality, he is the one trying to “redeem” himself. As Carolyn Strange defined, “the clinic and the prison are interlocked in the modern welfare state. Experts, bureaucrats, and politicians are framed. None can escape blame” (152). We can observe both Mr. Alexander and the Minister the use of manipulative tactics, where both sides of the political spectrum can be equally coercive and self-serving, using Alex as a puppet in their larger strategies to secure power and sway public opinion, illustrating the pervasive moral and ethical corruption that Kubrick critiques throughout the film.
The film’s narrative poses a profound question: How can true freedom exist in a society where individuals willingly trade their liberty for the illusion of safety and order? This dilemma is sharply illustrated through the cynical perspectives of both sides of the political spectrum and in Alex as well. Steven Cahn’s insights further deepen this exploration of a possible answer and notes that, “Just as Alex is not free when he leaves the Ludovico Institute, so, Kubrick is suggesting, no human being is free at any time in his life. The implication is that conditioning, whether good or evil, prevents us from being free, and yet conditioning is inescapable” (156). Cahn’s analysis suggests that not only political figures but also individuals like Alex, who revel in violence detached from its consequences, are trapped in a cycle of manipulation and control. Therefore, the people trying to portray manipulative techniques–politicians in this case– are also not free or equally in prison from the same system they supposedly defend.
Veneer Theory
Most of these mechanisms of law, order, and control seems to be rooted in the belief that something inherently evil is at the core of every human being. Dutch biologist Frans de Waal describes this as the veneer theory which is “the belief that civilization is nothing more than a thin veneer that will crack at the merest provocation” (Bregman 4). The mechanism used by the government, politicians, and even the actions of Alex justified as an example of the evil of society seems to enforce social divisions, promote fear, control behavior, and maintain power structures by casting others as threats or moral failings.
Although the veneer theory can be seen as a belief rooted in examples of history, Dutch historian Rutger Bregman challenges this idea in his book “Humankind: A Hopeful History.” He claims that humans often show their best qualities during crises, “when the bombs fall or the floodwaters rises-that we humans become our best selves” (5), suggesting that compassion and cooperation are more intrinsic to human nature than selfishness and aggression. Asserting that humans are fundamentally selfish or that morality is only a thin layer can influence how individuals perceive themselves and others. Suppose people believe that their core nature is selfish. In that case, they might be more likely to act self-interestedly, particularly under social or economic pressures, reinforcing the initial pessimistic view. If politicians, policymakers, and the public subscribe to a view that humans are fundamentally self-serving, policies, systems, and institutions might be designed more around control and restriction than support and integration. This can affect how societies respond to crises, where fear and protectionism might prevail over generosity and open-mindedness. It becomes a self-confirming feedback loop.
Integrating psychological insights into social and political issues, Dr. Richard Schwartz, in the book “No Bad Parts” criticizes current control and containment strategies as ineffective, suggesting a transformative approach: “Clearly, our veneer-based approach of control and contain isn’t working. What if it was true that there are no bad parts, only burdened ones frozen in the past that needed to be unburdened rather than punished? What if, at their essence, everyone was a Self that could be accessed quickly? How would the world be different?” (61). He advocates for a shift towards understanding and empathy, emphasizing that “We need a new approach based on no longer trying to kill the messenger and instead listening to the message—no longer going to war against human nature” (64). Echoing this sentiment, Bregman argues that embracing humanity’s inherent kindness and altruism can lay a solid foundation for genuine societal change. In other words, going to war against any social problem sets in motion reinforcing feedback loops that can potentially destroy the system because they escalate over time and drain the system’s resources. If we turn it around and actually assume that most people are pretty decent, then we can create very different kinds of societies, places, and institutions that will enable us to trust each other more.
Perhaps then we can see Alex as a real victim of a system that keeps making people mad and guilty as a tool for maintaining power. “I was cured all right,” says Alex in the last line of A Clockwork Orange, as we see images of a man raping a woman with people around clapping as a victory. Aesthetics that repulse us, perhaps not from a rejection of the scenario itself, but from seeing our own reflections there, as captives within a system where the “cure” is merely the source of the sickness.
Works Cited
Bregman, Rutger. Humankind - A Hopeful History. Translated by Elizabeth Manton and Erica Moore, Bloomsbury Publishing, 2020.
Cahn, Steven M. “‘A Clockwork Orange’ Is Not About Violence.” Metaphilosophy, vol. 5, no. 2, April 1974, pp. 155-157. Wiley, https://www.jstor.org/stable/24435137.
“European Anthem.” European Union, european-union.europa.eu/principles-countries-history/symbols/european-anthem_en. Accessed 11 May 2024.
Schwartz, Richard. No Bad Parts: Healing Trauma and Restoring Wholeness with the Internal Family Systems Model. Sounds True, 2021.
Strange, Carolyn. “Stanley Kubrick’s A Clockwork Orange as Art Against Torture.” Screening Torture: Media Representations of State Terror and Political Domination, edited by Michael Flynn and Fabiola F. Salek, Columbia University Press, https://www.jstor.org/stable/10.7312/flyn15358.10.**