Honestly, it isn't in English.

Already revelling in the reputation of successfully and distinctively adapting books considered clearly 'unfilmable,' Kubrick hit stylistic and artistic peak with this film, one of the most shocking productions of all time.

And like the Anthony Burgess novel, the film sticks to the new teen slang-uage of Nadsat, an initially bewildering but eventually intoxicating blend of Slavic, Cockney and English -- with perhaps a hint of baby talk.

Malcolm McDowell splendidly plays the demented Alex, ever-eager to lead his peers ('droogs') into a spot of the old ultra-violence. Like its protagonist, the film defied all boundaries in its constant, electrifying urge to reach an incendiary, Beethoven-inspired climax.

Anarchy was never this off-the-wall, and Kubrick's spectacularly vivid colour palette seems to be dipped in scandal, as if the master was painting with blood and milk rather than mere colour.

A jazzily written diatribe against behavorial psychology, Burgess' novel is followed almost to the very end by Kubrick, often using dialogue verbatim.

Along with Kubrick's twisted yet meticulous art-direction, the effect is overwhelming. Alex, the alarmingly charismatic protagonist wears cufflinks patterned with bloody eyeballs, ravages young girls to the accompaniment of his 'old friend' Ludvig Van, and brutally redefines Singing In The Rain.

And yet, in the end, we side with him as youngster, as misled baddie, as a victim of the system. And we ache not for him because he is beaten and tortured, but because they snatch away his favourite music. Incredible.

In this wonderfully choreographed scene -- set to Rossinni's The Thieving Magpie -- Alex turns to his white-clad cohorts and reestablishes his authority.

Click here for the video, and appy polly logies for the violence.

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