My awesome British professor has thoroughly convinced me to ride a bicycle everywhere. And maybe even stop eating meat. Of course, that'll only happen once I can afford such a lifestyle. His soap-boxing came out of a lecture about Burgess's A Clockwork Orange (adapted for the screen by Stanley Kubrick, that genius) and Ballard's Crash.  Long story short, sci-fi dystopia or not, people don't care enough about each other.  Forever and ever amen.

P.S. I now want to master the use of nadsat.

From the onset, Alex’s (humble) narration is both inclusive and exclusive due to his liberal use of nadsat. It isn’t until later in the first chapter of the first part that he begins to define some of the terms. Nevertheless, he consistently refers to his audience as his little brothers. The nadsat itself is hardly distracting. Initially, the words seem to be convenient euphemisms for the audience (for instance “rape” becomes “ultra-violence”). However, even the most mundane and seemingly harmless words have nadsat counterparts because of their negative associations (such as “milk” becoming “moloko” because it’s commonly mixed with drugs, or “teeth” becoming “zoobies” because it’s common to knock them out).
Possibly the most intensely intimate narration in nadsat are the scenes in which Alex is going through the Ludovico treatment in the second part of the book. By this time, most if not all the nadsat words are familiar to the audience, making the rapes, beatings and killings uniquely vivid. Yet Alex is far from being on his oddy knocky when forced to viddy exterminations by the Nazis: his narration shifts to second-person, thus Alex himself forces his audience of brothers to watch alongside him. It’s the audience who viddies the attacks and slooshies the screams. Furthermore, “good” becomes “horrorshow” in nadsat. While it’s almost comical that “horrorshow” describes both positive and negative things (like a cup of chai or a well-delivered tolchock), it’s fitting, ironic, and ultimately pitiable that Alex assumes the "treatment" videos will be horrorshow and that one of the men calls them a “real show of horrors."
Alex’s drug-induced violent reaction to violence--nausea, repulsion, debilitating pains--is deemed the normal response for normal people. Most notable, however, is his subsequent thirst when watching the show of horrors. As much as the pain and urge to vomit, Alex describes his thirst as increasingly excruciating. This is perhaps related to the fact that, like alcohol, milk is a drink of ill-intentioned pleasure. Usually considered something that comforts and nourishes, milk in the novel is drunk with hallucinogenics and in anticipation or celebration of criminal activity. Still, Alex seems to prefer his tea milky, regardless of his situation. And though he disapproves of (Frank) Alexander’s opinion that humans exist “to quench [God’s] thirsty love,” Alex is undeniably thirsty for something, if not “love” then another (human) essential. Despite its brevity, the evolved and distorted significance of milk is surreally depicted in the film, as it is drawn straight from a mannequin’s breast.
Though he lacks morality before his imprisonment and treatment, Alex is especially deficient once he is “cured.” That is, rather than lacking a moral compass, he then lacks the ability to make moral choices altogether--the irony being that the doctors themselves are not concerned with the ethics of the treatment. What’s more, once he is transformed into a law-fearing and good Christian lad, he becomes the poster boy for both the State’s war against crime and F Alexander’s political group’s war against the State. Violent inclinations notwithstanding, Alex was human before being cured, but reduced to a machine or device (or clockwork orange) after.
Most of Alex’s narration is lost in the film, voiced over only occasionally to express what can’t be made visual. The audiovisual experience of the film, however, is equally intense and even disorienting. Despite being on a screen instead of a stage, the film is like a Brechtian comedy of menace. The (re)presented dystopian future is at once stark and over-stimulating, due to the lighting or lack of, the silences, symphonies, and nadsat, and, above all, the detached and/or absurd acting. The alienating and disconcerting theatricality of the film enables (and forces) the audience to see not only the wide range of violent acts but also the wide range of power struggles underlying the violence.