奇爱博士

恐惧（panic）在希腊人那里原本只是一个人在林中漫步时突然袭来的畏惧感，他们用一位神祈来为这种感觉命名：潘（Pan）；到了中世纪，人们的恐惧集中在吸血鬼、狼人这些幻想的产物和麻风病、黑死病等真实的灾祸上，当然，恐惧有时候也是神学上的，比如各类心怀鬼胎者对天罚日和末日审判的恐惧；近代工业的发展逐渐滋长了城市的堕落和阶级的矛盾，人们的恐惧对象主要成了开膛手杰克这样的变态杀人狂和法国大革命中肆无忌惮的革命屠杀。二十世纪的恐惧是什么？有人说是纳粹集中营。但对大多数没有进过集中营的人来说，那里的苦难是遥远而陌生的，只是读完安妮•弗兰克的某页日记时的瞬间想象，而曾被关在集中营的人尽管为数众多，但他们中大多数都已经死去。对于今天再次在资本主义丰裕的物质文明中安逸度日的人来说，核弹同样是遥远而陌生的，人们只是在看国际新闻时，在某超级大国对某邪恶国家的制裁报道中，偶尔听到这个词。但对经历过冷战的那代人来说，从广岛的“小男孩”和长崎的“胖子”一直到苏联解体，核的梦魇整整围绕了长达半个世纪，可谓二十世纪最主要的恐惧。
斯坦利•库布里克导演的《奇爱博士》就是关于这种恐惧及其后果的。冷战中的苏联和美国都担心对方率先使用核武器，于是各自设计了相应的报复措施。美国的R计划：只要苏联的导弹攻击了华盛顿，美国的中层将领就有权力绕开总统的命令直接启动R计划，几十架部署在美国本土以外的轰炸机将满载着核弹去摧毁苏联的主要军事目标。苏联的世界末日装置：只要美国率先使用核武器，这个由计算机控制的自动装置就会启动，其威力将摧毁地球上的所有生物。美国空军将领杰克•瑞朋从苏联人只喝伏特加推知地球上所有的水都已经被“氟化”了，自己宝贵的“体液”正在被毒化，于是决定率先采取措施：他在苏联没有入侵的情况下直接启动了R计划，同时打电话给美国总统要他全面发动战争，因为召回轰炸机的密码只有他知道，而他已经把他的基地封锁了起来……
核弹的发明使战争变得至为简单：它只是两个超级大国首脑之间的博弈游戏。唯一有制约性的力量只是某种脆弱的人道主义。使人们恐惧的是：谁能保证这种人道主义永远有效，谁能保证不会出现杰克•瑞朋这样的妄想狂。而杰克尽管一半是偏执狂和疯子，但他的行为又何尝不是出于某种恐惧。对核的恐惧与古典时代的恐惧十分不同的是：它不再是某种幻想或者来源于某种自然力和不可控的非理性因素，它本身就是理性科技的产物，同时又反过来作用于理性思维。人们试图用理性的思维去控制作为科技理性产物的恐惧，比如让核弹的力量控制在某个由计算机控制的装置手里，这种思维却反过来被恐惧所俘虏，恐惧成了这种思维。弥漫在冷战意识中的正是这种恐惧思维，恐惧成了某种本体化得东西，到头来唯一使人感到恐惧的其实是这种恐惧本身。
《奇爱博士》集中表现的不是对核弹的个体心理恐惧，而是被恐惧所俘虏的理性化思维本身。该片的空间主要集中在三个地方：军事基地内杰克•瑞朋的办公室，总统的作战指挥室和轰炸机内部。决定地球和人类命运的不再是广阔的战场，而是这三个内部空间，命令的发布与传递是无形的。人类的和平仰赖这三个地方的合理化运转，只要某个环节被非理性的恐惧心理所俘虏，就会带来毁灭性的后果。影片不厌其烦地叙述了R计划从发布到执行的所有细节：杰克•瑞朋广播通知基地士兵苏联已经入侵，他已启动R计划对苏联展开报复性攻击，所有士兵上缴所有通讯设备并严守自己岗位准备作战：敌人有可能在任何时刻穿着任何衣服向基地进攻。这些命令都是军事集团内部完全理性化的作战反应，除了它们的前提是出于一个人非理性的幻想。轰炸机内部，从接到命令到最后的执行的过程都由摄影机巨细靡遗地再现出来：接受命令、向基地取得确认、取出R计划的函件、计划的具体内容、任务的分配、战后飞行员个人生存物资清单的罗列、切断对外信号的措施、锁定通讯频率的措施、飞行高度的数据、里程的数据、投弹后逃生线路的计算……执行R计划需要按动轰炸机内无数的按钮，每发布一条具体的命令，就需要按动一个按钮，摄影机就会给这个动作一个特写给与强调，人类的命运就决定在这些按钮上。所有那些命令的具体实施程序及所有那些按钮都是事前经过完全理性化地运算和设计的，它们的运作几乎是万无一失的，与核弹一样，它们是人类理性的精巧结果，但是当某个源头被非理性的恐惧心理所俘虏，恐惧便随着这条理性的锁链一步步传递并增值，最后产生的完全是非理性的毁灭后果，于是，人们反过来对这条精巧的理性锁链产生巨大的非理性的恐惧。
杰克•瑞朋并非完全是一个妄想狂，他还是一个被彻头彻尾地具有冷战思维的人，这从他一边发布执行R计划的命令一边打电话给总统要求发动全面战争可以看出。冷战思维是一种以恐惧为起点的完全理性化的思维。除了这位杰克，电影中还有一个人物是它的主要代表：巴克将军（影射美国著名的“热爱”战争的巴顿将军）。他在获知杰克已经启动R计划的消息后先是故意拖延时间不向总统汇报，后来又极力鼓动总动发布全面战争。最后当得知苏联的世界末日装置将会启动，人类面临毁灭的命运，美国总统和他的政府要员们商量如何挑选一部分人进入地下矿洞以繁衍人类后代时，他的建议是：如果苏联人偷偷带了一枚炸弹进入矿洞，九十年后人们从矿洞出来，苏联的科技将会领先美国。在这个疯狂的带着小丑色彩的人物身上，以恐惧为起点的思维逻辑被推演到极点，同时恐惧也带上了一层丛林法则的色彩：人们恐惧的只是在强力的较量中处于弱势。
《奇爱博士》一片的全名是《奇爱博士：或者我们如何克服对炸弹的恐惧，并热爱核弹》，听起来像是一本指导手册。片中的奇爱博士是个夸张的漫画般的人物，他对科技的力量怀着一种 “奇怪”的爱，正是他这样的人设计了像“世界末日装置”这类东西。他的原型是科幻小说中疯狂的科学家，库布里克更新了这一类型人物，使他与爱欲结合在一起。奇爱博士在为总统讲解“世界末日装置”的建造原理和核弹爆炸后逃生的方法时眼神中带着疯狂的神采，他似乎根本不在乎几十亿人的生死，他唯一所爱的只是他的“装置”和科技力量本身。讽刺的是，这个科技的骄子本身半身不遂地瘫痪在轮椅上，讲到兴奋处，他的一只手便不受控制般地直冲冲伸向半空中，其姿势颇像“希特勒举手礼”。库布里克似乎想借此讽刺纳粹极权主义的产生在科技的理性化中的根源。“热爱核弹”，正如片名所示，本身就是一种“奇怪的爱”，库布里克想回答的是，爱欲能否改变科技的非理性力量，或者说爱欲能否使人克服对科技的非理性恐惧。《奇爱博士》发行的1964年正是马尔库塞的《爱欲与文明》发表十余年后，以性解放和反战为标志的68年革命运动前夕，人们普遍迷信文明压抑了人的自然欲望，性欲的解放可以使人类从科技与制度的束缚中解放出来。库布里克以这部电影表达了他对这种思潮的看法：在非理性的恐惧面前，即使是爱欲也有可能被导向畸形，人们可以爱男人、爱女人，但也有可能爱核弹。人们突然之间只看到了性的自然健康的一面，却遗忘了性的扭曲的黑暗的一面，畸形的性欲的无法满足要求各种非理性的“代偿”。实际上，《奇爱博士》一片中许多戏剧性的场面和形象都来自于一种无法满足的“奇怪的爱”。除了奇爱博士这一形象，还有比如影片开始时被评论家成为“史上最性感画面”的两架军用飞机加油的镜头。“巴克”将军出场时，他性感的女秘书正穿着“三点式”泳衣晒日光浴，后来将军与总统开会时，这位秘书还打来电话撒娇，无疑，这位热衷于战争的将军同样也热衷于做爱。美国总统在跟苏联总理德米特里打电话时，那位总理显然也在寻欢作乐，显然，性爱有时不过用来缓解军备竞赛带来的焦虑。那位启动R计划的杰克•瑞朋在被问到什么时候第一次想到地球上的水都已经被“氟化”，他的“体液”正被毒害时，他答道，“与女人做爱时”——性的无能需要战争来补偿。
战争无疑导致恐惧，而人们也时常因为恐惧而发动战争。二十世纪的恐惧是对核战争的恐惧，同时也是对被非理性的恐惧所抓住的理性化的科技的恐惧，在后面那种恐惧面前，爱欲也好，理性的科技也好，似乎都无能为力，文明变得岌岌可危。《奇爱博士》最后著名的核弹爆炸的蒙太奇，就像哀婉的预言一样，笼罩在人类文明的上空久不散去。

————————————————

个人公众号：加书亚在路上
正在更新印度旅行日记，欢迎关注！

    电影课的老师让我认识了库布里克。于是找来了他的几部片来看。如果说《洛丽塔》出彩的地方还是在演员的话，那么这部《奇爱博士》真的是展现了库布里克的天才之处。

    同样是反冷战题材，如果让我拍，根据小学作文中学到的以小见大的方法，我可能会选取一两个平凡人，描写冷战对他们生活的冲击。我看过一些反映一个大时代背景（战争，文革等）的片子都采用了这种手法。或者我们也可以干脆来个大场面，描写一下美苏有多少新式武器，国内有多少反战游行示威……

    我等终究还是凡人，看看大师是怎么拍的吧。谁都没想到的是库布里克把这一题材拍成了一部黑色幽默剧。几十架载着核弹的B52、靠蒙就能猜出来的绝密密码、会议室里将军轻松调侃的语气、美国总统在电话里不停的叫着苏联总理的小名……这些看上去有些荒谬的元素组合在一起，期间再穿插一些类似生存箱那样的小幽默。不知道的还以为这是一部喜剧。但就是这样的方法，像一连串的冷笑话将冷战大大的鄙视了一番。冷战是什么？不过是政客们在会议室玩的过家家游戏罢了。

    影片里有三个细节让我难忘，一个是在基地的将军决定将错就错不发出撤回B52的命令时给他的那个稍微仰视的镜头，那个镜头给人的感觉不是伟岸，而是一种征服的狰狞和满足。人类中的一些人总是希望能够征服别人并从中获得快感，只要这种人还在，冷战，或者类似的竞赛就不会结束。第二个细节是Dr.strangelove时时扬起右臂作出的那个手势。他的残疾，代表着整个人类社会的畸形：一方面是极度聪明的头脑，另一方面确是对纳粹的信仰。在人类走投无路的时候需要仰仗自己智慧的头脑，然而最终也是智慧毁掉了人类自己。第三个是在核弹终于爆炸，苏联启动了毁面世界的程序之后，美国政要们关心的居然是幸存者们冷战的继续。同时，苏联大使也在忙着偷拍会议室中的机密。死到临头之际，人们还在忙着这种事，啼笑皆非之余不免会感到悲哀……

此考并不完全，也不知库布里克是否有此意，如果有，那庆幸鄙人尝试去猜了，如果没有，喂，这也太巧合了吧。

Group Captain Lionel Mandrake
Mandrake在植物上名为风茄，也就是哈利波特中出现的曼德拉草，形状奇特，阿拉伯人称之为“妖魔的蛋”，在希伯来语中意为“爱的植物”，在某些亚洲文化中，人们相信风茄有使妇女受孕的功能，直白点就是春药、怀胎药。此处为男性生殖隐喻。

President Merkin Muffley
Muffed：To screw something up
在粗俗语言中指妓女、阴户，或二椅子。

General ‘Buck’Turgidson
Buck
1.v: slang for the act of fighting
2.v: slang for disagree'ing and feeling angry towards something
3.n: slang for a young black man
4.n: a male deer
5.n: slang for money
指打斗行为、暴力、年轻黑人男性、雄鹿、钱
此词真乃是赤裸裸的雄性特征
Turgidson
Turgid意思为肿胀，son这词儿大家都认识，此姓意为勃起的生殖器。

rigadier General Jack Ripper
Jack Ripper一说，只能联想到Jack the Ripper，大名鼎鼎的开膛手杰克，他于1888年8月7日到11月9日期间，在伦敦东区（East End of London）的白教堂（Whitechapel）一带，以残忍手法连续杀害至少五名妓女的凶手。死者的遗体显示受害者喉咙被割开，死后腹部往往被剖开，部分受害者甚至外阴被凶手切下。

Major 'King' Kong
金刚，雄性特征还用提吗

Russian Ambassador Alexi de Sadesky
Sadesky来源于Sade，和萨德挂钩的除了“性虐待”以外还有什么好词儿么

Dr. Strangelove
对战争、毁灭、破坏、野心、阴谋这些畸形的爱

(PUBLISHED IN THE NEW YORKER, BY ERIC SCHLOSSER, ON JANUARY 23, 2014)

This month marks the fiftieth anniversary of Stanley Kubrick’s black comedy about nuclear weapons, “Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.” Released on January 29, 1964, the film caused a good deal of controversy. Its plot suggested that a mentally deranged American general could order a nuclear attack on the Soviet Union, without consulting the President. One reviewer described the film as “dangerous … an evil thing about an evil thing.” Another compared it to Soviet propaganda. Although “Strangelove” was clearly a farce, with the comedian Peter Sellers playing three roles, it was criticized for being implausible. An expert at the Institute for Strategic Studies called the events in the film “impossible on a dozen counts.” A former Deputy Secretary of Defense dismissed the idea that someone could authorize the use of a nuclear weapon without the President’s approval: “Nothing, in fact, could be further from the truth.” (See a compendium of clips from the film.) When “Fail-Safe”—a Hollywood thriller with a similar plot, directed by Sidney Lumet—opened, later that year, it was criticized in much the same way. “The incidents in ‘Fail-Safe’ are deliberate lies!” General Curtis LeMay, the Air Force chief of staff, said. “Nothing like that could happen.” The first casualty of every war is the truth—and the Cold War was no exception to that dictum. Half a century after Kubrick’s mad general, Jack D. Ripper, launched a nuclear strike on the Soviets to defend the purity of “our precious bodily fluids” from Communist subversion, we now know that American officers did indeed have the ability to start a Third World War on their own. And despite the introduction of rigorous safeguards in the years since then, the risk of an accidental or unauthorized nuclear detonation hasn’t been completely eliminated.

The command and control of nuclear weapons has long been plagued by an “always/never” dilemma. The administrative and technological systems that are necessary to insure that nuclear weapons are always available for use in wartime may be quite different from those necessary to guarantee that such weapons can never be used, without proper authorization, in peacetime. During the nineteen-fifties and sixties, the “always” in American war planning was given far greater precedence than the “never.” Through two terms in office, beginning in 1953, President Dwight D. Eisenhower struggled with this dilemma. He wanted to retain Presidential control of nuclear weapons while defending America and its allies from attack. But, in a crisis, those two goals might prove contradictory, raising all sorts of difficult questions. What if Soviet bombers were en route to the United States but the President somehow couldn’t be reached? What if Soviet tanks were rolling into West Germany but a communications breakdown prevented NATO officers from contacting the White House? What if the President were killed during a surprise attack on Washington, D.C., along with the rest of the nation’s civilian leadership? Who would order a nuclear retaliation then?

With great reluctance, Eisenhower agreed to let American officers use their nuclear weapons, in an emergency, if there were no time or no means to contact the President. Air Force pilots were allowed to fire their nuclear anti-aircraft rockets to shoot down Soviet bombers heading toward the United States. And about half a dozen high-level American commanders were allowed to use far more powerful nuclear weapons, without contacting the White House first, when their forces were under attack and “the urgency of time and circumstances clearly does not permit a specific decision by the President, or other person empowered to act in his stead.” Eisenhower worried that providing that sort of authorization in advance could make it possible for someone to do “something foolish down the chain of command” and start an all-out nuclear war. But the alternative—allowing an attack on the United States to go unanswered or NATO forces to be overrun—seemed a lot worse. Aware that his decision might create public unease about who really controlled America’s nuclear arsenal, Eisenhower insisted that his delegation of Presidential authority be kept secret. At a meeting with the Joint Chiefs of Staff, he confessed to being “very fearful of having written papers on this matter.”

President John F. Kennedy was surprised to learn, just a few weeks after taking office, about this secret delegation of power. “A subordinate commander faced with a substantial military action,” Kennedy was told in a top-secret memo, “could start the thermonuclear holocaust on his own initiative if he could not reach you.” Kennedy and his national-security advisers were shocked not only by the wide latitude given to American officers but also by the loose custody of the roughly three thousand American nuclear weapons stored in Europe. Few of the weapons had locks on them. Anyone who got hold of them could detonate them. And there was little to prevent NATO officers from Turkey, Holland, Italy, Great Britain, and Germany from using them without the approval of the United States.

In December, 1960, fifteen members of Congress serving on the Joint Committee on Atomic Energy had toured NATO bases to investigate how American nuclear weapons were being deployed. They found that the weapons—some of them about a hundred times more powerful than the bomb that destroyed Hiroshima—were routinely guarded, transported, and handled by foreign military personnel. American control of the weapons was practically nonexistent. Harold Agnew, a Los Alamos physicist who accompanied the group, was especially concerned to see German pilots sitting in German planes that were decorated with Iron Crosses—and carrying American atomic bombs. Agnew, in his own words, “nearly wet his pants” when he realized that a lone American sentry with a rifle was all that prevented someone from taking off in one of those planes and bombing the Soviet Union.

* * *
The Kennedy Administration soon decided to put locking devices inside NATO’s nuclear weapons. The coded electromechanical switches, known as “permissive action links” (PALs), would be placed on the arming lines. The weapons would be inoperable without the proper code—and that code would be shared with NATO allies only when the White House was prepared to fight the Soviets. The American military didn’t like the idea of these coded switches, fearing that mechanical devices installed to improve weapon safety would diminish weapon reliability. A top-secret State Department memo summarized the view of the Joint Chiefs of Staff in 1961: “all is well with the atomic stockpile program and there is no need for any changes.”

After a crash program to develop the new control technology, during the mid-nineteen-sixties, permissive action links were finally placed inside most of the nuclear weapons deployed by NATO forces. But Kennedy’s directive applied only to the NATO arsenal. For years, the Air Force and the Navy blocked attempts to add coded switches to the weapons solely in their custody. During a national emergency, they argued, the consequences of not receiving the proper code from the White House might be disastrous. And locked weapons might play into the hands of Communist saboteurs. “The very existence of the lock capability,” a top Air Force general claimed, “would create a fail-disable potential for knowledgeable agents to ‘dud’ the entire Minuteman [missile] force.” The Joint Chiefs thought that strict military discipline was the best safeguard against an unauthorized nuclear strike. A two-man rule was instituted to make it more difficult for someone to use a nuclear weapon without permission. And a new screening program, the Human Reliability Program, was created to stop people with emotional, psychological, and substance-abuse problems from gaining access to nuclear weapons.

Despite public assurances that everything was fully under control, in the winter of 1964, while “Dr. Strangelove” was playing in theatres and being condemned as Soviet propaganda, there was nothing to prevent an American bomber crew or missile launch crew from using their weapons against the Soviets. Kubrick had researched the subject for years, consulted experts, and worked closely with a former R.A.F. pilot, Peter George, on the screenplay of the film. George’s novel about the risk of accidental nuclear war, “Red Alert,” was the source for most of “Strangelove” ’s plot. Unbeknownst to both Kubrick and George, a top official at the Department of Defense had already sent a copy of “Red Alert” to every member of the Pentagon’s Scientific Advisory Committee for Ballistic Missiles. At the Pentagon, the book was taken seriously as a cautionary tale about what might go wrong. Even Secretary of Defense Robert S. McNamara privately worried that an accident, a mistake, or a rogue American officer could start a nuclear war.

Coded switches to prevent the unauthorized use of nuclear weapons were finally added to the control systems of American missiles and bombers in the early nineteen-seventies. The Air Force was not pleased, and considered the new security measures to be an insult, a lack of confidence in its personnel. Although the Air Force now denies this claim, according to more than one source I contacted, the code necessary to launch a missile was set to be the same at every Minuteman site: 00000000.

* * *
The early permissive action links were rudimentary. Placed in NATO weapons during the nineteen-sixties and known as Category A PALs, the switches relied on a split four-digit code, with ten thousand possible combinations. If the United States went to war, two people would be necessary to unlock a nuclear weapon, each of them provided with half the code. Category A PALs were useful mainly to delay unauthorized use, to buy time after a weapon had been taken or to thwart an individual psychotic hoping to cause a large explosion. A skilled technician could open a stolen weapon and unlock it within a few hours. Today’s Category D PALs, installed in the Air Force’s hydrogen bombs, are more sophisticated. They require a six-digit code, with a million possible combinations, and have a limited-try feature that disables a weapon when the wrong code is repeatedly entered.

The Air Force’s land-based Minuteman III missiles and the Navy’s submarine-based Trident II missiles now require an eight-digit code—which is no longer 00000000—in order to be launched. The Minuteman crews receive the code via underground cables or an aboveground radio antenna. Sending the launch code to submarines deep underwater presents a greater challenge. Trident submarines contain two safes. One holds the keys necessary to launch a missile; the other holds the combination to the safe with the keys; and the combination to the safe holding the combination must be transmitted to the sub by very-low-frequency or extremely-low-frequency radio. In a pinch, if Washington, D.C., has been destroyed and the launch code doesn’t arrive, the sub’s crew can open the safes with a blowtorch.

The security measures now used to control America’s nuclear weapons are a vast improvement over those of 1964. But, like all human endeavors, they are inherently flawed. The Department of Defense’s Personnel Reliability Program is supposed to keep people with serious emotional or psychological issues away from nuclear weapons—and yet two of the nation’s top nuclear commanders were recently removed from their posts. Neither appears to be the sort of calm, stable person you want with a finger on the button. In fact, their misbehavior seems straight out of “Strangelove.”

Vice Admiral Tim Giardina, the second-highest-ranking officer at the U.S. Strategic Command—the organization responsible for all of America’s nuclear forces—-was investigated last summer for allegedly using counterfeit gambling chips at the Horseshoe Casino in Council Bluffs, Iowa. According to the Iowa Division of Criminal Investigation, “a significant monetary amount” of counterfeit chips was involved. Giardina was relieved of his command on October 3, 2013. A few days later, Major General Michael Carey, the Air Force commander in charge of America’s intercontinental ballistic missiles, was fired for conduct “unbecoming an officer and a gentleman.” According to a report by the Inspector General of the Air Force, Carey had consumed too much alcohol during an official trip to Russia, behaved rudely toward Russian officers, spent time with “suspect” young foreign women in Moscow, loudly discussed sensitive information in a public hotel lounge there, and drunkenly pleaded to get onstage and sing with a Beatles cover band at La Cantina, a Mexican restaurant near Red Square. Despite his requests, the band wouldn’t let Carey onstage to sing or to play the guitar.

While drinking beer in the executive lounge at Moscow’s Marriott Aurora during that visit, General Carey made an admission with serious public-policy implications. He off-handedly told a delegation of U.S. national-security officials that his missile-launch officers have the “worst morale in the Air Force.” Recent events suggest that may be true. In the spring of 2013, nineteen launch officers at Minot Air Force base in North Dakota were decertified for violating safety rules and poor discipline. In August, 2013, the entire missile wing at Malmstrom Air Force base in Montana failed its safety inspection. Last week, the Air Force revealed that thirty-four launch officers at Malmstrom had been decertified for cheating on proficiency exams—and that at least three launch officers are being investigated for illegal drug use. The findings of a report by the RAND Corporation, leaked to the A.P., were equally disturbing. The study found that the rates of spousal abuse and court martials among Air Force personnel with nuclear responsibilities are much higher than those among people with other jobs in the Air Force. “We don’t care if things go properly,” a launch officer told RAND. “We just don’t want to get in trouble.”

The most unlikely and absurd plot element in “Strangelove” is the existence of a Soviet “Doomsday Machine.” The device would trigger itself, automatically, if the Soviet Union were attacked with nuclear weapons. It was meant to be the ultimate deterrent, a threat to destroy the world in order to prevent an American nuclear strike. But the failure of the Soviets to tell the United States about the contraption defeats its purpose and, at the end of the film, inadvertently causes a nuclear Armageddon. “The whole point of the Doomsday Machine is lost,” Dr. Strangelove, the President’s science adviser, explains to the Soviet Ambassador, “if you keep it a secret!”

A decade after the release of “Strangelove,” the Soviet Union began work on the Perimeter system—-a network of sensors and computers that could allow junior military officials to launch missiles without oversight from the Soviet leadership. Perhaps nobody at the Kremlin had seen the film. Completed in 1985, the system was known as the Dead Hand. Once it was activated, Perimeter would order the launch of long-range missiles at the United States if it detected nuclear detonations on Soviet soil and Soviet leaders couldn’t be reached. Like the Doomsday Machine in “Strangelove,” Perimeter was kept secret from the United States; its existence was not revealed until years after the Cold War ended.

In retrospect, Kubrick’s black comedy provided a far more accurate description of the dangers inherent in nuclear command-and-control systems than the ones that the American people got from the White House, the Pentagon, and the mainstream media.

“This is absolute madness, Ambassador,” President Merkin Muffley says in the film, after being told about the Soviets’ automated retaliatory system. “Why should you build such a thing?” Fifty years later, that question remains unanswered, and “Strangelove” seems all the more brilliant, bleak, and terrifyingly on the mark.



___________________________________


AND THIS IS REALLY COOL:
Top secret documents released by the Pentagon:
http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/newsdesk/2014/01/primary-sources-permissive-action-links-and-the-threat-of-nuclear-war.html