...until I get the chance to sit down and watch Barry Lyndon.
I can’t help it. I mentioned Stanley Kubrick’s Barry Lyndon last time I wrote, and I’ve been thinking about the movie ever since. There’s just no talking about the 18th century without talking about this fantastic movie. This is a controversial opinion, even among former film students, but Barry Lyndon has always and easily been my favorite Kubrick movie.
Even for 1975, this was a slow-paced movie, and time has done no favors in that area. What’s more, it’s set during the reign of George III, but never uses any major historical figures or events from the period that might make it more familiar to the casual viewer. (Most people are probably at least roughly aware of the events of the Seven Years War in North America, but who knows the details of the struggle on mainland Europe between Britain and Prussia?) There are no major stars that are recognizable today (Ryan O’Neal included), the story meanders from event to event, and the movie clocks in at over three hours. No wonder, then, that it doesn’t have quite the modern following as The Shining or Dr. Strangelove. It’s not a movie for everyone, but those of us that love it, love it.
First of all, it’s set during the reign of George III! From costumes and set design to accents and mannerisms, the movie brings the time period alive like few movies do. Where a movie like Gladiator makes a big show of its setting, immersing itself in Hollywood clichés about ancient Rome without giving us a single real glimpse of the culture of the era, Barry Lyndon lets the little things do all the talking. The music of the army, the ribbon game Barry plays with his cousin, the lusty-eyed loneliness of the German housewife, the slow pace and deadly seriousness of the card games—these are all tiny touches that make this movie a true period piece, not just a generic story stuffed into a specific time frame. The period is the story, and the two could not exist separate from one another.
But what makes Barry Lyndon Barry Lydon, above all else, are the visuals. Even if you can’t stomach the story, even if you get too bored to flip the DVD over for part II, there is no getting around the fact that this movie is gorgeous. Every frame of every shot is like a Romantic painting come to life. The very first long shot of Redmond Barry’s father’s death in a duel sets the tone, and there is not a single moment in this film that is not exciting to look at. It is probably most notable for the interior shots that were supposedly lit entirely using candles and period lighting, and this creates a kind of moody darkness and uneven lighting that immediately stands out, even to visually impaired sorts like myself, who understand the complexities of movie lighting about as well as we understand quantum mechanics.
Take any of the aforementioned card game scenes as an example. The characters are huddled close to the lights, which illuminate only the parts of the room nearest to them. Beyond the gaming table is a thick darkness, pierced perhaps by a wall sconce, but generally black. I’m sure someone better qualified than myself could spend hours talking about the technical know-how necessary to pull something like this off, and I’m sure with Kubrick no shortcuts were tolerated. Even in daylight scenes, the light comes in through windows only, creating environments that are never fully lit. This all combines to make the movie a visual experience unlike any other. People in the early 1800s would have had no concept of electric lighting, and this would affect behaviors, movement, even conversations. Kubrick accounted for this, and as a result Barry Lyndon looks more like contemporary paintings than a modern motion picture. No matter what you think of the plot or the characters, there is no getting around the visual achievement.
Personally, though, I love the characters. Not a single one of them are likable, heroic human beings, but they are all memorable, and every performance, even from the many, many small characters that come in and out of Redmond Barry’s life, is wonderful. Special mention, of course, goes to the foppish stepson of the title character, Lord Bullingdon, played by longtime Kubrick collaborator Leon Vitali. Despite the fact that he has been so clearly wronged by Barry Lyndon, and in a lesser movie would command the audience’s sympathy, as played by Vitali he remains a whiny, spoiled coward. During the final duel in the barn (the film’s best scene) Bullingdon shows no admirable characteristics—he is scared to the point of vomiting, and refuses to show an ounce of mercy to his broken stepfather.
Even if Bullingdon fails to arouse our sympathies, there are no characters in the film as reprehensible as the star himself, Redmond Barry (later Barry Lyndon.) If the film has a central plot, it is the story of Barry’s rise from an innocent farm boy to a self-indulgent, abusive, and soulless aristocrat. Kubrick doesn’t sugar coat this. This is no modern “He did evil for all the right reasons” kind of story. Barry is an opportunist who uses everyone around him to claw his way to the top, without a single (as far as I can tell) noble intention. That said, Barry is not evil. He starts out as a generally good man, and he is genuinely devoted to his young son. Characters in this world do not act in the usual roles of good and evil, they simply exist. Good intentions are marred by cowardice, in the case of Lord Bullingdon, and integrity is corroded by wealth, in the case of Barry. There are no heroes here. If I could explain why this works, I would love to do a movie with the same moral ambiguity, but generally movies with such unlikable characters are a recipe for disaster. Perhaps because Kubrick so unflinchingly portrays these people with all their human failings, an audience can, if not relate, at least understand.
As I’ve said, for my money the best scene is the final duel between Lord Bullingdon and Barry Lyndon. Dueling is a major part of the movie, and if you’re someone who can’t say “I demand satisfaction” without breaking into gleeful giggles of joy, than this movie is right for you. In this final scene, the two combatants face off with pistols in an old barn, birds flapping through the rafters, and only a thin layer of sunlight piercing through the decaying roof. God knows how long they stand there, pistols ready, waiting to take their shots. The suspense is so intense that it has driven more than one Kubrick fan mad. As many times as I’ve seen the movie, I still can’t get through that last scene without a great deal of hand-wringing.
It all leads up to the final punch-line: “It was in the reign of George III that the aforesaid personages lived and quarreled; good or bad, handsome or ugly, rich or poor, they are all equal now.” This last title card gives me chills at the same time it brings a smile. I’ve never read the 19th century novel on which the movie is based, but I hear this line appears there as well. Whatever its origin, it is the perfect note to go out on. After over three hours of watching these deplorable people struggle for title and property, we are slammed with this simplistic, sobering reminder of just how entirely pointless it all was—and is. Abandoning your principles, sticking to them, chasing after wealth and privilege or living a life of self-sacrifice—none of that will make you any less dead. Classic Kubrick.
I could go on forever about this movie—there’s so much of the plot, themes, and events that I’ve yet to touch on. I never even got into the soundtrack (though I made reference to it in my last entry) or the brilliant funeral scene it famously accompanies. Really, though, it’s just something that has to be experienced. If you’ve seen the movie, you probably either love it, respect it, or were bored to tears by it, and if you haven’t, there’s no time like the present. This is one of those movies that remind me why I love movies, and it’s also great reminder of why Kubrick deserves his reputation. As the trailer would have no doubt said, had I been in charge: “If you demand cinematic satisfaction, look no further than Barry Lyndon.”
NOTE: If that last joke isn’t funny, odds are Barry Lyndon is not the movie for you.
I’ve never been a particularly violent person. I’m anti-war, anti-Imperialism, and generally anti-confrontation. Yet for some reason I can’t get enough of strategy games where I get to take over the world. There’s some innate satisfaction for me in organizing armies, marching them across Europe, and slowly uniting the world under my benevolent rule. But it’s not all about the conquest. Not at all. Great games like the Civilization series let you “win” by becoming president of the UN, for example, or having cultural achievements so impressive that you simply awe the other civilizations into submission. Good strategy games effectively combine my love of history, maps, organizing things, city management, and being in charge. 
My latest foray into this strange and wonderful world has been Empire: Total War, another entry in the Total War series. The second game in the series, Medieval: Total War, remains one of my favorite games of all time, combining Risk-like strategy gaming with real time battles featuring thousands and thousands of troops. And you just can’t go wrong with the Middle Ages. (That game definitely deserves a whole entry unto itself. Hopefully I’ll get around to that one of these days.) After Medieval, I had insanely high expectations for Rome: Total War—it was an equally exciting period, the graphics looked amazing, and the scale was even more epic. Unfortunately, the final game left me underwhelmed. It was fun, sure, but after a while it just got boring and repetitive, and before long it felt more like busy-work. The same is true with Medieval 2: Total War—a lot of the color and atmosphere of the first game was gone—essentially it was Rome with a different coat of paint.That’s why my first impressions of Empire are fairly positive. For the first time since Rome, this one actually feels like a different game, and in a good way. I wasn’t big on the 18th Century before, but it’s an incredibly rich period, and real time battles where everyone has guns are decidedly different the typical swords and spears. This was the era that brought us Louis XIV, Maria Theresa, George III, and Napoleon, The Seven Years War, various succession wars, the American and French Revolutions, epic battles at sea, and the colonization of North and South America and India. It’s the closest we’ll ever get to a video game adaptation of Barry Lyndon—you can even fight duels! The story based Road to Independence campaign is a lot of fun, and I hope some more mission based gameplay is in the series’ future. There is more empire management, more towns, more strategic options, more battles (this time you can fight at sea), more territories, more diplomatic possibilities—generally more of everything.
Unfortunately, the game doesn’t, to put it simply, work. Crashes are constant. There are plenty of bugs. I can’t even check on my empire’s trade status without a giant error that forces me to restart my whole computer. Most disappointing, though, is the difficulty. The other nations are incredibly stupid. Civilization games can be brutally challenging at the highest difficulty levels—not so Total War. Like I said, even in the context of a game called “Total War” I’m not all about world domination. In the real 18th century, wars were fought for years over tiny bits of territory. I want to be able to fight a prolonged struggle in Sweden over a small strip of territory in South America, damn it! Instead what we get are suicidal nations that attack for no reason, and refuse to surrender until they’ve lost every bit of territory. If I conquer Berlin and decisively crush the Prussian army, that should be the end of the war. The more time I spend conquering regions the less time I have to build schools and research philosophy. The battles are awesome, but they should mean something—if I win, the world should take note. 
For real 18th Century strategy gaming, then, there’s still nothing better than Risk. Now I know it’s not really set in the 18th Century. The game pieces look sort of like Napoleonic soldiers, and the territories all have archaic names and borders that exist only in the world of Risk. Otherwise, it could be in any time (that’s why the game is so adaptable to Star Wars and Lord of the Rings settings). But I say it’s in the 18th Century, and I have yet to see any reasonable counter arguments to that claim. (I will also accept the early 19th Century, but now we’re just nitpicking.)
The point is, through the years of Warcraft and Starcraft, Civilization and Total War, there’s really no strategic rival for a good game of Risk. Sure, you can’t build infrastructure or fight epic battles, but the pain of human interaction makes up for any deficiencies. A bunch of friends sitting around a Risk game is not unlike a bunch of 19th Century British imperialists sitting around a map of China discussing the opium trade with their thick cigars and monocles. Deals are brokered, alliances formed, friendships challenged, hypocrisies exposed, and snacks consumed. Of course deals and alliances can only go so far, and at the end one player must inevitably toss friendship aside and make a final bid for personal glory, like Napoleon or Alexander before him.
Nothing tests a friendship like a good game of Risk. Everything that happens is random, governed by the roll of the dice. After your brilliant strategy to conquer Iceland with a huge army has been thwarted by an opponent with a single army and a string of unfathomably lucky rolls, you may be tempted to rip the board from the table and use it to wipe that smug grin right off his face. This is normal, and part of what makes Risk such an exhilarating experience. You have no idea what’s going to happen. Ever. No doubt Risk is where the well known phrase “Everyone’s your friend until somebody invades Kamchatka,” originates.
Once Empire gets some of its bugs worked out, it will no doubt be a fantastic strategy game. If multi-player ends up working, it could be a very Risk-like experience indeed. Right now I’m conquering the world as Austria, and I’m certainly having a good time of it. But for pure Enlightenment era bellicosity, there’s no replacement for cranking up Handel’s Sarabande, getting a bunch of Tostitos and up to five of your friends, and proceeding to crush their pathetic dreams of empire under the weight of your own imperial majesty.
Watchmen is a decent movie. It has an intriguing world, a great concept, interesting characters, and a good story. I saw it, and were I not impoverished would certainly see it again. I loved the Rorschach character, loved the opening credits, I even liked the sometimes out of place soundtrack (good music is good music). But my geek credentials are pretty thin in the comic book realm, and I have never read the graphic novel. Had I read it, I may have learned how the movie fails in every possible respect, as is apparently the case. What was for me an enjoyable movie about superheroes and the issues that would drive them in a gritty, real world setting, is actually an abomination of the greatest literary work since, well, ever, I guess.
A lot of this fan complaining is legitimate: There’s not a lot of emotion in the movie, the story seems rushed and some of the bigger moments don't land like they should, and it’s clear that the characters would all resonate much more in the denser setting of a graphic novel. What leads to such zealous fan reaction, though, is not the quality of the movie itself, but the level of deification that certain comic book writers like Alan Moore and Frank Miller have undergone in Hollywood in recent years. It has become a bit ridiculous. When Shakespeare is redone in the form of She’s the Man, nobody bats an eyebrow, but when one frame of one shot of one scene in Sin City diverges from the comic, a cinematic holocaust has been committed.
In response to this, a director like Zack Snyder (sorry bro) decides to stick as closely to the comic as possible. I will say again that I’ve not read Watchmen, but I have read and seen 300, and generally Snyder sticks to doing a shot for shot recreation of the comic. From all I’ve read, the same phenomenon is present in Watchmen, and the film certainly looks like it went to great lengths to recreate exact frames from the book. It’s like when you hear a cover of a song that’s just, well, the song again, but robbed of the creative spark that made the original something special.
It’s an endless cycle. Joe Moviegoer (in this case, me) likes the movie, but goes home without being hugely impacted by it. But Joe Moviegoer’s roommate, Jerry Fanboy (or Matilda Fangirl, as the case may be) sees the movie, finds it to be an aseptic approximation of what they love, and cover the internet with complaints. Hollywood, looking for a reason why the movie doesn’t do as well as say, The Dark Knight, sees the fanboy complaints, and in turn makes a movie that is more slavishly faithful to the original. And it goes back to Joe Moviegoer, and back down the line forever.
Watchmen, Sin City, 300—these are all great stories. Hell, if the Watchmen novel is 1/100th as good as I’ve been told, it would still earn a place among my favorite books. But a good movie can take that great source material and make a great, separate work of art from it. Look at The Godfather, for the love of Christmas! Satisfying a rabid fanbase like Watchmen’s will never be possible, so directors shouldn’t let that scare them into making inferior products. With all the mindless faithfulness to the Watchmen novel, fans are still furious that the production created a new climax, eschewing some sort of Lovecraftian monster in the finale. (Okay, honestly? That sounds fantastic.) You just can’t please everybody, no matter what you do.
Watchmen does a lot right. But you can tell just by watching that, not unlike the first Harry Potter movies, it shoots itself in the foot by being too faithful to the letter of the source material and rather ignorant to the spirit. In the hands of a director that wasn’t afraid to make the sacred cow of the novel their own (I would have loved a David Fincher take, for example), this had all the makings of a masterpiece. As it is, the movie fails in greatness, and fails in satisfying the passionate fanbase.
Hollywood has never been known for taking works of literature seriously. And, in this new trend of slavishly adapting the source material, they miss the point once again. Like I said, I enjoyed this movie for 99% of the time I was in the theater. I was blissfully unaware of the crimes that were being perpetrated to the holy tome, and so I had a good ride. If you like superheroes and enjoy the movie for what it is, you’ll have a good time at Watchmen, though you might leave feeling a bit like just drove past the Pyramids doing 90 and didn’t get out to take a picture.
Watchmen is a good movie on its own merits, but as an adaptation it comes up short. Unfortunately, this as is as much the fault of fanboy internet culture as anything else. These movies are monitored by fans during their entire production, and at the end of the day Zack Snyder did the best he could under those conditions. It’s not what it could have been, but given the circumstances, it’s a pretty decent movie, squid or no squid. It’s no Watchmen Babies, but I’ll take it.
