The camera soon seems transfixed on something that is almost bizarre -- the security camera that sits atop the gate. Ligeti's music is really stinging away here, and it seems that we should feel some sort of trepidation from this scene. The security camera slowly fixes itself on. . .not on Bill. . .but. . .holy shit. . .on us. The camera is on us. What's going on? Kubrick! Stop this!
The woman sitting behind me threw something very hard very hard at my head at this point, so I sat down and stopped yelling at the screen, but I realized that Kubrick was playing a dirty trick on his audience. I could see his big bearded melon floating above the seats right then and there, saying "Yoohoo, you pricks! It's playtime! This is you! This is real life! This can happen anywhere, at any time, in any form. I'm talking about basic human emotion." Kubrick, the man who created (or helped create) creative names like "Buck Turgidson" and "Bat Guano" didn't name his characters Bill and Alice for no good reason. How many Bills and Alices are there in the United States? Must be thousands. And Kubrick sticks it to the common man right proper.
That was the beauty of Kubrick.
Anyway, now that I'm over that, back to the film: the Musica goes ding ding ding ding ding as a Rolls rolls up, and an old man steps out, handing a letter through the (blue!) gate to Bill. Or to us? It warns Bill to stay away from the house, to stop investigating the whole thing. Or should we stop peering into Bill's soul like this? No way.
Bill goes home later that evening, where Alice and Helena do math problems together, over Christmas break, for some reason. Alice plays "mommy" here, and Bill sits and watches her act with the words "I was fucking so many men" resounding in his head. She smiles a devilish grin. Oh no, viewer. No one is innocent in Kubrickia. Not for one damn second.