As I was ruminating on Valentine's Day, thinking that if I had bought stock in Ja Rule I could afford a dozen roses, I began thinking about how pop culture views relationships. I'm constantly snowed under by Kay Jewelers or Jared's advertisements, imploring me to buy a diamond tennis bracelet for that special someone in my life. Why? Why do I need to give anyone a diamond tennis bracelet? Of course, there are myriad answers to this question, most of them propagated by Alicia Keys, but I don't think any of them get close to the real reason I'm supposed to buy jewelry for Valentine's Day.

You may accuse me of being cynical (and it may be the truth), but I think the real reason for jewelry is to tie the other person to you. It is, in effect, to say, ``I spent thirty nine dollars a month for twelve months, so you'd better at least stay with me until it's paid off.'' Naturally, this always results in angst and depression, for people are selfish and diamond tennis bracelets aren't that practical anyway. This brings me to the purpose of this essay, which is to illuminate how relationships should work by looking at Stanley Kubrick's film, ``Eyes Wide Shut.''

Sadly, the Philistines failed to grasp the point of Kubrick's final film, a fact that makes me want to pick up a donkey's jawbone and get Nazarene on their Heinrich Heines. That aside, the essential thematic issue in ``Eyes Wide Shut'' is precisely the slippery slope of romantic relationships. The film gives us a surprising glimpse inside the relationship of a seemingly happy couple, Bill and Alice Harford, yet it does not show us the phenomenal aspects of their relationship. Instead, it shows us the psychological aspects of a relationship that exists at the nexus of fidelity and desire.

The first insight into Bill and Alice's marriage comes at the very beginning of the film, perhaps even before we are prepared for it. We see them hurriedly getting dressed for a party; Bill checks himself in the bathroom mirror while Alice uses the toilet. This scene may seem innocent enough at first: Here are two people who are so comfortable around each other that there are no barriers or embarrassments. Certainly their relationship is more mature than any relationship that I might have, for example; I could never handle the seeming impropriety of such a situation. I don't pretend to speak for anyone else, but really, bathrooms have doors for a reason.

Upon closer inspection, however, this innocent scene foreshadows all of the trouble that follows, and if you'll suffer me to wax Tolstoyian for a moment I'll explain why. This scene is a perfect example of the loss of the mysterious. Let's face it: women are mysterious, if not downright enigmatic. And like a Gordian knot, the more you try to unravel it, the kinkier it gets. But there is so much to be cherished in that mystery, since it is mystery that makes each day new and each night memorable. But here is a beautiful woman in one of her most private moments, and it is meaningless to Bill. How much mystery can be left if you check your hair while your wife uses the toilet? Or if there is mystery, how are you ever going to be able to appreciate it? Unfortunately for Bill and Alice, the only mystery left is the backwash from ten years of marriage, and it proves to be a bitter draft.

Bill thinks that he knows everything about Alice, even to the point of sharing in her most private moments. But when Alice tells the story of how she would have thrown away everything for one night with another man, it becomes painfully obvious that Bill, in fact, knows nothing. Bill's problem is that he thought commitment was synonymous with comfort. He thought that as long as he and Alice were comfortable around each other, they would always remain committed to each other. But comfort dislikes instability; it dislikes mystery. And so in order to always remain comfortable, one has to prevent any change in the other person, or at least refuse to acknowledge any change. Because of this, Alice finds herself, like J. Alfred Prufrock, fixed in a formulated phrase, pinned and wriggling on the wall. Essentially, the story of her desire for infidelity is an attempt to spit out all the butt-ends of her days and ways. It is to say, ``I am more complex than you care to assume. My thoughts and desires are not molded by your expectations.'' And, in a moment, Bill's comfort is shattered and his fantasies become nightmares.

This brings us to the main plot of the film, which is Bill's sexual odyssey, or perhaps more accurately, Bill's adventures in Wonderland. Haunted by visions of his wife making love to another man, Bill wanders the streets of Manhattan with sexual temptation lurking around every corner. Actually, the temptation is not so much sex itself, but the mystery of sex. After hearing of Alice's temptation with the mystery of a one-night stand with a complete stranger, Bill's own desire for mystery is awakened. Every woman he meets holds the promise of a new experience, and he is unable to resist. He negotiates with a prostitute (ineptly, of course), but is saved from having sex with her by a fortuitous phone call from his wife, wondering when he'll be home. He then hears of an orgy taking place later that evening and decides to extend himself an invitation.

The orgy represents distilled mystery. It is a smorgasbord of flesh, and like Outback Steakhouse, there are no rules, just right. Every woman present is stunningly beautiful, and they are all completely willing. Not only is one expected to have sex with as many women as possible, but also it would be rude to leave anyone out. Again, however, Bill is saved from infidelity, only this time it is because of his stupidity. At a party full of chauffeured limousines he foolishly leaves his taxi waiting outside, which of course arouses suspicion as to his legitimacy as a guest. The other guests, fearful that their disreputable activities might be discovered, decide to scare Bill into silence. They stage a quasi-inquisition and threaten to harm Bill's family if he makes any inquiries. Not knowing that the entire ordeal is staged, Bill of course promises his silence and is quickly escorted from the grounds.

He doesn't keep his promise because he thinks a woman was murdered at the party on his account. But when he tries to retrace his steps to get information he can't. He is on the other side of the looking glass and everything is the opposite of what it was the night before. All of the women that wanted him previously are nowhere to be found, and the people he thought were his friends now seem to be plotting against him. And to top it all off, when he goes home he finds the mask that he wore at the party laying on his pillow next to his sleeping wife. It is a warning that They know he hasn't kept his promise and that They can get to his family.

Of course Bill is mortified. He is faced with the unenviable decision of whether to let Them ruin his marriage, or whether to ruin it himself and tell Alice what happened. But really it's all the same because the mask represents more than just the threat of violence. The mask resting on the pillow next to Alice symbolizes the mask that Bill has worn in his marriage. The mask is a threat against his marriage, but not the threat of violence. It represents the danger of continuing to live a secret life. It is the danger of dishonesty. For even if Bill successfully handles this situation, there will always be a barrier between he and Alice. He will always have to guard his speech, lest he accidentally give himself away. And, as a result, he will never be able to develop a deeper relationship with her. It's like a wound that you never allow anyone to touch. Certainly it's more comfortable, but it will never be able to heal properly. The threat is not violence, but the slow erosion and deterioration of his marriage over time until it is completely hollow and worthless.

Bill chooses to tell Alice everything. And although we do not hear his actual confession, the awful nature of the conversation is made clear. After Bill, sobbing like a child, tells Alice that he wants to ``tell her everything,'' the film immediately cuts to a shot of Alice with no make-up and heavy bags under her eyes. She is sitting across from Bill in the living room, wearing a robe and smoking a cigarette as the sun comes in through the window. This was not any ordinary conversation; it was one of those awful four-hour conversations that spans more than one room and more than one cigarette, a conversation that has more silence than speech. It was a ``We Need to Talk'' conversation.

What you have to understand is that most people don't try to save their marriage by confessing their desire to be unfaithful to their spouse. It's a bit like sawing your own branch. And what you also have to understand is that, in deciding to confess everything, Bill had to come to the realization that his marriage was probably over. His decision to confess was completely illogical, yet it was the only way that the marriage could be saved. It is what T. S. Eliot writes in ``East Coker:'' ``In order to possess what you do not possess/ You must go by the way of dispossession... And what you own is what you do not own.'' Only by giving up his marriage can Bill have any hope of reclaiming it.

At the end of the film, when things seem to be looking better, Bill tells Alice that they should promise to love each other forever and ever. And since the film's ending seems pretty happy, we expect Alice to agree. But she doesn't. She tells Bill that they shouldn't make promises because forever is a long time, but that there is something they should do as soon as they get home: ``f***.''

This is how relationships should be. There are no promises that can be made because people are selfish, and if they want to leave then they will. Promises are a form of possession; they reek of ownership. But a true relationship must allow each person to always retain their freedom. People must be given the freedom to be themselves and to do what they want, for there is no such thing as a truly binding commitment. Only when this freedom exists will the decision to come home at night have any meaning.

``Eyes Wide Shut'' is a brilliant film because it deals with a serious and nuanced subject without resorting to clichés for its affirmative ending. Furthermore, it is a brilliant film for its realization that commitment is made up by all the small thoughts, decisions, and actions that are forged together by the relentless and mysterious pursuit of intimacy, not by diamond tennis bracelets.