Another Glance at Stanley Kubrick's "Barry Lyndon"

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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

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

character in the Bollywood film "Gurubhai."

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3ketI2pSHg
Gurubhai may be corrupt and unscrupulous, but he does

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

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

butt of the joke.
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'

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

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.