Generally, we associate historical or period films with grandeur or
what iscommonly referred to as 'epic'. "Lawrence of Arabia",
"War and Peace", and "The Leopard" are prime examples.
Stanley Kubrick's "Barry Lyndon" is an odd member of this
genre; for all its impressive visuals and production values, most
striking is its fragility. The grandeur is elusive, fragrant than
flagrant. It's like a brittle eggshell or more like the delicate
layer of skin underneath the shell. Kubrick presents not a
spectator sport or museum guide to history but something
altogether subtler. We feel less like observers of a grand
spectacle than voyeurs into a secret world.
We feel as if in a trance, like Alice in Wonderland(or Jack
We feel as if in a trance, like Alice in Wonderland(or Jack
Nicholson's immersion into parallel reality in The Shining).
In most historic epics, we vicariously experience the magnificent
thrill of history writ large and loud. With "Barry Lyndon", we feel
disembodied, as if in an out-of-body experience--like David
In most historic epics, we vicariously experience the magnificent
thrill of history writ large and loud. With "Barry Lyndon", we feel
disembodied, as if in an out-of-body experience--like David
Bowman in the final segment of "2001: A Space Odyssey". It's
as though our souls have been mysteriously transported to a
bygone era to be privy to privileged lives and private emotions.
It is something only cinema can achieve but has rarely done so.
It is something only cinema can achieve but has rarely done so.
Even "Wings of Desire", where this kind of experience was the
central conceit failed to pull it off. In this sense, "Barry Lyndon"
is a singular achievement. Beyond the physical, political, and
even psychological, it is metaphysical (his)storytelling. "Time
Regained" is one of the few comparable achievements.
The choice of music brilliantly accentuates this point. It is
The choice of music brilliantly accentuates this point. It is
enchanting and hypnotic. It is seductively lulling yet also
prickly precise. It's like an opiate which melts one kind of
reality while crystallizing another. It also conveys the nature
of the aristocratic world--its resolve and power with its
rules and manners but also its vulnerability as if the grand
palaces and mansions may crumble like a house of cards if
palaces and mansions may crumble like a house of cards if
the rules are breached. It is a world of supple form that
guards itself with suppressed ferocity.
Like the playing of Schubert's Piano Trio, one must tread
Like the playing of Schubert's Piano Trio, one must tread
carefully and lightly in this world. It's a world where feelings
and meanings are communicated through ripples. One must
walk or tip toe on water, not make a splash and get all wet with
emotions or bad form. It is a world of great beauty and
refinement, of humanity at its best, one may presume.
Yet, like the world
explored and exposed in Peter Greenaway's "Draughtman's
Contract", its power and privilege are as determined by
wealth, connections, cunning, and ruthlessness. Barry is
eventually exiled from this world not because he does something
evil but because he commits an act of impropriety. As with
the Tom Cruise character in "Eyes Wide Shut", the upper
echelons are ultimately reserved for those
who can pass the test, and the cheat sheet is availed to but a
few on the outside.
In my first viewing of "Barry Lyndon", I was under the impression
that Lady Lyndon was taken in by Barry's deceptions and
In my first viewing of "Barry Lyndon", I was under the impression
that Lady Lyndon was taken in by Barry's deceptions and
pretensions, but it's more likely that she saw through him all
along and indeed loved him because of his roguish qualities.
In a world where everything is mirror reflection of a reflection
of a reflection, where every word and gesture repeats agreed
upon notions of honor and prestige, it must have been refreshing
to be around an ambitious faker like Barry. An impostor, yes,
but a man with vigor and directness so lacking among the others.
He was a real phony, as was said of Holly Golightly in "Breakfast
at Tiffany's".
It's generally agreed that Barry is a rotten character, a rogue
and scoundrel, but I don't quite feel that way. For one thing, is
he any worse than the others? His extraordinary adventure
begins because he risked his life for love and honor and was
It's generally agreed that Barry is a rotten character, a rogue
and scoundrel, but I don't quite feel that way. For one thing, is
he any worse than the others? His extraordinary adventure
begins because he risked his life for love and honor and was
tricked by those he trusted most. He is then robbed on the
road. A quick learner, he figures out that the world is populated
by mindless louts at the bottom and conspiratorial wolves at
the top. Even if his chosen path isn't morally laudable, his
crime--if that it be--is that he decided to play the game played
by everyone else in the running for power and prestige.
He fools people whose very lives are steeped in deception,
to others and to themselves. In time, Barry too falls into the trap
of self-deception.
If Barry is a rogue, he's a lovable rogue, rather like the
If Barry is a rogue, he's a lovable rogue, rather like the
character in the Bollywood film "Gurubhai."
business the only way he knows how in a country
overrun by red tape and venal crony bureaucrats.
If Guru is a rogue, he's a rogue among rogues, a shark
among sharks.
One of the most startling things in "Barry Lyndon" is the
voice-over narration, a device crucial in several Kubrick
films--The Killing, Lolita, A Clockwork Orange, Full Metal
One of the most startling things in "Barry Lyndon" is the
voice-over narration, a device crucial in several Kubrick
films--The Killing, Lolita, A Clockwork Orange, Full Metal
Jacket, and even 2001 and The Shining if we consider
the powerful use of the vocal element(HAL computer,
official announcement of the Jupiter mission upon Bowman's
unplugging of HAL, the eerie vocal command of the bartender
and the waiter). In many of these cases--as in "Barry Lyndon"--the
vocal presence or voice narration is, at once, authoritative and
subservient, omnipotent and clueless, straight and secretive.
HAL is both master and servant to man. The bartender
and waiter in "The Shining" serve Jack but control his
mind and soul. The voice-over narration in "The Killing"
is either sardonically in on the joke or a straightfaced
subservient, omnipotent and clueless, straight and secretive.
HAL is both master and servant to man. The bartender
and waiter in "The Shining" serve Jack but control his
mind and soul. The voice-over narration in "The Killing"
is either sardonically in on the joke or a straightfaced
butt of the joke.
One feels similarly about the voice-over narration in
One feels similarly about the voice-over narration in
"Barry Lyndon". It speaks with magisterial authority
but also with measured reverence; in somber
detachment but with a hint of wry besument.
It would be too easy to brand it as 'ironic'
It would be too easy to brand it as 'ironic'
as it is, in and of itself, part of the aesthetic
texture of the film. It doesn't simply convey
meaning but a kind of music. Indeed, few
meaning but a kind of music. Indeed, few
directors gave us as many unforgettable
vocal as focal moments in cinema.
Kubrick has been called cold and unemotional,
detached and reptilian, but this may
actually be misleading. Kubrick's emotional
colors may simply not register within
the spectrum we are familiar with.
What dogs can hear is mere silence to us.
What we recognize as music is mere
noise to dogs. In this respect, "Barry Lyndon"
and other films by Kubrick may be emotional
along tangents we generally don't recognize
through our basic emotional equations.
In his own way, Kubrick may have accessed
human emotions in a manner comparable to
that of Carl Dreyer, Robert Bresson, Michelangelo
Antonioni, or Yasujiro Ozu.
In "Barry Lyndon", we are led into the
hearts of its charactersthrough angles and
perspectives missed or ignored by other artists.
It's not melodramatic but metadramatic.
