BARRY LYNDON
Stanley Kubrick, 1975, UK
Kubrick imagines Thackery’s
novel as a sequence of classical paintings come to life. There is indeed a
mostly static, painterly quality to Kubrick’s version of Redmond Barry’s
picaresque tale; it is a quality that creates the sense that the drama is not
so much in motion as dried before the eye in watercolours and acrylics as the
dialogue ossifies into the paintwork. The innovation to achieve this effect was
for Kubrick and his crew to utilise new lenses and lighting techniques
deliberately aimed at capturing the natural light of the era.
The mostly Irish landscapes, castles and drawing rooms are breath-taking,
standing in for a variety of European locations. It is a sumptuous visual
feast. Indeed, the film’s detractors accuse the film of being all style over
substance, but this visual emphasis surely acts as surrogate for Thackery’s
literary eloquences and authorial indulgences; how better to translate the
descriptive passages of a nineteenth century novel? Perhaps none condemn quite
as much as Chris Petit:
Given the
singular lack of drama, perspective or insight, the way the film looks becomes
its only defence. But the constant array of waxworks figures against lavish
backdrops finally vulgarises the visual sumptuousness
[Chris Petit, Time Out
Film Guide 2011*]
The lack of what might be
seen as conventional engagement with the characters may indeed be the point:
that is, we always seem to be at a remove from them and never asked to follow
their emotional wavelength, but rather to observe. They are mostly all players
and poseurs of one sort or another, and how petty they seem against the
magnificent countryside and extraordinary halls decorated in gigantic
paintings. When we do need to engage, where it seems to count the most are in
the instances and issues of parenthood in the film, and here Kubrick does take
time to ensure that we connect. This is not only between Barry and his fated
son, but also his rivalry with his stepson Lord Lyndon, Lord Lyndon and his
mother; and indeed Barry and his own mother. The other characters that register
most with Barry are also those that represent father-figures to him, but nearly
all these relationships are doomed or absurd. Everyone is so very much playing
their part and affecting their role in society that Lyndon’s lies infect even
the deathbed of his unfortunate son. But then, what else does Lyndon have but
his lies?
Overall, the film is
populated by perfectly formed little sequences of dialogue and interaction,
acted by a litany of brilliant character actors. We can luxuriate in the
ridiculous dandyish mannerisms of the men of titles and money that Barry and
his cohort Chevalier de
Balibari (a ridiculously made-up Patrick Magee) con of their money. The mostly highly stylised
performances are delightful in their detail: consummate, preposterous, just the
right side of caricature. And see the minister turn the wedding into a
hilariously overheated pulpit sermon; watch as Barry’s humble rose-cheeked
mother becomes a formidable pasty-faced matriarch. A personal favourite is
Leonard Rossiter’s early turn as a blustering English soldier. It is the men
that are the most ridiculous, preening, blustering, indulging in ridiculous
duels. Kubrick is quietly scathing at the artificial nature and ridiculous
performances of the patriarchy in this society, which is the one that Barry
invests in so much that he pursues the status far beyond his means and loses
his own self in that pursuit and never seems to learn how artificial it all
indeed is.
Redmond Barry himself is a
somewhat intangible character: Ryan O’Neill does not possess a twinkle of eye
to make Barry a rascal and, although he is certainly treacherous and mercenary.
But we never really get a grip upon him. Perhaps then this is the point: he is
trapped in the ever-changing events of his own life. Desperately trying to manoeuvre
himself around the other players on the social stage, coveting their positions,
Lyndon lies, elaborates and trudges on ahead to any token status he can get
himself into. This is why, when he finally marries Lady Lyndon (Marisa
Berenson), he barely knows what to do in the marriage except have affairs and
put on airs. The impression is that O’Neil only really finds his footing and
actor’s strengths in his role as a father, and the loss of his son being the
one sequence of true emotional resonance. But actually Ryan gives a great
anti-performance, as Jason Bellamy elaborates:
for the most
part his performance is quiet, reserved, inward, even when Barry is puffing out
his chest with pride or arrogance. It's an approach that serves the character
well, underlining Barry's lack of original character, right down to that light
Irish accent that sounds as if Barry was never fully invested in his roots.
O'Neal is, in essence, an actor playing an actor. And what's remarkable is that
while Barry is always in the midst of a performance, O'Neal never seems to be.
http://www.slantmagazine.com/house/2011/10/the-conversations-barry-lyndon/
Perhaps the weakest link is
between Lord Lyndon in his incarnations as a boy and as a man: the casting
feels inconsistent. As a child, Lyndon is played by Dominic Savage, who comes
across as composed, watchful and defiant; as an adult played by Leon Vitali, he
suddenly becomes immature, over-emotional, possessed of a sobber’s mouth given
to quivering at all concerns.
What “Barry Lydon” also possesses
is one of the greatest voice-overs in cinema. Where most are redundant and
insulting, Kubrick offers a droll, amusing, critical, detached commentary,
perfectly voiced by Michael Hordon. Its commentary allows criticism and narrative
flow; it does not so much guide, fill in gaps or tell you what you are already
seeing; rather it waves its hand archy, points and shrugs and pours another
drink whilst elucidating on the cautionary tale that is Barry Lydon’s life. It
does not truly moralise either, keeping its aloofness to the end so that
ambiguity and our own conclusions can be made.
In a discussion about ‘pure
cinema’ ~ which is seemingly to mean the triumph of the visual over narrative ~
it seems incongruous that “Barry Lydon” has seemingly met with the most
indifference of Kubrick’s oeuvre as a pretty piece of nothing when modern
critics are enraptured by the arguably indulgent gesturing of Malick’s “Tree of
Life”. Kubrick’s film is about the superficial, the pursuit of it when natural
beauty is in plain sight; it is about the rotten absurdity of Nineteenth
Century society and a dry scathing satire on the pursuit of money and celebrity
and all those shiny tokens that have led many to lead empty lives. And Barry’s
life is ultimately an empty life, a search for all the wrong things. If he ever
becomes self-aware is left open to conjecture by Kubrick, but there is no doubt
that it all plays out like pretty tragedy and farce. Also, it is surely one of
the greatest period pieces ever made, as much as ‘2001: a Space Odyssey’ and ‘The
Shining’ are the epitome of their respective genres.
* [Chris
Petit, Time Out Film Guide 2011, (Time Out Guides Limited, London, 2010) pg.
73]
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