The History of New Venice

1.

Stanley Kubrick, old and mottled, wakes late at night, alone. He envisions a film about Venice, its beginning, its middle, its end. Compelled, he begins.

2.

The year is 2093 and the real Venice is gone. It is the Atlantis of that time.

In April, Kubrick starts scripting. He plasters his study with photos, archival documents, letters from famous Venetians. He reads extensively. Interviews various subjects. The film will be about an artist who cannot find inspiration. His name will be Julian; he will wear mostly tangerine.

Soon though, Kubrick abandons this idea. It must be a woman. She must be tall, with cropped hair, and deeply in love.

3.

Construction on Kubrick's New Venice commences on the 4th of May 2094. By now, the study does not have an inch of free wall or floor. A hand drawn map dominates the ceiling.

Kubrick's wife frets. She wants him to eat better. Sometimes, she wonders why she married this queer man – so neat, so professional in his work. Yet: his watch is forever incorrect; ketchup stains appear on his trousers before breakfast; recently purchased white shirts are dashed with pen marks within the day.

She watches him from the study doorway. Sometimes, she kisses his forehead and though he does not pause, does not look up from his work, her heart swoons like first love, a teenage crush she indulges daily.

He elects David Gilmour to be his lead musician. Due to scheduling commitments, and David's ailing heart condition, filming is delayed by 14 months. Kubrick waits.

4.

The locals cannot believe the beauty of New Venice. They are simple folk. Their lives revolve with prompt and shocking regularity around the weekend. Sometimes they see Kubrick strolling New Venice's cream streets. He is ancient – 168 years old – and cannot move without a cane, cannot see without heavy spectacles. He is somewhat of a marvel to them.

5.

Cars arrive, bounteously, at Kubrick's manor – they bear actresses and actors, they bear film crew and set dressers, they bear secretaries, runners and researchers. He interviews them all in the aviary in the squall of squawking birds. For the lead, he interviews over fifty girls. Many come back again. None are right.

At night, Kubrick, impatient with his stalling project, fearful he will leave it incomplete, thinks of death. He is overdue death now. Liver spots decorate his paunch, the flab of his thighs, his chins. He can pinch this and roll that between thumb and forefinger. His belly has accreted folds and wrinkles, like some great sagging ballsack. His arse is lumpen like a stamped upon cushion. There is mottled flesh at the tops of his thighs – green welts. Daily he decays.

6.

Samson, the biblical hero, is central to the film. Kubrick has the art department replicate his image on walls and ceilings. He designs intricate frescoes. When the work is complete, he feels closer somehow. At home, he kisses his wife and their kisses become embraces. They tumble over a rug and roll across the study floor. Photographs stick to her back; Kubrick's foot shatters a vase. They come crashingly together and the whole world caves in. Like they had slipped for a moment into death, and then returned, like light, to the universe. The following morning, they breakfast on the patio and Kubrick, who has been in love with her for so long, cries from happiness. New Venice lingers on the horizon, perched on the lake, forgotten.