BARRY LYNDON (1975)

Known for his painterly compositions, meticulous attention to detail, cruel sense of humour, regular use of irony, and explorations of the human condition that focus on the trajectories, whims, and purposes of our lives, Stanley Kubrick has rightfully earned his place as one of cinema’s most celebrated filmmakers. But while these qualities of his direction are certainly appreciable and entertaining to behold, I’ve always been most drawn to Kubrick’s films for their richness.

Of course, part of this stems from the sense of grandeur to his shots—I could watch an hour-long compilation of some of his finest work in this regard and remain in awe throughout—but at his best, the American director’s films contain scenes that pique viewers’ interest, engage them with the psychology of their characters, and operate on both a comedic and dramatic level.

Throughout all of Kubrick’s films, none is more tantalising in these realms than Barry Lyndon, a film that is more aesthetically pleasing than any I’ve had the pleasure of viewing. The compositions themselves are consistently gorgeous across this three-hour feature, whether they depict sprawling green fields that stretch as far as the eye can see or stately homes for its wealthy characters to indulge in a life of luxury, opulence, and decay. The shots themselves tell a story, as does the editing underpinning them, whether that involves slow zoom-outs that transform a simple scene into a far more complicated shot that feels lived-in, or long takes that recognise the importance of a look and all that it can communicate.

But the visuals work on another level, telling a grander story of youngster Redmond Barry (Ryan O’Neal) gradually becoming a man and forging a unique path for himself. Divided neatly into two parts to depict the rise and fall of this ambitious protagonist, the first half of Barry Lyndon is full of open spaces and gorgeous views of the outdoors. Barry’s life is an open book, a tantalising web of possibility that stretches even further than the point between him and the horizon in these eye-catching shots. He cannot see this at first, since he’s too focused on present circumstances—such as being in love with his cousin, Nora Brady (Gay Hamilton), in spite of her burgeoning relationship with British Army Captain John Quinn (Leonard Rossiter)—to consider his prospects.

Even when he’s in the company of others, the film’s visuals often portray Barry as a solitary figure in this early section. At a family gathering where it’s announced that Nora and Captain Quinn have gotten engaged, Barry is illuminated by an almost saintly, reverent glow of yellow light while he sits trapped in a spell of utter misery, at a distance from everyone around him. In almost any other context, that warm glow would be a spirited sign of youth and vitality, but instead it casts our focus on the naïve youthfulness of first love being quashed before our eyes, as well as the paralysing torment it inspires within this painterly composition.

But, after defeating Quinn in a duel and making his way to Dublin to lie low (having been tricked into thinking that he killed the Captain), suddenly the world is alive with possibility for Barry. He’s almost always presented in outdoor locations (with one of the few exceptions to this, notably, being the aforementioned engagement announcement) as he forges his own future, very gradually stumbling up the socio-economic ladder until he finds himself wed to Lady Lyndon (Marisa Berenson), wife to the then-recently deceased Sir Charles Lyndon (Frank Middlemass). From then on, his only tasks lie in maintaining his wife’s wealth and helping raise his new stepson Lord Bullingdon (Dominic Savage as the younger version, Leon Vitali as the elder), and his child with Lady Lyndon, Bryan (David Morley).

But acquiring the hand of a woman with a title isn’t as appealing as it first seems, with a moral rot seeping into Barry’s life from this point onwards. Wide fields and open plains are replaced by endless rooms in grand palaces, replete with party-going guests idly spending their days in one another’s company. These friendships are weightless and prone to dissolution if social ruin befalls either Barry or these associates. Extramarital affairs are common for Barry, while his wife gradually turns into something of a prisoner in her own home. It’s in this house where the lavish parties and wealth of possessions beleaguer the pair with debt, which they must regularly allot time towards to sign off on constant expenses.

After all, friendships like these couldn’t be maintained, let alone forged, without money. Material wealth slips out of Barry’s hands like sand, a fleeting and frivolous thing that nonetheless imbues his life with a depressing degree of meaning. By signing away his expenses in the privacy of his own home, it’s also here that he’s effectively signing away little pieces of himself. The same bottomless pit of hunger that caused Barry to strive for a better life—whether it was to be in Nora’s arms or to free himself from his service in the English and Prussian armies—is also what makes it impossible for him to maintain this wealth. He spent so long dreaming of this better life that he was ill-equipped to handle it once the dream finally became reality. Even Barry’s love for his son, which at this point in Barry Lyndon is its protagonist’s sole redeeming quality, is often expressed through extravagant gifts to spoil the boy.

From the opening minute of the film’s second half through to its heart-shattering denouement, almost all of the misfortunes and disasters befalling Barry Lyndon occur indoors. He’s trapped by the security blanket of wealth, failing to recognise that this blanket is so much more suffocating than comforting. It’s a life with near-limitless means that nevertheless feels bereft of possibility, gradually winding down a tragic path that could only ever have ended in ruin.

Barry starts off as a scoundrel, an antiquated ideal of a loveable Irish rogue who uses his wit and cunning to fight for a better life, even when it feels as though he’s cosmically doomed to fail. It’s only when he establishes his own kingdom—through an appreciable last name and wife in high society, a child of his own, and all the material goods he could dream of—that he’s truly imprisoned. Even his miserable years as a soldier were more spiritually enriching than this, since at least then he could spend his days devoted to vivid dreams of a better life.

Whereas before it was a treat to observe the pure beauty emanating from Kubrick’s compositions, there’s a strain of ugliness infecting the last hour of the film. Aesthetically they’re still gorgeous, yet you grow so accustomed to the extravagance on-screen that it almost feels off-putting towards the end of Barry Lyndon, where even the most beautiful home or painting seems like yet another worthless trinket, window dressing for an unfulfilled soul.

Barry Lyndon isn’t about Redmond Barry and his naïve yet sympathetic romanticism, but the decayed decadence of Barry Lyndon, a man who can fit into just about any socio-economic caste, but only to survive. He doesn’t thrive in any environment except for the rare times his bravery and selflessness flourish. But even when he gives in to selflessness late in life, he has already changed so irrevocably that he’s hardly recognisable anymore. You don’t see Redmond Barry by the end of the film; you can hardly believe he was once the love-struck lad who would do anything to win the affections of Nora. Just like Jack Torrance in Kubrick’s The Shining (1980), it’s as if, by transforming into the worst possible version of himself, Barry has ensured that he has always been Barry Lyndon. One charitable act towards the end of the film is a stark reminder of the man he once was, and can never return to.

But even in the most tragic of circumstances, Barry Lyndon still retains plenty of humour. Long after Barry has revealed himself to be a contemptible figure, he whips Lord Bullingdon after seeing his stepson spanking his beloved Bryan. You feel righteous indignation for the young man, but it’s amusing all the same witnessing this humiliating act of punishment, where Barry, once a sprightly lad eager to make his way in the world, is now a tyrant abusing his role as a fatherly disciplinarian. Humiliation—particularly emasculation—is a common facet of the film, utilised in ways that are simultaneously depressing and hilarious. Kubrick sees how pathetic all of this posturing is, utilising it throughout Barry Lyndon, whether it’s Captain Quinn’s absurdly sassy mannerisms, expressions, and stances, Charles Lyndon’s pitiful attempt to confront Barry about the latter’s affair with his wife, or the spankings doled out to Lord Bullingdon over the years.

Barry is humiliated by John Quinn, but never induces embarrassment. He’s a nervous wreck as he prepares to enter a duel with the English Captain, but heroic nevertheless. Even at his worst, he remains the hero of this story. To date, I haven’t come across a movie with as perfect a conduit for the viewer, even when it’s hard not to be repulsed by some of his behaviour in Barry Lyndon’s latter half. Roger Ebert opined that Barry is a ‘man to whom things happen’, and there’s certainly something beautiful and bittersweet about following someone who appears fated to turn out a certain way, even when his gradual, believable shifts in characterisation inform the plot. Slow zoom-outs orienting Barry and other figures in their wider environments hint at this very idea in a subtle yet evocative way.

At the same time, Barry is highly industrious and brave, often doing the right thing even when general society looks down on his behaviour. He absconds from his duties as a soldier on numerous occasions, whether that involves deserting his role or aligning himself with a conman in the Chevalier de Balibari (Patrick Magee), an expert card player and Irishman masquerading as an Austrian diplomat. When written plainly with no additional context, these decisions seem like grave errors in judgement, yet it’s impossible not to be stirred by Barry’s actions and hope that they result in an upward trend in his life. Even this protagonist’s affair with a married German woman, Frau Lieschen (Diana Körner), who is raising her young boy alone while her husband is fighting in the Seven Years’ War, is remarkably touching. It’s the wrong thing, of course, but there’s still something tender about these two lonely souls finding comfort in one another’s arms. Barry Lyndon is so graceful that it can make infidelity feel romantic.

So I can’t fully agree with Ebert’s assessment, even if it’s wise to the cosmic terror that is the downward trajectory of Barry’s life, the smallness of his problems in the grand scheme of things, and the ways in which he appears fated to run into certain obstacles. The only certainty in this world is death, as the beautifully bittersweet epilogue lets us know: ‘It was in the reign of King George III that the aforesaid personages lived and quarrelled; good or bad, handsome or ugly, rich or poor, they are all equal now’. Until then, there’s always the hope of change or reconciliation, whether with another person or the parts of ourselves that have grown dormant over the years. That doesn’t mean these characters are capable of such an understanding, with Barry soon growing comfortable with the static realm of his high social standing, becoming a far worse person for it in the process.

This is a story of one man, and it’s a story of every human being that has ever lived. It’s one life and all lives. It’s frequently hilarious and utterly tragic. There are scenes where you feel enormous pity for characters, yet those same sequences are usually the ones most likely to inspire laughter at their sad fate. In fact, what was most remarkable about the film on a recent rewatch (a fourth viewing, and which was aided considerably by being a first-time watch in a cinema) is the extent to which comedy and drama are intertwined across this three-hour feature.

The humour is at its most palpable within the film’s first 20 minutes, with a sublime comic performance from Rossiter, who looks fit to explode whenever Barry’s antics have royally ticked him off. He’s just as hilarious as a smug, small-minded man eager to lord his self-satisfaction over Barry and others. And yet, even in such moments, it’s impossible not to feel sorrow for Barry’s heartache, however short-lived we know it will be.

When the film’s narration, voiced sublimely by Shakespearean actor Michael Hordern, states that Barry’s conviction to never speak to Nora again lasted a mere week, it’s a highly amusing moment that still makes us pity his torment. We don’t need to be told that a week spent without getting to behold someone who captivates one’s heart and soul completely is a terrifying fate, especially for young love. All of Barry’s tempestuous fury and profound heartache is impossible not to take seriously, even if rational minds will have easily deduced that these emotions won’t preoccupy him for long.

Therefore, it’s little surprise when he seems to have abandoned all thought of Nora once he embarks on his voyage to Dublin. But his pain is acute all the same. His love and heartbreak are deadly serious, but almost all of these moments are laced with humour. We laugh, we pity the poor soul, we recognise his folly, and we admire his obstinance. It’s far from the only time that this movie—which should be rightly seen as Kubrick’s masterpiece—can be appreciated on multiple levels. The director’s dark humour has never been quite so perfectly calibrated as it is here; it’s one of the most complimentary pairings between comedy and tragedy ever put to screen.

But that alone isn’t what makes viewing this film such a rich and rewarding experience. There are also the sublime characters, who are all such a joy to watch that you could come up with another three-hours’ worth of fascinating scenes to explore each of their dynamics. I would love to see a final interaction between Barry and the Chevalier, exploring how distant money has made this protagonist from everyone around him. Reverend Runt (Murray Melvin), the advisor and confidant of Lady Lyndon, is an even greater curiosity; more interactions between him and Barry, or with Lady Lyndon, would be a treat to behold. Lord Bullingdon and Bryan don’t appear to have a close relationship, but it isn’t particularly volatile, either; seeing that teased out more thoroughly would perhaps illuminate how they view themselves and one another in this strange family unit.

But none of these scenes, for as fantastic as they could have been, would improve the final product. It’s so much more telling to ignore the Chevalier’s diminished role in Barry Lyndon, signalling a shift in Barry’s thinking as his only meaningful relationship appears to be with his son. As for Reverend Runt, his feelings are made perfectly clear without him ever spelling them out, not just in how he talks to Barry, but in how he interacts with Lady Lyndon, Lord Bullingdon, and Barry’s tough-as-nails mother, Belle (Marie Kean). And while it’s entirely possible that Lord Bullingdon cared deeply for Bryan, the fact that nothing of the sort is shown, while the only glimpse of their relationship demonstrates that Barry’s stepson treated the young boy as if he was a barely tolerable nuisance, communicates all that needs to be said about their dynamic.

Part of this is down to how much is conveyed through silent acting in this film; whether it’s a look of hatred, superiority, dismissal, love, despair, lust, vulnerability, or joy, each of these fine actors and actresses are firing on all cylinders. Captain John Quinn’s facial expressions never fail to make me laugh no matter how many times I’ve seen them. Ryan O’Neal has a boyish, almost feminine countenance when he’s in the throes of heartache at the start of the film, or when he allows his vulnerability to shine in rare moments as a soldier, that is rather touching. The curious smiles of the father and son duo who steal from Barry early in the film are a grin-inducing sight. When Reverend Runt observes Lady Lyndon as they play cards together—with Barry working beside the Chevalier on the other end of the table—you aren’t just shown exactly how he feels about her, you can almost see the Reverend’s posh and decadent qualities emanating from him.

The list goes on and on for the many fantastic performers on-screen; Leon Vitali deserves special mention for his remarkable ability to make you pity Lord Bullingdon while simultaneously dismissing him for being a nervous, prissy mummy’s boy. O’Neal’s performance was met with a middling contemporaneous reception—not unlike how the film as a whole was received—but aside from nailing the moments where Barry’s raw emotion pours straight from the heart, he makes for an excellent, multi-faceted hero who can garner a sliver of pity in his worst moments, while still coming across as a self-pitying figure with an inflated ego and little self-awareness. These performers bounce off of one another remarkably; speaking of Vitali and O’Neal, their respective expressions of fear and resignation make for a powerful confrontation between Barry and Bullingdon (even if the scene itself is overlong).

These looks are sometimes lifelines between characters, cries for help, or establishments of unyielding hatred. They are dares to be great, dares to defy fear, dares to love and be loved. However, none are as piercing as those of Berenson’s Lady Lyndon, who first appears to Barry as a beautiful object, a withdrawn woman lost within herself. She’s delicate and demure and robbed of personality, her pale face and tragic eyes the finest possible expression of her innermost thoughts. Those eyes and their sad, silent tale will only grow more withdrawn and helpless over time. It feels fated, as does everything that is upsetting in this film.

Speaking of which, a frustrating aspect of repeat viewings of Barry Lyndon is the extent to which this wonderful narrator spells out exactly what will befall this protagonist in the immediate future. Narration is rather ingeniously used in the first two hours of the film to explain Barry’s rationale and inner turmoil in key moments, providing a mildly comic yet emotionally involving reflection on the moments where Barry knows exactly what he wants in the immediate future, while still knowing nothing about life and the surprises it can bring. But in the movie’s final hour, the frequent reiterations of how hopelessly doomed this protagonist is grow wearisome. It doesn’t take away much from the experience of watching this come to fruition, but it’s still unnecessarily repetitive, obvious, and antithetical to the emotional potency of these preceding moments.

One aspect of Barry Lyndon that’s never antithetical to its drama is the film’s use of music. One of Kubrick’s most underrated qualities was his skill for selecting pre-existing music to heighten the scenes they accompanied. Barry Lyndon, like with almost all of this director’s finest qualities, is the best expression of this skill, with compositions that work so wonderfully on different levels that it’s a wonder they could ever have been devised for a purpose that didn’t involve scoring this film. Franz Schubert’s “Piano Trio No. 2 in E-flat Major” is a particularly gorgeous piece of music that pairs divinely with the card-dealing scene where Barry and Lady Lyndon lock eyes.

This moment is so full of possibility and the hope that longing can bring that it’s impossible not to be stirred by its evocative rhythm. In fact, it’s so effective that, upon watching it, I forgot entirely about Charles Lyndon and the fact that I was witnessing a rogue-ish conman and a depressed housewife have a bit of extramarital fun. The scene and its accompanying music is so solemn in its approach to their burgeoning attraction that morality never seems to play a part in this affair for a moment. There’s simply an ache that must be expressed, and the desperate, silent hope that such feelings won’t just be validated, but acted upon. Years later in Barry’s life and over an hour later in this film, the same piece of music is used, and it’s a haunting, ghostly ode to the desperate hollowness of the lives of Barry and Lady Lyndon, and the waste that they have laid to what were once youthful, hopeful souls.

I don’t quite understand how a piece of music can fit so snugly into scenes with wildly divergent tones, or how a film can dangle comedy and drama with such ease that you don’t know whether to laugh bitterly or wince at the on-screen awfulness. Barry Lyndon isn’t a perfect film (aside from some issues with the narration and pacing within its final hour, as an Irishman I can’t co-sign the Irish accents, which range from meagre to abhorrent), but it’s one that continues to spellbind as the years go on. It’s a time capsule of a long-distant era, a series of paintings come to life, an ode to rebellion, a takedown of complacency, and a bittersweet cackle at the arbitrary, absurd nature of life. Kubrick’s masterpiece is a shout into the cosmic void that’s so full of feeling—and so eager to laugh at its characters’ folly—that I look forward to re-experiencing it throughout the course of my life.

UK • USA | 1975 | 185 MINUTES | 1.66:1 | COLOUR | ENGLISH • GERMAN • FRENCH

4K Ultra HD Blu-ray Special Features:

Reviewed by Dan Owen.

Already widely considered one of the most beautiful movies ever made, with scenes famously lit using candles and natural daylight, Barry Lyndon is another sublime 4K Ultra HD Blu-release from Warner Bros. Stanley Kubrick fans will be blown away by how sumptuous and painterly the film looks, thanks to the sterling work of cinematographer John Alcott. The 2017 Blu-ray release was already exceptional, but the added resolution and Dolby Vision HDR really sharpens the picture quality even further and makes the blanks so much inkier that the lighting style’s even more evocative. Gorgeous work.

There’s a lossless LPCM mono track if you want to experience how Barry Lyndon sounded in cinemas back in 1975, but also a DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 surround sound mix that actor and Kubrick’s friend and assistant Leon Vitali helped to ensure lived up the filmmaker’s intentions. While purists will delight at the mono track, which does a decent job, I have to say the 5.1 mix is my preferred way to experience the array of sound effects and atmospheric touches. It just places you inside this world with more immersion, to my ear.

There’s sadly nothing new in the supplementary material for this new 4K release, but what’s here remains interesting and adds some contextual depth to Barry Lyndon as a piece of filmmaking.

• Making Barry Lyndon (HD, 38 mins.)
• Achieving Perfection (HD, 15 mins.)
• Timing and Tension (HD, 14 mins.)
• Drama in Detail (HD, 13 mins.)
• Balancing Every Sound (HD, 10 mins.)
• On the Costumes (SD, 5 mins.)
• Passion and Reason (HD, 18 mins.)
• A Cinematic Canvas (HD, 15 mins.)
• Trailers.

Cast & Crew

writer & director: Stanley Kubrick.
starring: Ryan O’Neal, Marisa Berenson, Leon Vitali, Michael Hordern, Patrick Magee, Gay Hamilton, Leonard Rossiter, David Morley, Frank Middlemass, Godfrey Quigley, Dominic Savage & Diana Koerner.