Ape invents a use for the bone which, inevitably, leads on to the invention of space travel. Hal, a mad computer, controls a space ship but goes stupid after singing 'Daisy' as humans attempt to take control again. Life is discovered on the moon. Or is it? You decide. (It could depend on when you walk out on the movie.)

"An excellent movie to watch down the gym."

"It took me about 20 times to sit through this movie all the way to the end. I lost the whole point of living more than once. Nothing happens! Then I saw it all the way through and thought: what a great movie! Don't ask me what it all means though. Just watch the movie like a beautiful picture and just let it pull you in."

"This movie never made any sense until Stanley Kubrick died, then I got it. Not half bad at all me old chum!"

"Not many belly laughs."

"It goes on a bit but then I suppose the 60's did if you weren't high."

"Oh the Blue Danube that tortuous waltz made popular once more."

"Red colored seats in long white corridors. Making a video call to your kid, costing $1.70... you know, it could happen."

"If space travel is this boring then count me out - I would much prefer the splendid timeliness of airplanes taking me swiftly from state to state." 1967.

"Movie analysis students the world over have broken their writing implements many a time whilst attempting to write down all of the meanings in this movie quickly before they forget them. I have no doubt that some of the meanings are correct, but, hell, which ones?"

The movie stops, but there is no ending in sight. This movie is more of a ride rather than offering a destination or answers to life...

A transcendental cornucopia of veritable non-linearity. Albeit conscious of the underlying metaphor of exerstentialistic wobbliness, the wonderful multicolored big brotherness of the eye towards the end had me begging for more in a small whiny voice which demanded more than it knew would ever have delivered.

A rapscallion of a movie sucking away the Freudian scantily claddedness of the underlying pretext, or subtext, or next text even, for, we never really know where we are. Some lesser mortals watching this wondrous voyage give up, begging a plot. There is, of course, no plot in the Schwartzenegger sense, but it is this challenge to the plot gene which renders the outing a triumph of differentness.

"Daisy daisy give me your answer doooooooooooo."

"Do you read me Hal?"

A gorgeous rumble in the veritable space jungle of newness....