My dad and I went to see the 70-millimeter re-release of "2001: A Space Odyssey" at the Music Box Theatre on Sunday. Of course, the Music Box — recently defeated rat infestation and all — is a Chicago cinema treasure, and it was great to see the "2001" on a big screen for the first time.

I had only seen it on video previously, and I must admit it took me several attempts to do even that much. The critics who originally panned the movie as too slow, boring and abstract were not entirely wrong. The movie’s pace is definitely deliberate, and it makes you draw the line from one plot point to another, instead of having it drawn for you.

If you’re not ready to invest that effort (or at least get high for "the ultimate trip") then you won’t enjoy "2001." In the end, however you interpret the film’s enigmatic ending — or even if you think Kubrick and Clarke‘s anti-technology alarmism is off the mark — either you let yourself be carried away by the vast stillnesses and glorious soundscapes of Kubrick’s creation or you endure a miserable 139 minutes.

Whatever else can be said of "2001," it is always challenging and provocative — how many of today’s movies can be similarly assessed?

Post script: As with "Citizen Kane," "Casablanca" and other cinematic classics, it’s hard for me to view them apart from the snippets of mental imagery that have been instilled in my brain through parody, advertising, etc.

And I know going in that they are supposed to be great, so my critical functioning gets turned off, or at least shifts into lower gear. It’s almost as though I need to forget about the movie’s "greatness" in order to discover its true artistic power. Of course, sometimes I find that its hidden so deeply that it’s nonexistent. I like to think that I do have an independent mind, after all.