I was recently talking to a friend, and I mentioned that there are few words that are more profoundly striking at the end of a film than “Directed by Stanley Kubrick” because naturally, you’d have just been through a period of great existential manipulation, as was par for the course for a man who relished in his ability to make profound statements. Understand that while I do admire Kubrick (and openly adore a great many of his films), this isn’t an attempt to just blindly deify him as the greatest filmmaker of all time, but rather to note that whether or not you’re a devotee to him and his work, its quite clear that he was a filmmaker capable of truly memorable work, films that had the ability to mentally clobber the viewer with each new encounter, and leave an indelible impression. In this instance, we are talking about Barry Lyndon, Kubrick’s social-climbing odyssey through eighteenth-century Europe, and certainly one of his more unheralded latter-period works that has been subsequently lauded as the masterpiece that it is, even if it isn’t quite there yet in terms of being considered as Kubrick at his creative peak, and the epitome of all the qualities that made him such a profoundly brilliant filmmaker all in his own right. I am certainly leaning towards the belief that it is, especially in light of some of his more famous works’ more overblown reputations. A case can be made that this is his finest achievement, and unquestionably one of the greatest films of the 1970s. Its films like Barry Lyndon that allow us the chance to actually say that Kubrick was amongst the most innovative, iconoclastic directors of his generation, and unlike others who are usually saddled with the burden of being considered the historically-resonant stalwarts of the cinematic form, Kubrick’s high points were not merely superficial, but suggestive of a director who is amongst the greatest to ever work in the medium.

Kubrick’s work has intense range, and we’ve seen work from him that runs the gamut from hopelessly bleak to endearingly warm (although this latter quality is a bit more sporadic). Barry Lyndon seems to be the perfect film that brings together the director’s style and intention in a way that allows it to occupy both ends of the spectrum. The very nature of this film, at least on the surface, is that of a meticulously-crafted period piece, a historical epic of intense scope and undertaking that bears a lot of similarity to the innumerable similar films made throughout the preceding decades, right up until the making of this film, when exorbitant length and grandiose scope was the most accepted way to represent history. Yet, as we will see later on in this review, Barry Lyndon is also very much an outlier, a film that feels traditionally-crafted, but is actually deeply subversive and unquestionably stark in how it portrays several of its themes. Don’t let the underlying story or the iconic imagery of this film fool you – Barry Lyndon could not be further from the stiff, static period drama that it appears to be. It’s amongst the director’s funniest films (being satirical in much of the same way as Dr Strangelove or A Clockwork Orange, but perhaps just not as exuberantly so, with the humour being carefully shrouded, making appearances only when its least expected), and certainly one of his most fascinating experiments. Kubrick never wavered from tinkering with the cinematic form, calling into question both visual and narrative conventions and challenging them in a steadfast matter that broke boundaries. Thus it only proves to be the earnest truth that Barry Lyndon, while adequately elegant and fascinating as a historical drama, is far more than just this, breaking out of its confines with a dizzying blend of pitch-black humour, subversive deconstruction of the narrative form, and some of the most gorgeous cinematography ever committed to film. Believe me when I say that Barry Lyndon is a masterpiece and a film that deserves nothing more than effusive praise.

Set in the eighteenth century during the Seven Years War, the film focuses on Redmond Barry (Ryan O’Neal), who at the outset of the film is a penniless country bumpkin whose biggest concern is whether or not his schoolboy crush on his cousin will be returned, and whether she will choose her simple but conniving cousin or the charming (and extremely wealthy) officer who catches her eye. Growing up in rural Ireland, he is both captivated and angered by the presence of these English soldiers, who occupy the region in the ongoing conflict across Europe and have a stronghold over the social situation. However, despite his relatively stagnant position in the lower echelons of the social class, Redmond possesses a dangerous combination of qualities – he’s got enormous ambitions and the belief that he is capable of greatness, as well as the motivation to go to any lengths to achieve his goals and see his ambitions realized. A skilful opportunist who has a way with people and the ability to convince absolutely everyone to do his bidding, Redmond transforms into one of Europe’s most powerful schemers, someone who weasels his way into the highest social circles (even managing to earn an audience with King George III himself), and while his career is based on the friends he makes, it is defined more by the enemies, of which he has an abundance, many of which will openly take the opportunity to put his name in disrepute. Redmond Barry eventually takes on the title of Barry Lyndon, forcibly taking on the name of one of the most influential families of Europe, but struggling to actually live up to the title. Over the course of a few decades, Barry experiences trials and tribulations, flourishing and shrivelling as he goes through the routine of existence in a period where reputation was paramount, even superseding morality.

Barry Lyndon is a fascinating film not because it is an enthralling replication of a historical period that is of great interest to many, but because below the surface, this is very different from other period dramas. The intention of this film doesn’t seem to be merely a straightforward account of the era – we’ve seen directors take on these stories, imbuing ordinary tales of historical events with some added elements of romance and adventure. This film takes a very different approach – what makes it effective isn’t what is overtly seen, but rather what is simmering below the surface. Kubrick, taking on the novel The Luck of Barry Lyndon by William Makepeace Thackery, aims to make a film that represents the bleak nature of society at this time, and how despite the fact that it was one that would appear to be relatively exuberant and vibrant, the lavish luxury that was so actively pursued at the time served not only to show the importance of wealth at the time, with every individual going in search of material possessions in order to gain status, but also to hint at the underlying social problems. Reputation, as we’ve mentioned, was the most important quality of an individual – without it, someone may as well be non-existent, and this is primarily the conflict at the core of Barry Lyndon, as we follow a character who exists in a time when the name you present yourself with means far more than any personal quality or morality. This film is certainly very warm and beautiful to look at, but what makes the most impact is that at the core of the excess, there is a profoundly bleak story, whereby Kubrick ventures into a period where the finest clothing, the most expensive art and the most lavish parties served to conceal deeper social problems, with the era being one defined by the tendency to hide humanity behind excess, which might make for beautiful imagery, but harrowing social commentary. Its gorgeously complex storytelling and it works precisely because it presents this notion of social unsettling in a way that is subversive, and extremely effective.

Redmond Barry Lyndon is one of literature’s most fascinating figures – entire biographies can (and presumably have) been written about the character, as his exploits are not only thrilling, they’re also profoundly interesting, with his innumerable complexities making him quite a bewildering figure. One would assume that the resonance in the character and his picaresque story hails from the fact that he is relatively normal, at least at the outset. A plain everyman who comes from nothing, and wants to make himself into something, which is something many of us can relate to. Essentially, he’s a scrappy dreamer who has enormous ambitions, and just the right amount of pluck to pull it off. Kubrick’s protagonists are normally quite compelling, and while he may be known mostly as an innovative and highly-creative director, his films feature some truly compelling leading characters that manage to be nuanced and refined to the point where you’d think they were real figures. Lyndon is one of the more polarizing characters, especially because he is so confused in his morals – at the outset, he is a good man. He may be poor, but he has strong ethics, and his gentle demeanour makes him a genial fellow. Yet, as the film progresses, he is shown to grow more corrupt, yet never being truly heartless. Far too many stories about a character’s descent into insanity and greed portray them as solely irresponsible and misanthropic, with their cruelty defining them as individuals. Even when he is at his most debaucherous, Barry is still a man of some moral grounding – consider the love he shows to his son (as well as his attempts to win over his stepson, who just rebukes his new father’s attempts to befriend him), or the climactic duel, where Barry shows mercy to the enraged man before him, only to be rewarded for his compassion with an amputated leg. Barry Lyndon is a character that will require more thought, and I definitely want to spend some time ruminating on his qualities, because he is a deeply flawed character, but like the best of them (especially those written about in the era in which Thackeray created Lyndon), he is as captivating a hero as any.

Unfortunately (and be aware that this is my only criticism), Ryan O’Neal’s performance as the titular character is the only shortcoming of the film. He is by no means bad – by all accounts, he is certainly good enough to carry the performance. However, so much of Barry is left unsaid because O’Neal lacked the refined talents to extract every bit of personality from the character, rather playing him at a purely surface-level rather than taking the effort to delve a bit deeper. This is not necessarily the actor’s fault – Barry is a difficult role to play, and Kubrick was far from the easiest of collaborators to work with. Considering O’Neal does give a good performance – and one can consider moments such as the heartbreaking scene where he sits beside his dying son, which serves as not only the film’s most poignant scene but also the moment where O’Neal shows some depth – but this should have been an all-time great performance, and could’ve entered the hallowed halls of great cinematic portrayals, but rather serves to be an effective, but still somewhat underplayed, leading turn of a great film, where O’Neal serves the film, rather than the film serving him. To be fair, the character is relatively neutral, only serving as a channel through which certain events can occur. Roger Ebert, in his review for the film, mentions of Barry that “he is a man to whom things happen” – even the original title of the novel, The Luck of Barry Lyndon, alludes to the fact that despite being someone willing to work hard, so much of his successes (and subsequent failures) can be attributed to luck. Another area of this film that begs further investigation is the concept of fate. O’Neal is perfectly serviceable in the film, and we can justify his slightly more subdued performance with being necessary for the character. Yet, contrast his role with that of some of the supporting cast, which is composed of innumerable familiar faces that may only have a handful of scenes, but still leave an indelible impression. Leon Vitali, Patrick Magee, Marie Kean, Murray Melvin and Leonard Rossiter are all exceptional, with their roles being small but pivotal, and often contributing massively to this film’s effortlessly sweeping scope.

There’s something about Barry Lyndon that is very clear, yet it is rarely ever spoken of – putting aside everything else, this film is probably Kubrick’s funniest work, functioning as the darkest of comedies that ventures deep into the period and derives a certain humour from the rigidity of the period. Frequently cited moments of earnest levity include Barry being robbed by Captain Feeney, perhaps the most likable highwayman in all of Europe, who conducts himself in a way far more decently and with more elegance than can be found in even the highest of social circles, or Barry’s constant desertion of the army, especially in one instance where he casually steals the belongings of two officers while they lovingly talk in the river. There is a general sarcastic humour pulsating throughout the film that doesn’t only serve to make it even more of an enthralling experience by breaking the tension occasionally, but also a wonderful narrative tool, used in order to emphasize the absurdity of the period. Barry Lyndon is a film that will incite a great deal of laughter throughout – Kubrick was a director who understood how to make farce look elegant, and while it may not necessarily be as broadly hilarious as some of the director’s more clear attempts at comedy, it doesn’t mean the humour is not effective here. It is perhaps even more worthwhile, purely because it is so unexpected and entirely necessary. The era this film depicts was far from being nearly as sedate and dour as it normally appears, and the pursuit of a certain sardonic sense of humour really serves this film well and only adds to its unrelenting brilliance.

A discussion of Barry Lyndon would not be complete without mentioning the visual style. This is, after all, the quality that has given this film its status as one of the greatest works of the 1970s. Kubrick experimented with filming style, famously making use of natural lighting throughout, a decision that was clearly difficult to effectively employ but turned out brilliantly, manifesting in ways that are beyond gorgeous. Kubrick’s eye for cinematography often defined his career – he would not be known as the masterful filmmaker had it not been for his iconic images scattered throughout his career, making films that are as visually stunning as they are narratively unique and beautifully profound. Barry Lyndon‘s greatest success comes from its style, even aside for the cinematography. The decision to film entirely on location was also quite a risk, but it turned out to be just as inspired, with the authenticity brought about by real locations as well as genuine clothing (if we are to believe the legend that a majority of the clothes the characters wear were antique items worn during the period depicted here) lending the film a certain gravitas that no amount of reconstruction or replication could have brought. What makes Barry Lyndon so memorable is that it doesn’t feel like a film – everything appears so effortlessly authentic, and while this was certainly the product of Kubrick’s maniacal attention to detail that gave him the reputation of being the most meticulous of artists (read: insatiable perfectionist), every bit of sacrifice, whether it be finding the perfect location or the immense research that clearly went into this film, was ultimately worth it.

Barry Lyndon is a brilliant film. It takes the viewer on a journey into a time hundreds of years ago when society was very different from how it is now, showing us a side of social customs that we are not accustomed to. It is a lavish period piece that takes full advantage of every moment (and this is an accomplishment in itself – despite being three hours long, it moves at such a brilliant rapidity, you’re practically begging for more by the time the haunting epilogue appears), and imbues its story with a brilliant sense of humour that is subtle but acidic, and gives the film a genial sarcasm that never feels misplaced or inappropriate, but rather effective in portraying the unrestrained absurdity of period, and how these individuals would go to absolutely any lengths to prove their mettle and improve their reputation. Stanley Kubrick, the deranged genius that he was, never faltered when it came to telling a story with conviction, and while an argument can be made that he is not entirely deserving of this immense praise he is often saddled with, there is no denying that when he struck, he did so with such intense ferocity, to deny his genius is not only misguided but frankly foolish. This film is a towering achievement, an elegant and often insightful commentary on a bygone era, delivered with an extraordinary blend of beauty and wit that allows this to amount to nothing less than an astonishing piece of period filmmaking. Every time my faith in Kubrick wavers, films like Barry Lyndon confirm that while he was far from perfect, and had certain qualities that made him far less influential than his reputation would suggest, he was still a profoundly talented filmmaker, capable of subversive storytelling that plunges the audience into a state of awe-like wonder. Barry Lyndon is slowly establishing itself as his best work, for its gracefulness, its stark impact in terms of the story it tells, and most importantly, the fact that this film is nearly perfect from beginning to end, and other than some small shortcomings sporadically appearing throughout, there are absolutely no false notes to be found anywhere within this titan of a film that can only be called an unhinged masterpiece.