{"id":399,"date":"2015-04-01T06:00:16","date_gmt":"2015-04-01T05:00:16","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/neilsinyard.britishtelevisiondrama.org.uk\/?p=399"},"modified":"2024-10-17T07:13:20","modified_gmt":"2024-10-17T06:13:20","slug":"barry-lyndon","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"http:\/\/neilsinyard.britishtelevisiondrama.org.uk\/?p=399","title":{"rendered":"Barry Lyndon<\/em>"},"content":{"rendered":"

by NEIL SINYARD<\/p>\n

\"Sinyard_Lyndon_duel\"
\nI’ve always had a soft spot for Stanley Kubrick\u2019s Barry Lyndon<\/em> (1975). It was the subject of the first film review I ever published, in a now-defunct magazine Films Illustrated<\/em> which had a section that invited readers the right of reply if they felt a film had been under-rated (or over-rated, I suppose). The reviews I had read of Barry Lyndon<\/em> when it had first opened described it as overlong, boring, indecipherable, embalmed, symptomatic of a tendency in modern cinema for directorial self-indulgence, so I had gone to the cinema with comparatively low expectations. Three hours later I had emerged in a daze, convinced I had seen a film of quite exceptional artistry.<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

I think one reason why critics at the time had been baffled was the choice of material. Kubrick\u2019s three previous films (Dr Strangelove<\/em> (1964), 2001: A Space Odyssey<\/em> (1968) and A Clockwork Orange<\/em> (1971)) had been futuristic fantasies whereas this was a leap back into the eighteenth century. Moreover, the film was based on a virtually unread novel by Thackeray, published in 1844, which the novelist had intended as a demystification of the lovable rogue hero which he felt had not been done since the time of Henry Fielding. (A number of critics of Kubrick\u2019s film had alluded to Tony Richardson\u2019s film version of Fielding\u2019s Tom Jones<\/em> (1963, book 1749), as if expecting a similarly jolly experience, but there\u2019s a world of difference between the high spirits of that film and the ominous tread of Kubrick\u2019s.) The story charts the rise of its hero, Redmond Barry, by virtue of a prosperous marriage, and Thackeray\u2019s intention was satirical, a first-person narrative by a hero who fancies himself as an eighteenth century gentleman but who unwittingly reveals himself as an unscrupulous scoundrel. By contrast, Kubrick\u2019s tone is sombre, and the rise and fall of Barry Lyndon is told mainly through a combination of images (Barry doesn\u2019t do a lot of talking for himself) and an off-screen narration, suavely intoned by Michael Hordern, who sometimes sees into the future in a way that Barry cannot, giving a sense of fatalism to the hero\u2019s progress and the flavour of a cautionary tale. The narrator will sometimes puncture Barry\u2019s romantic illusions and draw attention to the indifference of history to the individual life. Of a battle in which the hero takes part, the narrator notes dryly: \u2018Though this encounter is not recorded in any history books, it was memorable for those who took part.\u2019 It is particularly memorable for Captain Grogan (Godfrey Quigley) because he is killed, one of several father\/protector figures Barry acquires in the first half of the film who fall away in the second half, leaving him isolated and vulnerable.<\/p>\n

Typically, Kubrick\u2019s style in the film, augmented by John Alcott\u2019s magnificent photography, is daring and unusual. The beauty of the film – in my experience, only Visconti\u2019s The Leopard<\/em> (1963) can match it for visual splendour – is overwhelming to the point of oppressiveness, because d\u00e9cor and houses reflect the way the characters have become prisoners of their obsession for possession, prestige and position. Rather than standard scene setting, Kubrick often uses a reverse-zoom, so that we see the individual but then pull back to see him in relation to the tangled society of which he is part and which in turn is to entangle him. Some critics thought it a repetitive stylistic device, but I think it works, giving us a perspective denied to the character himself, wrapped up as he is in his own pursuits; it also has the effect of diminishing the character, making him look smaller in the tide of events than he realises and foreshadowing his receding fortunes. Kubrick felt that his story should not be told in the conventional way. \u2018Barry Lyndon is a story which does not depend upon surprise,\u2019 he said. \u2018What is important is not what is going to happen but how it will happen.\u2019 This will determine not only the narrative structure (the use of the narrator) but also the tempo, a feature of the film greatly admired by Martin Scorsese who loved the way it broke all Hollywood rules of pace.<\/p>\n

There is a particularly fine stretch before the end of the first part of the film, which illustrates these facets of theme and style and prepares for developments in the second half. It is the moment when Barry has resolved, as the narrator tells us, to fix on an advantageous marriage as a way of advancing in society. It is then he sees Lady Lyndon (Marisa Berenson) and starts his campaign. When he makes his move on her, it is very formal, rigid, calculated (and must have been fearfully difficult to act) but then these are people of rigid lives and Barry is a calculator: his approach feels as much like a chess move as a surge of emotion. \u2018It\u2019s very romantic,\u2019 Kubrick said, \u2018but at the same time I think it suggests the empty attraction they have for each other that is to disappear as quickly as it arose.\u2019 An outraged Lord Lyndon (Frank Middlemass, in one of those splendidly over-the-top performances so beloved of the director) cries, \u2018He wants to step into my shoes!\u2019, bringing on a consumptive attack that will allow Barry to do just that. Mission accomplished: except that, in a favoured Kubrick tactic, the second part of the narrative is to be a dark reversal of the first. When Lord Lyndon\u2019s son (Leon Vitale) disrupts a music recital by leading in Barry\u2019s son Brian in the young lord\u2019s shoes (\u2018Don\u2019t you think he fits my shoes very well, your Ladyship?\u2019), it will trigger a shockingly violent outburst that will forever deny Barry\u2019s entrance into high society.<\/p>\n

Everything will build finally to a ritualised duel, accompanied over the soundtrack by music by Handel so menacingly orchestrated that it sounds like a march to the scaffold, and probably the most suspenseful sequence Kubrick ever directed. His casting of Ryan O\u2019Neal in the title role was much criticised, but I think O\u2019Neal brings exactly the combination of selfishness and softness to the role that the director required as the upstart hero swindles and seduces his way into the palaces of privilege, only to pay a heavy price for gentlemanly aspiration as he discovers that class rigidity, snobbery, and cruelty lurk behind this society\u2019s mask of elegance.<\/p>\n

With every film of his later career, Kubrick took audiences and critics out of their comfort zone and, over ten years after his death, we are still coming to terms with that achievement. \u2018Real is good,\u2019 he would say, \u2018but interesting is better\u2019. He never made a genre film without elevating and transforming it; the performances in his films look increasingly extraordinary as he encouraged his actors to search beyond naturalism; even his use of music is provocative and challenging. For me, Barry Lyndon<\/em> is the jewel of his career, a melancholy and majestic masterpiece which, on its own, would justify Orson Welles\u2019s description of Kubrick as \u2018a giant\u2019.<\/p>\n

Written on behalf of the Keswick Film Society, February, 2010.<\/p>\n

You might also be interested in Neil’s review of a new book about this film.<\/a><\/em> <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

by NEIL SINYARD I’ve always had a soft spot for Stanley Kubrick\u2019s Barry Lyndon (1975). It was the subject of the first film review I ever published, in a now-defunct magazine Films Illustrated which had a section that invited readers … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[19],"tags":[82,83,95,80,84,85],"class_list":["post-399","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-essays","tag-luchino-visconti","tag-martin-scorsese","tag-orson-welles","tag-stanley-kubrick","tag-tony-richardson","tag-william-makepeace-thackeray"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/neilsinyard.britishtelevisiondrama.org.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/399","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/neilsinyard.britishtelevisiondrama.org.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/neilsinyard.britishtelevisiondrama.org.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/neilsinyard.britishtelevisiondrama.org.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/neilsinyard.britishtelevisiondrama.org.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=399"}],"version-history":[{"count":8,"href":"http:\/\/neilsinyard.britishtelevisiondrama.org.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/399\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":925,"href":"http:\/\/neilsinyard.britishtelevisiondrama.org.uk\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/399\/revisions\/925"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/neilsinyard.britishtelevisiondrama.org.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=399"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/neilsinyard.britishtelevisiondrama.org.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=399"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/neilsinyard.britishtelevisiondrama.org.uk\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=399"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}