Kubrick’s Apocalypse: Laughing Through the End of the World

TRANSCRIPT

What if the end of the world didn’t come with a bang, but a laugh? It’s 1963. Stanley Kubrick is filming one of the most iconic scenes in cinema history: Major Kong riding a nuclear bomb to humanity’s doom. In those years, the Doomsday Clock stood as a haunting symbol, counting down to humanity’s end. So why did Kubrick want to make us laugh at the end of the world?

Part 1: Abursidty of MAD

The decade of the 60s was defined by Cold War tensions and the constant shadow of nuclear annihilation. In this climate, military strategists developed the doctrine of Mutually Assured Destruction, or MAD. It was built on the idea that the only way to prevent nuclear war was to guarantee total devastation for both sides.

This precarious reality sets the stage for Dr. Strangelove. Based on the novel Red Alert by Peter George, writing under the pen name Peter Bryant, the film began as a serious exploration of nuclear strategy. But as Kubrick delved deeper, he uncovered its absurdities and reimagined the story as a dark comedy, exposing the surreal logic of global nuclear policy.

This shift in tone initially worried Columbia Pictures, the studio financing the film. Executives feared a nuclear war comedy might seem distasteful and fail to connect with audience. Kubrick assured them that Dr. Strangelove would respect the gravity of nuclear deterrence. He promised to use comedy to reveal deeper truths, and the studio agreed. They likely didn’t realize just how provocative Dr. Strangelove would become.

Kubrick’s push for autonomy stemmed from lessons on Spartacus, where star-producer Kirk Douglas overruled his creative decisions. Determined to avoid such limits, he secured the rights to Dr. Strangelove himself and used his growing prestige to secure final cut.

The Cuban Missile Crisis of October 1962 brought the world to the brink of nuclear war, casting a long shadow over the production of Dr. Strangelove. Kubrick was acutely aware of the fragile global situation. He chose to call his next production a "nightmare comedy."

Part 2: The Theater of Power

The story begins with General Jack D. Ripper, a rogue U.S. Air Force officer whose name nods to the infamous serial killer. Ripper bypasses presidential authority and orders a nuclear strike on the Soviet Union. He dispatches B-52 bombers armed with hydrogen bombs and locks the recall codes in his possession. As Ripper’s base descends into chaos, British officer Lionel Mandrake scrambles to retrieve the recall code before the bombers reach their targets.

Meanwhile, in the War Room, President Merkin Muffley gathers his own circus of characters: General Buck Turgidson, a hawkish warmonger; Dr. Strangelove, a bizarre ex-Nazi scientist; and the Soviet ambassador, Alexei de Sadeski. Tensions rise as the Soviets reveal their Doomsday Device, a failsafe system that ensures total annihilation if attacked.

Mandrake manages to extract the recall code and transmit it to the War Room, allowing most of the bombers to be recalled. However, one bomber remains. Cut off from communication, its commander, Major T.J. “King” Kong, presses on with unshakable determination. When the mission is completed, the Doomsday Device activates, triggering a montage of nuclear explosions.

The film concludes with Dr. Strangelove’s chilling vision of humanity’s survival in underground bunkers, where eugenics would shape a "superior" population, ensuring government and military elites maintain dominance in the new society.

The War Room lies at the center of these absurd events, both as a setting and a stage of the film’s satire. Designed by Ken Adam, it is one of the most iconic sets in film history. Inspired by Cold War bunkers, Adam reimagined it as a theatrical stage for nuclear brinkmanship. The cavernous space evokes both authority and absurdity, showcasing Adam's dramatic style.

In this setting, the characters take on darkly comic roles. Muffley is the ineffective leader, Turgidson the blustering warmonger, and Strangelove the mad scientist, all mocking Cold War paranoia.

Part 3: THE REVEALATION

Kubrick hits us with a chilling revelation: what if the systems meant to save us are the ones that doom us?

Dr. Strangelove himself, with his thick accent and involuntary salutes, is not merely a caricature. He is a thinly veiled nod to Operation Paperclip, the the post-WWII program that brought Nazi scientists to America.

As detailed in Annie Jacobsen’s Operation Paperclip, these were the architects of Hitler’s war machine. After the war, the U.S. government swiftly recruited these scientists to develop rockets, bombs, and advanced technology for the inevitable Cold War. Jacobsen’s book dives deep into this unsettling history, revealing just how much of it remains hidden in plain sight.

Over the years, speculation about who inspired the character has sparked debate, but Kubrick never confirmed. Maybe that’s the point. Strangelove feels bigger than one person—like he’s a grotesque symbol of unchecked ambition and the absurdity of power.

Dr. Strangelove’s rise from his wheelchair is a chilling symbol of buried evils clawing back to life. It reminds us that the systems we trust to protect us can become vessels for the destruction they were meant to prevent.

Peter Sellers was the comedic backbone of Dr. Strangelove—and its biggest expense. Columbia Pictures agreed to fund the film only if Sellers played multiple roles. To justify his steep salary, he was set to play four characters: Mandrake, Muffley, Strangelove, and Major Kong. But Sellers, for all his versatility, couldn’t quite master a Texas accent. After injuring his ankle, he dropped out of the Kong role, leaving it to Slim Pickens, a natural cowboy.

Pickens was perfect for the part, but here’s the kicker: Slim didn’t even know he was in a satire. Kubrick directed him as though it were a serious war film, a classic Kubrick tactic.

On set, Kubrick famously played chess with George C. Scott as ways of settling artistic differences. Scott wanted to play General Buck Turgidson as a serious, commanding figure, while Kubrick envisioned a broader, more absurd performance. He coaxed Scott into over-the-top takes by claiming they were “just for fun” or “practice.” Then, he used those exaggerated moments in the final cut. Scott was furious and swore he’d never do another Kubrick picture.

CONCLUSION

As Kubrick’s nuclear nightmare neared completion, real-world tragedy struck. The assassination of President John F. Kennedy on November 22, 1963, cast a heavy shadow over the film’s release.

Kubrick was forced to cut a line from the script—Major Kong’s quip, "A fella could have a pretty good weekend in Dallas with all that stuff"—to avoid controversy. Columbia Pictures delayed the release until 1964, giving the nation time to process its grief.

When Dr. Strangelove finally hit theaters, its biting critique of power, paranoia, and destruction felt even more urgent in a post-Kennedy world.

Kubrick's apocalypse isn’t just an ending—it’s a stark reminder of who we are and how far we’ve let absurdity guide us. By making us laugh at the end of the world, Kubrick strips away our illusions and leaves us with a haunting question.

What truths are we still hiding behind our systems of power? Are we any closer to breaking free of this cycle of absurdity, or are we still riding the bomb, waving our hats, defiant to the very end?