Barry Lyndon (1975) dir. Stanley Kubrick
Starring: Ryan O’Neal, Marisa Berenson, Patrick Magee, Leon Vitali

****

By Alan Bacchus

I’ve seen this film numerous times, but for some reason this latest viewing has convinced me that it’s one of Stanley Kubrick’s best. Despite critical praise and some Oscar nominations, the film wasn’t considered a success. No surprise, really. Even by Stanley Kubrick’s standards it’s a slow-paced three-hour epic featuring the director at his most dispassionate, cynical and cold. The story of Redmond Barry, the lowly Irish lad who worked his way up from a pathetic brat to being at the helm of a British aristocratic family, only to have it tumble down in devastating fashion, is perhaps the most structurally conventional film Kubrick has made.

Kubrick has always crafted the endings of his films very carefully, mostly favouring the oblique and jarring for thought-provoking effect. To this day, I still don’t know why he ended Eyes Wide Shut so abruptly on us. The Shining does this as well, though at least we know Jack’s dead at the end. And then there’s 2001: A Space Odyssey, the most beguiling of them all.

In Barry Lyndon, Kubrick arguably leaves us with his most satisfying ending, a fully complete character arc for Redmond, broken down both physically and emotionally, a comeuppance for his lifetime of deceit, immoral ambition and betrayal. But that’s the ending – let’s roll back to the opening.

Barry Lyndon’s three-hour running time is roughly split into two halves sandwiching a short intermission (customary back in the day for historical epics). The first half of the film describes Redmond Barry’s ascent to success with the wordy inter-title, ‘By What Means Redmond Barry Acquired the Style and Title of Barry Lyndon.’ The elaborate title fits into Kubrick’s general themes of class and the utter silliness of how men and women were divided into preferential groups of right and title. But this is the ambition of Redmond, whom we first see as a youthful brat smitten by the flirtations of his cousin. Unfortunately for Redmond, the cousin has been ‘promised’ to a British Lord for a sum of 6 pounds a year. The conflict boils over into a duel of pistols between the Englishman and Redmond – a remarkably tense sequence bookended by a duel in the final act of the film (but more on that later). This duel is won by Barry, thus sending him out of the country and off on his lengthy journey.

It’s an episodic journey in the opening half of the film, the benchmarks of which include his recruitment into the British Army, his desertion, his recruitment into the Prussian Army, the companionship of an Irish ex-pat living as a gambler stealing the riches of other aristocrats and finally, by the end of the first half, his meeting of Lady Lyndon. Barry becomes her husband and partner to her family fortune.

The compartmentalization of the individual scenes is a delight, each sequence self-contained as a great cinematic set piece. And yet, with each new encounter, Barry gains experience and insight, which informs his decisions in the second half of the film. Barry observes and participates in the class warfare as an outsider, green with jealousy at the privileges their title affords them. And so when Barry joins this club, he exploits his position with the same naive, bratty entitlement of his youth.

The second half of the picture is markedly different, as its scenes are shot like a series of immaculately composed still images, glacially paced, slowly showing the destruction of Lyndon’s life. The more Lyndon self-destructs through fornication, ill treatment of his stepson and wanton disregard for the family’s finances, the more stolid the picture becomes. At times, an entire scene shows Lady Lyndon simply lounging morosely on a chair (a recurring image in all of Kubrick’s films) with the camera slowly zooming out to reveal the state of depression and decay of the household.

The conflict between Lord Bullington, Redmond’s stepson, and Redmond himself is marvellously engineered. Bullington’s sequestered and conflict-free life of privilege is no match for the life experience of Redmond. The performances of Ryan O’Neal and Leon Vitali are spot on. Vitali is delightfully pathetic as a quivering doofus scared to bits during his confrontations with Barry, and O’Neal always has the Kubrick ‘look of steel’, confident in his abilities to outduel his opponents, both physically and mentally.

One of the knocks on Kubrick has been a lack of emotion in his films. Fans and critics usually point to that scene at the end of Paths of Glory, which features the German song leading the soldiers to tears as his high moment of unabashed sentimentality. While not sentimental, no other scene in Kubrick’s body of work can compare to the earth-shattering tragedy of the death scene of young Bryan in Barry Lyndon. As Bryan lies on his bed, aware of these last moments of his life, the reactions of both Redmond and Lady Lyndon are simply earth shattering. And the subtle use of the recurring musical cue by Handel's Sarabande hypnotically lulls us into a trance. Kubrick’s glorious sharp cut to Bryan’s funeral after this scene is just as startling and masterful.

Kubrick surprisingly ends the journey with every thread tied up. Barry is fully punished for all his wrongdoings in the film, which thoroughly satisfies everything Kubrick has set up for us. There’s little to confuse or confound us. By the end, though aesthetically challenging, the film is unintellectual – a simple and ‘common’ story of greed. A true masterpiece.

Barry Lyndon is available on Blu-ray from Warner Bros. Home Entertainment.

Excalibur (1981) dir. John Boorman
Starring: Nigel Terry, Nicol Williamson, Helen Mirren, Nicholas Clay, Paul Geoffrey, Cherie Lunghi

***1/2

By Alan Bacchus

Excalibur is both supremely awful and inspired at the time, arguably the most passionate, intense, gory and gothic romantic version of the legendary story of King Arthur, Lancelot, Merlin, Perceval, the Holy Grail and the Sword in the Stone ‘Excalibur’. This is John Boorman's adaptation with help from his creative collaborator Rospo Pallenberg and as per the credits, adapted directly from the Thomas Mallory writings on the legend.

I still marvel at the grandeloquent mix of operatic melodrama, supremely gory bloodshed and sexual activity, set to the best-ever use of Richard Wagner on film (yes, even better than Apocalypse Now). It’s also acted with subtly of a wart, featuring performances so wooden and atrocious, it’s no wonder we’ve never heard of any of these actors, save for Helen Mirren and small early appearances by Liam Neeson, Gabriel Byrne, and Patrick Stewart.

Boorman begins with the story of Uther Pendragon, father of Arthur who uses the sword Excalibur to defeat his enemies and become King of England. Unfortunately his carnal desire for his best friend's wife overcomes him and he uses Merlin's magic to deguise himself and rape the woman Igraine (played by Boorman's own wife, ew!). Eventually Uther is killed, embeds the sword into the stone, years later to be unleashed by his own bastard son, Arthur. Using Excalibur's power Arthur unites the scattered knights of England forming the 'round table of Camelot'.

Peace doesn't last long when Arthur's #1 knight Lancelot, betray his own moral conscience and succombs to his lust of King Arthur's wife Guenevere. Meanwhile, Arthur's half sister Morgana plots revenge against Arthur by encouraging the conflict with Lancelot and eventually manipulating Merlin into disguising herself as Guenevere, man-raping Arthur and giving birth to Mordrid, his half-Nephew/son/heir to the throne and thus his soon to be mortal enemy.

Visually, it’s a stunning work of art, John Boorman’s ability to protray the rich pathos of this fantasy medieval period with glorious cinematography and perfect compositions. Stylistically Boorman employs the same soft hazy lighting scheme popular in the 1970’s and used to fine effect in Boorman’s own films, ‘Point Blank’ and ‘Deliverance’, and to lesser effect in bombs, ‘Zardoz’ and ‘Exorcist II: The Heretic’.  The psychedelic embellishments rides a fine line between on laughable unintentional comedy and the right supernatural elements contained in the mythology.

Alex Thomson finds a unique visual design which blends the rich medieval period details with the pure storybook fantasy elements. Watch carefully the scenes in which the Excalibur sword is featured, Thomson subtly shines a cool green glow in the background or on the actor’s faces to remind us of the mysterious quality of the sword. And the wondrous lady of the lake moments seem to be pulled directly out of that awesome final shot of Boorman's own Deliverance.

As mentioned the immaculately designed armour worn by the knights gleam magnificently under Thomson’s lighting, especially in the wedding scene. It’s a distinctly glamour 80’s look, just stopping short of using a star filter to accent the reflections. I doubt that ever came up as an option, but it’s distinct to the decade in the best way possible nonetheless.

The finale is especially grandiose and operatic violent. The confrontation of Arthur and Mordrid, father and son who climax their oedipal relationship by stabbing each other through their plates of armour, spewing blood over their chests is so bloody grotesque and phallic. As preposterous and extravagant the scene is played, it fits like a glove to Wagner’s music. Well, that’s obvious because the bookending music is actually Parsifal, music from Wagner’s opera about the Arthurian legend.

If you understand and appreciate the connection to the opera and the tonal extremity where this film needs to reside in order achieve spiritual heights that is does, then you can look past the atrocious performances and the general silliness which critics and detractors oppose. Nigel Terry in particular as King Arthur, whom we see first as a meek squire and then grow to become King of England and die in that bloodbath ending is mostly unmemorable. Nicol Williamson’s Merlin could be seen a nasily sportscaster reciting faux Shakespearan dialogue, yet to me his giddy performance is representative of the tone of the entire movie and glues everything together. If you can't accept Nicol Williamson as Merlin, then you'll find yourself on the other side of that fine line between appreciation and repugnance.

Excalibur is available on Blu-Ray from Warner Home Entertainment

The King’s Speech (2010) dir. Tom Hooper
Starring: Colin Firth, Geoffrey Rush, Helena Bonham-Carter, Timothy Spall

****

By Alan Bacchus

There seems to be an endless number of Oscar-worthy stories to be produced from the Royal Family. This year’s awards fodder is the story of King George VI, the quiet king, the father of Queen Elizabeth II, who took over from the abdicated Edward VIII, and who famously had a stutter. As usual it’s a classy affair full of handsome performances, but Hooper manages to avoid the usual stodginess of this type of material with a distinct visual design and a deep affection and accessibility of his characters.

Hooper starts off in 1925 wherein then Duke of York, Albert (his real name), played by Colin Firth, is all sweaty palms in anticipation of a speech he’s required to make at Wembley Stadium. Due to his stammering, the speech is a disaster, an event which public humiliated him. Moving on to 1932, after numerous speech therapists Albert, or Bertie, as he was affectionately known, swears off all treatment. That is, until his devoted wife Elizabeth, aka, ‘the Queen Mother’ (Bonham-Carter), seeks out a renowned but ‘common’ Australian ‘speech defect’ therapist, Dr. Lionel Logue (Geoffrey Rush). A meeting is engineered, where the sly doctor manages to prove to the doubting-Thomas Bertie that his condition is psychological. With trust fully in place the pair embark on a decades long journey toward rehabilitation of body and soul.

Upon this routine narrative skeleton, that is, the close relationship of doctor and patient, Hooper hangs a rather far reaching and expansive story of not only tumultuous British Royal politics but the dramatic events of the 1930’s which led to WWII.

Rush and Firth make tremendous friends and adversaries. The initial stand off between doctor and patient goes deep through a number of fascinating levels. First there’s the obvious embarrassment of Albert who has to open his inadequacies to a total stranger; there’s also the socio-economic/class separation, which, at a glance, would seem petty and frivolous, but considering the time and place in which the film takes place, there’s both realism and drama when Albert says something like, ‘I’ve never been alone in a room with someone like you (SIC).’ Indeed Logue meeting Albert is like oil and water, but a remarkably profound and emotional relationship which develops ever so slowly over these years.

King Edward VIII and Mrs. Simpson, the twice divorced American socialite whom he marries forcing him to abdicate the throne are made out to be the villains and as played by Guy Pearce and Eve Best, pompous boobs really. A curious choice, considering history has always portrayed the pair as romantic heroes for choosing love over fame, power and celebrity. It was a little oft putting, though I guess the reality lies somewhere in between these two characterizations.

Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush rightfully deserve their acclaim, and both might just win Oscars for their roles, but Hooper’s direction should not go unnoticed either. His lenswork is more than than just point and shoot or beautifying the era, he makes a conscious effort to show us something fresh. All things considered it’s a rather awkward visual philosophy, using wide angle lenses to open up vertical space in the frame vertically. Most of his compositions frame his characters in the lower half of the screen, filling the negative space with the expansive rooms, staircases or cloudy London skies. But with this approach Hooper is forced to put his actors closer to the camera, which translates subliminally to being closer to the audience.

The screenplay is as perfect as any of these period dramas. The lengthy time frame is compressed with just a couple montage scenes, and when the film does abruptly cut to 3 or 4 or 5 years later, we never feel as if we’ve missed out or been hopscotching through history. The final act speech is inspiring stuff, not only does it narratively bookend the opening and close off George’s character arc, but shows the effect of his personal journey on the fate of the world at large. The stakes couldn’t be any higher and the gravitas of the moment is paid off by Hooper’s superb direction of this final set piece.

In the end, The King’s Speech manages to humanize these entitled Royals better than any other film or recent memory. Despite George’s right, title and privilege, he’s a self-hating broken man, emasculated by his stutter. And Hooper makes us feel every moment of his pain as well as his eventual triumphs.

The Young Victoria (2009) dir. Jean-Marc Vallée
Starring: Emily Blunt, Rupert Friend, Paul Bettany, Miranda Richardson, Mark Strong, Jim Broadbent

***

By Alan Bacchus

The relationship of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert is one of history's great storied romances, which makes for a decent period wig and costume film. Having Dutchess of York Sarah Ferguson listed as Executive Producer gives it the smell of a royal puff piece, but Jean-Marc Vallée (a Canadian) manages to sufficiently capture the romance of the age and the complicated politicking which Victoria faced in those early years.

A great montage scene introduces Victoria with elegance at the top. We learn about the ungodly attention Victoria received in her childhood, to the point of having someone literally hold her hand up and down stairs and virtually everywhere she went. The picture joins her in her teenaged years when Vic starts to exert some desires to be independent of her dotting mother the Dutchess of Kent (Miranda Richardson) and her snarling hardline watchdog Sir John Conroy (Mark Strong). Since Vic is of marrying age a number of suiters line up including young German prince Albert (Rupert Friend), who angles on behalf of his greedy family back home.

As it usually goes, despite objections from her mother, Vic wants to marry Albert (they were actually first cousins but, whatever). She shows some political guile by aligning with Liberal PM Lord Melbourne (Paul Bettany) for support. Of course, as we know from history Vic gets her way and marries Albert and takes control of the monarch from the assigned ‘Regent’ who had been running the show until now. But with great power means some male envy from Albert who tries to overexert some authority in lieu of his emasculation as the lowly Prince Consort and thus #2 in the household.

'The Young Victoria' doesn’t establish too much new ground or stray too far from the period costume genre. Jean-Marc Vallée, the award-winning French-Canadian director of the stylish masterpiece C.R.A.Z.Y. employs a formal style and doesn’t do too much to rock the boat. If anything his most significant creative contribution is his distinct editing rhythm which eases some of the stodginess these films tend to suffer from.

Saying that, there was a great missed opportunity to catapult the film above the familiarity of the genre. Jean-Marc Vallée initially had the fine progression art-rock band Sigur Ros do a full original score for the film, but unfortunately the producers exercised their authority and opted for a traditional score. New composer Ilan Eshkeri actually does deliver some wonderful music, but the potential of Sigur Ros plugged into this material will be added to the 'what if' list of rejected film scores (ie. Daniel Lanois’ rumoured magnificent score for Billy Bob Thornton’s ‘All the Pretty Horses’).

Unlike the 'Elizabeth' films, there's isn't a war to follow, or the grisly threat of beheading, so to follow to elevate the stakes, writer Julian Fellows (‘Gosford Park’) amplifies the complexities of the politics. It gets a little confusing at times following who is aligned with who and for what reason. But if you get confused with that, the love story between Victoria and Albert is simple and uncomplicated. The performances of Blunt and Friend generate genuine sympathy and love for their characters even though they are two of the most privileged people in the history of the world.

“The Young Victoria” is available on DVD and Blu-Ray from Alliance Films in Canada