A Cold War ‘comedy’ that still makes viewers uneasy

Dr. Strangelove, Stanley Kubrick’s 1964 Academy Award-nominated Cold War satire, is often referred to simply as “a comedy.” That is a mistake. The movie—scheduled for release next week in a new Criterion Collection edition—has plenty of comedic elements, but director Kubrick never once allows his viewers to feel comfortable or enjoy what they see.

Loosely adapted from the more overtly serious novel Red Alert, the film (full title: Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb) carries the story of a brush with nuclear war to an absurd extreme.

The plot features a delusional brigadier general (Sterling Hayden) who, without his superiors’ knowledge, orders a squadron of American B-52s to launch a nuclear attack on the Soviet Union. At the Pentagon, high-level officials, including a jingoistic Air Force general (George C. Scott) and a no-nonsense Russian Ambassador (Peter Bull), debate the best way of handling this sudden international emergency. All the while, a single bomber led by overachieving Air Force Maj. T. J. “King” Kong (Slim Pickens) slowly makes its way toward a Soviet ICBM missile base.

Not only is the premise of possible nuclear annihilation more than a little troublesome to laugh about, but Kubrick also made a bold choice in the film’s stark, semi-documentary style (no doubt an influence on subsequent comedies such as 1976’s Network, 1984’s This Is Spinal Tap, and even TV’s The Office). The combination of story and style causes Dr. Strangelove to come across less as a comedy and more as a serious discourse on the arms race, Cold War, and international politics.

The film still has blatant humor, much of it coming from Peter Sellers, who turns in a tour-de-force triple performance as a British officer, the president of the United States, and (most notably) the titular technocrat Dr. Strangelove. Sellers, nominated for a best actor Oscar for this film, brings off each of those distinct characters with minimal makeup. He depicts each personality through subtle changes in body language and vocal performance, to the extent that some first-time viewers may fail to notice the same man portrays all three characters. (The multiple-roles idea apparently was a studio mandate that director Kubrick initially dismissed as gimmickry. In this case, the studio was right.)

George C. Scott—in an uncharacteristic comedic turn as Gen. Buck Turgidson— matches and in some ways exceeds Sellers’ manic energy. Reportedly coerced by Kubrick into giving an over-the-top comedic performance, Scott dominates nearly every scene in which he appears. He does not, however, engage in mere mugging or “chewing the scenery.” He sells his character with such conviction that the general’s gruff inanity is believable. Turgidson feels like a real person, not a one-note joke. Scott and Sellers, however, are only some of the standouts. The seriousness and skill of the entire cast causes the film to function as well as it does.

Beyond the remarkable performances, Dr. Strangelove is a classic because of its disturbing and pointed resonance that extends well beyond the film’s original Cold War setting: Just how reliable are the systems of war and defense we count on to protect us? And more importantly, what kind of people are our leaders? Are they wise? Are they trustworthy? Are they temperamentally suited for the positions they hold?

Kubrick does not offer up ideals, and the film lacks any answer for the mania on display. Instead, even more than a half-century after it was made, Dr. Strangelove still causes viewers to question and to ponder as they simultaneously chuckle and feel uneasy, just they did at the height of the Cold War.

On June 28, the Criterion Collection will release a new restoration of Dr. Strangelove on DVD and Blu-ray with archival interviews with Stanley Kubrick, Peter Sellers, and George C. Scott, in addition to recent interviews of other people who worked with Kubrick.