"Before Private Barry Lyndon there came Commander Napoleon Bonaparte. For a director who sets his heart upon a lad in uniform must prepare to change lovers pretty quickly, or his life will be but a sad one."
Waterloo wasn't just Napoleon’s; it was also to be Stanley Kubrick’s. A great epic on the life of the French commander, head of state and European influencer, was Kubrick’s passion project for much of his early filmmaking career. Kubrick was such a fanboy, having read every book going about Napoleon, that he created a filing system in his office consisting of hundreds of cards. The director had documented, and had at the tip of his fingers, exactly where Napoleon was and what he was doing on every day of his life from cradle to grave. (This legendary filing chest was finally shown to all us Kubrick fanboys as part of an exhibition of the director’s stash in 2019).
Alas it was not to be. Kubrick’s post-2001: A Space Odyssey plans for Bonaparte were blown apart in 1970 by the release of Sergi Bonderchuk’s Waterloo, starring Rod Steiger as Napoleon (Kubrick had a pre-Chinatown Jack Nicholson in his sights for the role. Not only did the Russian director beat Kubrick to the cinema, Waterloo was a washout at the box office, giving Warner Brothers cold feet. The studio withdrew their financing, and the director, his ambition foiled, channelled his frustration into A Clockwork Orange Instead. Bringing this controversial adaption in on time and under budget, the director was looking ahead. Napoleon’ may have been defeated, but Kubrick wasn’t about to waste a decade of research.
"Ireland, 1973. It was in the reign of president Erskine Hamilton Childers that the personages involved below lived and quarrelled; good or bad, handsome or ugly, rich or poor, they all experienced something unique: pure cinema."
Ireland was no stranger to hosting Hollywood productions. Just when we saw the back of David Lean (Ryan’s Daughter), John Huston (Mackintosh Man) and Robert Altman (Images) did Barry Lyndon strut into town. Based on the novel by William Makepeace Thackeray, recounting "the early exploits and later unravelling of an 18th-century Irish rogue and gold digger who marries a rich widow to climb the social ladder and assume her late husband's aristocratic position". Sounds a bit soapy; not much mise-en-scene meat on those bones for a master filmmaker like Kubrick, it might seem. But if ever you were seeking a cinematic example of ‘It’s all in the execution’, Redmond Barry is yer man. And when I say Redmond Barry, I mean Ryan O’ Neal, for that’s who Kubrick cast in the title role - to much bemusement by many (but to Warner Brothers’ delight), ‘That Hollywood glamour boy, an eighteenth century Irish rogue?’ Yes. That’s kind of the point.
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Listen: RTÉ Arena on Barry Lyndon at 50
O’Neal is the protagonist in the most realistically-shot period film ever attempted, before or since. So unprecedented was this movie, that the IRA threatened the director’s family. Though that has less to do with Kubrick’s filming methods and more with the political vibe of the time. Still, though: candles! Boxes and boxes of them were used to light scenes without any artificial light. These were no ordinary skinny church types; these were three-wick candles, which produce a larger flame, allowing such light to be captured by the camera. Especially manufactured for the production, these types of candles are impractical for any other purpose.
Also impractical for this purpose: any camera lens known to cinema. Thinking outside the box as he does, Kubrick turned to NASA for a solution, and shot all of these scenes using a lens designed for use by the Apollo moon missions. With only the one single such lens in existence - no back ups or replacements - cinematographer John Alcott and his camera crew sweated bullets for months in the dim candle light of Ireland’s grandest country houses. The focus puller reportedly resorted to sleeping with the lens for fear something would happen to it.
If the Provisionals had realised how much this piece of glass was worth, we would probably now have a spin-off true crime doc covering an unlikely kidnapping involving the moon landings, a Hollywood director in exile, and the adventures of a fictional Irish rogue in 18th century Ireland.
Of course, Kubrick being Kubrick, secrecy was paramount. Other than the odd cryptic second-hand story regarding his direction of the actors, there were no real clues regarding these unconventional working methods. Filming progressed around locations such as Carlton House in Maynooth; Kells in Co. Meath; Cahir Castle in Tipperary; Huntington Castle, Carlow; Templemichael Castle, Waterford; Powerscourt, Co. Wicklow; and Dublin Castle. With drama, for the most part, restricted to in front of the camera.
My search through the Irish Newspaper Archive of the period results in a few nuggets. There’s a lovely piece in the Nationalist & Munster Advertiser in September ‘73, describing a scene at 3 am on a gloomy wet Monday at Cahir Castle, "Mr. Stanley Kubrick, whose name is often seen of TV films (sic) was pointed out sheltering under a large sky-blue umbrella, coffee mug in hand." The Advertiser also managed to ferret out the fact that the Prussian Army were "mostly recruited from the Waterford area".
Watch a scene from Barry Lyndon
"Kubrick Is Coming", the Sunday Independent announced in July. Following it up a few months later with, "Stanley Kubrick is working among us", as if he was a newly arrived messiah. (To be honest, to cinema he kind of was). The Indo also begrudgingly admired how Kubrick and his unit had managed to keep their filming mostly secret. They do mention the cohort of Irish actors working on the picture took some time to get used to the director’s "sheer personality and approach" to filming, but had settled in after a few weeks. Except one well known Irish actor, it says, who "walked out on the film in mutual agreement with the director." Not named at the time, Ray McAnally was later revealed to be the actor Kubrick had crossed swords with. (Kubrick may never have gotten to make his AI film, but Google’s AI rhapsodies about McAnally’s performance, despite him not ever having shot a foot of film).
One actor who is most definitely in the picture is a then twenty-five year old Leon Vitali, a jobbing performer from the British stage and television. Vitali was cast in the memorable role of Barry’s affronted nemesis, Lord Bullingdon ("I have not received satisfaction.") But his legacy and career in cinema would be long-lasting. So impressed was he by the experience of working with his director, Vitali gave up acting and became Kubrick’s personal assistant. Leon devoted the rest of his working life and beyond to Kubrick’s legacy. His full story is told in the fascinating documentary by Tony Zierra, Filmworker. (Vitalli did return to the screen for the small but pivotal role of Red Cloak in Kubrick’s final opus, Eyes Wide Shut. A film that is the subject of another upcoming Zierra documentary, SK13).
The result of all this attention to detail and bespoke shooting produced a truly magnificent piece of cinema; This picture, composed of candlelit interiors coupled with Hogarth paintings come to life for exteriors, went on to win four Oscars (one for its memorable score, featuring Paddy Moloney of The Chieftains). Alas, there was a major downside to all this artistry: it was a difficult movie to truly appreciate outside of a pitch-black cinema and proper projection standards. As a result, Barry Lyndon didn’t have as extensive an afterlife on TV and home video as the rest of Kubrick’s filmography. Such was this reflected in my own attempts to see this film back in the late 1980s at the Dublin Film Festival. Ticket burning a hole in my teenaged pocket, it was suddenly announced the scheduled Barry Lyndon screening had been pulled. The reason: Leon Vitali - Lord Bullington himself - in Kubrick’s stead, deemed the DFF’s print, well, unsatisfactory, sir! I had to settle for a French print of 2001:A Space Odyssey. It was at the Savoy 1 on O'Connell Street, and the first time I’d see 2001 in a cinema; any affair with Barry may have been thwarted, but, as a result, I fell madly in love with Stanley instead.
To experience Napoleon: The Greatest Movie Never Made, check out the huge Taschen tome published in 2011, which compiles Kubrick’s research and screenplay. In the meantime, allow yourself to be courted by Barry and Stanley at a cinema this month, as Barry Lyndon returns to his homeland for a fiftieth anniversary release, complete with the best sound, 4K projection standards and merciful interval. You will be most satisfied.
The re-release of Barry Lyndon is at selected cinemas natiowide from July 18th
