The Stanley Kubrick files

Scripts, letters, designs, props, photographs – as many as 900 boxes of material belonging to one of the greats of cinema have been made available to a wider audience. Stanley Kubrick's widow, Christiane, has donated the auteur's paperwork to the University of the Arts, and the collection, carefully sifted for this Kubrick retrospective by Chris Hastings, gives us a fascinating insight into the public and private worlds of an inspirational film-maker

An interview with Stanley Kubrick's widow, Christiane, by Chris Hastings

Christiane Kubrick is uncharacteristically hesitant as she recalls the most terrifying period of her life. It was 1973, and intense controversy inspired by the release of A Clockwork Orange, her husband, Stanley Kubrick's, most uncompromising film to date, had taken a sinister turn.

Campaigners opposed to what they saw as unacceptable depictions of violence and rape in the film had begun to send well-researched death threats to the director's London home. Although the Kubricks had grown used to Stanley's films attracting what he referred to as the crank element, nothing had prepared them for this.

"When we normally got funny or strange mail I was the one that said, 'Ah, it doesn't matter.' I was always the calming effect," says Christiane. "But I couldn't pull it off this time. I was terrified. The threats were so detailed, and I was worried for the children.

"We phoned the police and they advised us to leave the country. But we didn't want to do that, and as a family we were imploding with worry. So Stanley rang Warner Brothers and said, 'Look, I don't know what to do. Can I withdraw the film?' And they were wonderful and said yes. Of course, that worked straight away. The threats stopped. Then again, I guess that was the point."

Until she recalls this particular anecdote, Christiane, now 76, has been her usual effervescent self. Even nine years after his death she is happy to carry on waving the flag for the man she was married to for more than 40 years. She knows the iconic nature of his work means she will be doing so for the rest of her life. But the uncharacteristic and short-lived moment of sadness is broken when she recalls what appeared to be a particularly threatening arrival at the house.

She laughs: "I remember while all of this was going on, we got a parcel, which contained a ticking plastic orange. Of course, we thought the worst. But it was actually from a fan." One reason why Christiane is reluctant to talk about the threats is that she is only too aware that this time in their lives together is often used to reinforce what, in her eyes, is one of the cruellest and most enduring myths about her husband: the idea that he was a paranoid recluse who shunned publicity and did everything possible to cut himself off from the world.

"He was absolutely no recluse," says Christiane, with a steely conviction in her voice. "He was quite the opposite. The press liked to paint him as this weird witch-doctor figure sitting in his lair. They liked to see him as this weird horrible monster sitting in a spooky house in the country with the rain coming down. But it was nonsense.

"The only thing Stanley did to earn this description was refuse to give interviews to television or radio. But there was a very good reason why he didn't do them. He simply felt it wasn't one of his talents to appear in front of the camera or in front of the microphone. He thought he was always doing it badly and that was true.

"If you watch the long speech he gave when he got the [DW] Griffith Award you can see him freeze. The minute the microphone is off, he was back to normal. He was the first to laugh about it. But he also knew not to expose himself. He considered it a weakness and thought, 'Why do it?' "In any case, he always believed the films should speak for themselves."

She added: "Stanley had no idea that in the end this would be something the press would chase him with. When he was alive we thought it was funny. Because he was the absolute opposite. It didn't bother us then... but it bothers us now."

Christiane, then an actress, met Kubrick on the set of Paths of Glory, his first major critical and commercial success, in 1957. They married a year later. From the very beginning she knew her husband was a unique individual: "I could see he was attacking things very differently from other people and with much more intensity. I was aware that he simply had more energy than most people."

Christiane had to adapt quickly to learn to live with a man for whom four hours' sleep was enough. Kubrick loved to work and he had no time for holidays – or even Sundays. If he was making a film he didn't want the work to stop. He would organise dinners with key people from the film so the work could continue.

"I remember there were always people around when he was making a film. Stanley would always ensure people were having a good time. I remember in the other house there was a billiard room, and he and Peter Sellers were always playing ping pong together. They were like two schoolboys dreaming up ideas."