Showing posts with label Barry Lyndon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Barry Lyndon. Show all posts

Monday 8 January 2024

We are The Music-Makers, and We are The Players of Games

  



Kubrick on Barry Lyndon



An interview with Michel Ciment



Michel Ciment : You have given almost no interviews on Barry Lyndon. Does this decision relate to this film particularly, or is it because you are reluctant to speak about your work?


Stanley Kubrick : I suppose my excuse is that the picture was ready only a few weeks before it opened and I really had no time to do any interviews. But if I'm to be completely honest, it's probably due more to the fact that I don't like doing interviews. There is always the problem of being misquoted or, what's even worse, of being quoted exactly, and having to see what you've said in print. Then there are the mandatory -- "How did you get along with actor X, Y or Z?" -- "Who really thought of good idea A, B or C?" I think Nabokov may have had the right approach to interviews. He would only agree to write down the answers and then send them on to the interviewer who would then write the questions.


Do you feel that Barry Lyndon is a more secret film, more difficult to talk about?


Not really. I've always found it difficult to talk about any of my films. What I generally manage to do is to discuss the background information connected with the story, or perhaps some of the interesting facts which might be associated with it. This approach often allows me to avoid the "What does it mean? Why did you do it?" questions. For example, with Dr. Strangelove I could talk about the spectrum of bizarre ideas connected with the possibilities of accidental or unintentional warfare. 2001: A Space Odyssey allowed speculation about ultra-intelligent computers, life in the universe, and a whole range of science-fiction ideas. A Clockwork Orange involved law and order, criminal violence, authority versus freedom, etc. With Barry Lyndon you haven't got these topical issues to talk around, so I suppose that does make it a bit more difficult.


Your last three films were set in The Future. What led you to make an historical film?


I can't honestly say what led me to make any of my films. The best I can do is to say I just fell in love with the stories. Going beyond that is a bit like trying to explain why you fell in love with your wife : she's intelligent, has brown eyes, a good figure. Have you really said anything? Since I am currently going through the process of trying to decide what film to make next, I realize just how uncontrollable is the business of finding a story, and how much it depends on chance and spontaneous reaction. You can say a lot of "architectural" things about what a film story should have: a strong plot, interesting characters, possibilities for cinematic development, good opportunities for the actors to display emotion, and the presentation of its thematic ideas truthfully and intelligently. But, of course, that still doesn't really explain why you finally chose something, nor does it lead you to a story. You can only say that you probably wouldn't choose a story that doesn't have most of those qualities.


Since you are completely free in your choice of story material, how did you come to pick up a book by Thackeray, almost forgotten and hardly republished since the nineteenth century?


I have had a complete set of Thackeray sitting on my bookshelf at home for years, and I had to read several of his novels before reading Barry Lyndon. At one time, Vanity Fair interested me as a possible film but, in the end, I decided the story could not be successfully compressed into the relatively short time-span of a feature film. This problem of length, by the way, is now wonderfully accommodated for by the television miniseries which, with its ten-to twelve-hour length, pressed on consecutive nights, has created a completely different dramatic form. Anyway, as soon as I read Barry Lyndon I became very excited about it. I loved the story and the characters, and it seemed possible to make the transition from novel to film without destroying it in the process. It also offered the opportunity to do one of the things that movies can do better than any other art form, and that is to present historical subject matter. Description is not one of the things that novels do best but it is something that movies do effortlessly, at least with respect to the effort required of the audience. This is equally true for science-fiction and fantasy, which offer visual challenges and possibilities you don't find in contemporary stories.


How did you come to adopt a third-person commentary instead of the first-person narrative which is found in the book?


I believe Thackeray used Redmond Barry to tell his own story in a deliberately distorted way because it made it more interesting. Instead of the omniscient author, Thackeray used the imperfect observer, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say the dishonest observer, thus allowing the reader to judge for himself, with little difficulty, the probable truth in Redmond Barry's view of his life. This technique worked extremely well in the novel but, of course, in a film you have objective reality in front of you all of the time, so the effect of Thackeray's first-person story-teller could not be repeated on the screen. It might have worked as comedy by the juxtaposition of Barry's version of the truth with the reality on the screen, but I don't think that Barry Lyndon should have been done as a comedy.


You didn't think of having no commentary?


There is too much story to tell. A voice-over spares you the cumbersome business of telling the necessary facts of the story through expositional dialogue scenes which can become very tiresome and frequently unconvincing: "Curse the blasted storm that's wrecked our blessed ship!" Voice-over, on the other hand, is a perfectly legitimate and economical way of conveying story information which does not need dramatic weight and which would otherwise be too bulky to dramatize.


But you use it in other way -- to cool down the emotion of a scene, and to anticipate the story. For instance, just after the meeting with the German peasant girl -- a very moving scene -- the voice-over compares her to a town having been often conquered by siege.


In the scene that you're referring to, the voice-over works as an ironic counterpoint to what you see portrayed by the actors on the screen. This is only a minor sequence in the story and has to be presented with economy. Barry is tender and romantic with the girl but all he really wants is to get her into bed. The girl is lonely and Barry is attractive and attentive. If you think about it, it isn't likely that he is the only soldier she has brought home while her husband has been away to the wars. You could have had Barry give signals to the audience, through his performance, indicating that he is really insincere and opportunistic, but this would be unreal. When we try to deceive we are as convincing as we can be, aren't we?


The film's commentary also serves another purpose, but this time in much the same manner it did in the novel. The story has many twists and turns, and Thackeray uses Barry to give you hints in advance of most of the important plot developments, thus lessening the risk of their seeming contrived.


When he is going to meet the Chevalier Balibari, the commentary anticipates the emotions we are about to see, thus possibly lessening their effect.


Barry Lyndon is a story which does not depend upon surprise. What is important is not what is going to happen, but how it will happen. I think Thackeray trades off the advantage of surprise to gain a greater sense of inevitability and a better integration of what might otherwise seem melodramatic or contrived. In the scene you refer to where Barry meets the Chevalier, the film's voice-over establishes the necessary groundwork for the important new relationship which is rapidly to develop between the two men. 

By talking about Barry's loneliness being so far from home, his sense of isolation as an exile, and his joy at meeting a fellow countryman in a foreign land, the commentary prepares the way for the scenes which are quickly to follow showing his close attachment to the Chevalier. Another place in the story where I think this technique works particularly well is where we are told that Barry's young son, Bryan, is going to die at the same time we watch the two of them playing happily together. In this case, I think the commentary creates the same dramatic effect as, for example, the knowledge that the Titanic is doomed while you watch the carefree scenes of preparation and departure. These early scenes would be inexplicably dull if you didn't know about the ship's appointment with the iceberg. Being told in advance of the impending disaster gives away surprise but creates suspense.


There is very little introspection in the film. Barry is open about his feelings at the beginning of the film, but then he becomes less so.


At the beginning of the story, Barry has more people around him to whom he can express his feelings. As the story progresses, and particularly after his marriage, he becomes more and more isolated. There is finally no one who loves him, or with whom he can talk freely, with the possible exception of his young son, who is too young to be of much help. At the same time I don't think that the lack of introspective dialogue scenes are any loss to the story. Barry's feelings are there to be seen as he reacts to the increasingly difficult circumstances of his life. I think this is equally true for the other characters in the story. In any event, scenes of people talking about themselves are often very dull.


In contrast to films which are preoccupied with analyzing the psychology of the characters, yours tend to maintain a mystery around them. Reverend Runt, for instance, is a very opaque person. You don't know exactly what his motivations are.


But you know a lot about Reverend Runt, certainly all that is necessary. He dislikes Barry. He is secretly in love with Lady Lyndon, in his own prim, repressed, little way. His little smile of triumph, in the scene in the coach, near the end of the film, tells you all you need to know regarding the way he feels about Barry's misfortune, and the way things have worked out. You certainly don't have the time in a film to develop the motivations of minor characters.


Lady Lyndon is even more opaque.


Thackeray doesn't tell you a great deal about her in the novel. I found that very strange. He doesn't give you a lot to go on. There are, in fact, very few dialogue scenes with her in the book. Perhaps he meant her to be something of a mystery. But the film gives you a sufficient understanding of her anyway.


You made important changes in your adaptation, such as the invention of the last duel, and the ending itself.


Yes, I did, but I was satisfied that they were consistent with the spirit of the novel and brought the story to about the same place the novel did, but in less time. In the book, Barry is pensioned off by Lady Lyndon. Lord Bullingdon, having been believed dead, returns from America. He finds Barry and gives him a beating. Barry, tended by his mother, subsequently dies in prison, a drunk. This, and everything that went along with it in the novel to make it credible would have taken too much time on the screen. In the film, Bullingdon gets his revenge and Barry is totally defeated, destined, one can assume, for a fate not unlike that which awaited him in the novel.


And the scene of the two homosexuals in the lake was not in the book either.


The problem here was how to get Barry out of the British Army. The section of the book dealing with this is also fairly lengthy and complicated.


The function of the scene between the two gay officers was to provide a simpler way for Barry to escape. Again, it leads to the same end result as the novel but by a different route. Barry steals the papers and uniform of a British officer which allow him to make his way to freedom. Since the scene is purely expositional, the comic situation helps to mask your intentions.


Were you aware of the multiple echoes that are found in the film : flogging in the army, flogging at home, the duels, etc., and the narrative structure resembling that of A Clockwork Orange? Does this geometrical pattern attract you?


The narrative symmetry arose primarily out of the needs of telling the story rather than as part of a conscious design. The artistic process you go through in making a film is as much a matter of discovery as it is the execution of a plan. Your first responsibility in writing a screenplay is to pay the closest possible attention to the author's ideas and make sure you really understand what he has written and why he has written it. I know this sounds pretty obvious but you'd be surprised how often this is not done. There is a tendency for the screenplay writer to be "creative" too quickly. The next thing is to make sure that the story survives the selection and compression which has to occur in order to tell it in a maximum of three hours, and preferably two. This phase usually seals the fate of most major novels, which really need the large canvas upon which they are presented.


In the first part of A Clockwork Orange, we were against Alex. In the second part, we were on his side. In this film, the attraction/repulsion feeling towards Barry is present throughout.


Thackeray referred to it as "a novel without a hero". Barry is naive and uneducated. He is driven by a relentless ambition for wealth and social position. This proves to be an unfortunate combination of qualities which eventually lead to great misfortune and unhappiness for himself and those around him. Your feelings about Barry are mixed but he has charm and courage, and it is impossible not to like him despite his vanity, his insensitivity and his weaknesses. He is a very real character who is neither a conventional hero nor a conventional villain.


The feeling that we have at the end is one of utter waste.


Perhaps more a sense of tragedy, and because of this the story can assimilate the twists and turns of the plot without becoming melodrama. Melodrama uses all the problems of the world, and the difficulties and disasters which befall the characters, to demonstrate that the world is, after all, a benevolent and just place.


The last sentence which says that all the characters are now equal can be taken as a nihilistic or religious statement. From your films, one has the feeling that you are a nihilist who would like to believe.


I think you'll find that it is merely an ironic postscript taken from the novel. Its meaning seems quite clear to me and, as far as I'm concerned, it has nothing to do with nihilism or religion.


One has the feeling in your films that the world is in a constant state of war. The apes are fighting in 2001. There is fighting, too, in Paths Of Glory, and Dr. Strangelove. In Barry Lyndon, you have a war in the first part, and then in the second part we find the home is a battleground, too.


Drama is conflict, and violent conflict does not find its exclusive domain in my films. Nor is it uncommon for a film to be built around a situation where violent conflict is the driving force. With respect to Barry Lyndon, after his successful struggle to achieve wealth and social position, Barry proves to be badly unsuited to this role. He has clawed his way into a gilded cage, and once inside his life goes really bad. The violent conflicts which subsequently arise come inevitably as a result of the characters and their relationships. Barry's early conflicts carry him forth into life and they bring him adventure and happiness, but those in later life lead only to pain and eventually to tragedy.


In many ways, the film reminds us of silent movies. I am thinking particularly of the seduction of Lady Lyndon by Barry at the gambling table.


That's good. I think that silent films got a lot more things right than talkies. Barry and Lady Lyndon sit at the gaming table and exchange lingering looks. They do not say a word. Lady Lyndon goes out on the balcony for some air. Barry follows her outside. They gaze longingly into each other's eyes and kiss. Still not a word is spoken. It's very romantic, but at the same time, I think it suggests the empty attraction they have for each other that is to disappear as quickly as it arose. It sets the stage for everything that is to follow in their relationship. The actors, the images and the Schubert worked well together, I think.


Did you have Schubert's Trio in mind while preparing and shooting this particular scene?


No, I decided on it while we were editing. Initially, I thought it was right to use only eighteenth-century music. But sometimes you can make ground-rules for yourself which prove unnecessary and counter-productive. I think I must have listened to every LP you can buy of eighteenth-century music. One of the problems which soon became apparent is that there are no tragic love-themes in eighteenth-century music. So eventually I decided to use Schubert's Trio in E Flat, Opus 100, written in 1828. It's a magnificent piece of music and it has just the right restrained balance between the tragic and the romantic without getting into the headier stuff of later Romanticism.


You also cheated in another way by having Leonard Rosenman orchestrate Handel's Sarabande in a more dramatic style than you would find in eighteenth-century composition.


This arose from another problem about eighteenth-century music -- it isn't very dramatic, either. I first came across the Handel theme played on a guitar and, strangely enough, it made me think of Ennio Morricone. I think it worked very well in the film, and the very simple orchestration kept it from sounding out of place.


It also accompanies the last duel -- not present in the novel -- which is one of the most striking scenes in the film and is set in a dovecote.


The setting was a tithe barn which also happened to have a lot of pigeons resting in the rafters. We've seen many duels before in films, and I wanted to find a different and interesting way to present the scene. The sound of the pigeons added something to this, and, if it were a comedy, we could have had further evidence of the pigeons. Anyway, you tend to expect movie duels to be fought outdoors, possibly in a misty grove of trees at dawn. I thought the idea of placing the duel in a barn gave it an interesting difference. This idea came quite by accident when one of the location scouts returned with some photographs of the barn. I think it was Joyce who observed that accidents are the portals to discovery. Well, that's certainly true in making films. And perhaps in much the same way, there is an aspect of film-making which can be compared to a sporting contest. You can start with a game plan but depending on where the ball bounces and where the other side happens to be, opportunities and problems arise which can only be effectively dealt with at that very moment.


In 2001: A Space Odyssey, for example, there seemed no clever way for HAL to learn that the two astronauts distrusted him and were planning to disconnect his brain. It would have been irritatingly careless of them to talk aloud, knowing that HAL would hear and understand them. Then the perfect solution presented itself from the actual phsical layout of the space pod in the pod bay. The two men went into the pod and turned off every switch to make them safe from HAL's microphones. They sat in the pod facing each other and in the center of the shot, visible through the sound-proof glass port, you could plainly see the red glow of HAL's bug-eye lens, some fifteen feet away. What the conspirators didn't think of was that HAL would be able to read their lips.


Did you find it more constricting, less free, making an historical film where we all have precise conceptions of a period? Was it more of a challenge?


No, because at least you know what everything looked like. In 2001: A Space Odyssey everything had to be designed. But neither type of film is easy to do. In historical and futuristic films, there is an inverse relationship between the ease the audience has taking in at a glance the sets, costumes and decor, and the film-maker's problems in creating it. When everything you see has to be designed and constructed, you greatly increase the cost of the film, add tremendously to all the normal problems of film-making, making it virtually impossible to have the flexibility of last-minute changes which you can manage in a contemporary film.


You are well-known for the thoroughness with which you accumulate information and do research when you work on a project. Is it for you the thrill of being a reporter or a detective?


I suppose you could say it is a bit like being a detective. On Barry Lyndon, I accumulated a very large picture file of drawings and paintings taken from art books. These pictures served as the reference for everything we needed to make -- clothes, furniture, hand props, architecture, vehicles, etc. Unfortunately, the pictures would have been too awkward to use while they were still in the books, and I'm afraid we finally had very guiltily to tear up a lot of beautiful art books. They were all, fortunately, still in print which made it seem a little less sinful. Good research is an absolute necessity and I enjoy doing it. You have an important reason to study a subject in much greater depth than you would ever have done otherwise, and then you have the satisfaction of putting the knowledge to immediate good use. The designs for the clothes were all copied from drawings and paintings of the period. None of them were designed in the normal sense. This is the best way, in my opinion, to make historical costumes. It doesn't seem sensible to have a designer interpret -- say -- the eighteenth century, using the same picture sources from which you could faithfully copy the clothes. Neither is there much point sketching the costumes again when they are already beautifully represented in the paintings and drawings of the period. What is very important is to get some actual clothes of the period to learn how they were originally made. To get them to look right, you really have to make them the same way. Consider also the problem of taste in designing clothes, even for today. Only a handful of designers seem to have a sense of what is striking and beautiful. How can a designer, however brilliant, have a feeling for the clothes of another period which is equal to that of the people and the designers of the period itself, as recorded in their pictures? I spent a year preparing Barry Lyndon before the shooting began and I think this time was very well spent. The starting point and sine qua non of any historical or futuristic story is to make you believe what you see.


The danger in an historical film is that you lose yourself in details, and become decorative.


The danger connected with any multi-faceted problem is that you might pay too much attention to some of the problems to the detriment of others, but I am very conscious of this and I make sure I don't do that.


Why do you prefer natural lighting?


Because it's the way we see things. I have always tried to light my films to simulate natural light; in the daytime using the windows actually to light the set, and in night scenes the practical lights you see in the set. This approach has its problems when you can use bright electric light sources, but when candelabras and oil lamps are the brightest light sources which can be in the set, the difficulties are vastly increased. Prior to Barry Lyndon, the problem has never been properly solved. Even if the director and cameraman had the desire to light with practical light sources, the film and the lenses were not fast enough to get an exposure. A 35mm movie camera shutter exposes at about 1/50 of a second, and a useable exposure was only possible with a lens at least 100% faster than any which had ever been used on a movie camera. Fortunately, I found just such a lens, one of a group of ten which Zeiss had specially manufactured for NASA satellite photography. The lens had a speed of fO.7, and it was 100% faster than the fastest movie lens. A lot of work still had to be done to it and to the camera to make it useable. For one thing, the rear element of the lens had to be 2.5mm away from the film plane, requiring special modification to the rotating camera shutter. But with this lens it was now possible to shoot in light conditions so dim that it was difficult to read. For the day interior scenes, we used either the real daylight from the windows, or simulated daylight by banking lights outside the windows and diffusing them with tracing paper taped on the glass. In addition to the very beautiful lighting you can achieve this way, it is also a very practical way to work. You don't have to worry about shooting into your lighting equipment. All your lighting is outside the window behind tracing paper, and if you shoot towwards the window you get a very beautiful and realistic flare effect.


How did you decide on Ryan O'Neal?


He was the best actor for the part. He looked right and I was confident that he possessed much greater acting ability than he had been allowed to show in many of the films he had previously done. In retrospect, I think my confidence in him was fully justified by his performance, and I still can't think of anyone who would have been better for the part. The personal qualities of an actor, as they relate to the role, are almost as important as his ability, and other actors, say, like Al Pacino, Jack Nicholson or Dustin Hoffman, just to name a few who are great actors, would nevertheless have been wrong to play Barry Lyndon. I liked Ryan and we got along very well together. In this regard the only difficulties I have ever had with actors happened when their acting technique wasn't good enough to do something you asked of them. One way an actor deals with this difficulty is to invent a lot of excuses that have nothing to do with the real problem. This was very well represented in Truuffaut's Day For Night when Valentina Cortese, the star of the film within the film, hadn't bothered to learn her lines and claimed her dialogue fluffs were due to the confusion created by the script girl playing a bit part in the scene.


How do you explain some of the misunderstandings about the film by the American press and the English press?


The American press was predominantly enthusiastic about the film, and Time magazine ran a cover story about it. The international press was even more enthusiastic. It is true that the English press was badly split. But from the very beginning, all of my films have divided the critics. Some have thought them wonderful, and others have found very little good to say. But subsequent critical opinion has always resulted in a very remarkable shift to the favorable. In one instance, the same critic who originally rapped the film has several years later put it on an all-time best list. But, of course, the lasting and ultimately most important reputation of a film is not based on reviews, but on what, if anything, people say about it over the years, and on how much affection for it they have.


You are an innovator, but at the same time you are very conscious of tradition.


I try to be, anyway. I think that one of the problems with twentieth-century art is its preoccupation with subjectivity and originality at the expense of everything else. This has been especially true in painting and music. Though initially stimulating, this soon impeded the full development of any particular style, and rewarded uninteresting and sterile originality. At the same time, it is very sad to say, films have had the opposite problem -- they have consistently tried to formalize and repeat success, and they have clung to a form and style introduced in their infancy. The sure thing is what everone wants, and originality is not a nice word in this context. This is true despite the repeated example that nothing is as dangerous as a sure thing.


You have abandoned original film music in your last three films.


Exclude a pop music score from what I am about to say. However good our best film composers may be, they are not a Beethoven, a Mozart or a Brahms. Why use music which is less good when there is such a multitude of great orchestral music available from the past and from our own time? When you're editing a film, it's very helpful to be able to try out different pieces of music to see how they work with the scene. This is not at all an uncommon practice. Well, with a little more care and thought, these temporary music tracks can become the final score. When I had completed the editing of 2001: A Space Odyssey, I had laid in temporary music tracks for almost all of the music which was eventually used in the film. Then, in the normal way, I engaged the services of a distinguished film composer to write the score. Although he and I went over the picture very carefully, and he listened to these temporary tracks (Strauss, Ligeti, Khatchaturian) and agreed that they worked fine and would serve as a guide to the musical objectives of each sequence he, nevertheless, wrote and recorded a score which could not have been more alien to the music we had listened to, and much more serious than that, a score which, in my opinion, was completely inadequate for the film. With the premiere looming up, I had no time left even to think about another score being written, and had I not been able to use the music I had already selected for the temporary tracks I don't know what I would have done. The composer's agent phoned Robert O'Brien, the then head of MGM, to warn him that if I didn't use his client's score the film would not make its premiere date. But in that instance, as in all others, O'Brien trusted my judgment. He is a wonderful man, and one of the very few film bosses able to inspire genuine loyalty and affection from his film-makers.


Why did you choose to have only one flashback in the film: the child falling from the horse?


I didn't want to spend the time which would have been required to show the entire story action of young Bryan sneaking away from the house, taking the horse, falling, being found, etc. Nor did I want to learn about the accident solely through the dialogue scene in which the farm workers, carrying the injured boy, tell Barry. Putting the flashback fragment in the middle of the dialogue scene seemed to be the right thing to do.


Are your camera movements planned before?


Very rarely. I think there is virtually no point putting camera instructions into a screenplay, and only if some really important camera idea occurs to me, do I write it down. When you rehearse a scene, it is usually best not to think about the camera at all. If you do, I have found that it invariably interferes with the fullest exploration of the ideas of the scene. When, at last, something happens which you know is worth filming, that is the time to decide how to shoot it. It is almost but not quite true to say that when something really exciting and worthwhile is happening, it doesn't matter how you shoot it. In any event, it never takes me long to decide on set-ups, lighting or camera movements. The visual part of film making has always come easiest to me, and that is why I am careful to subordinate it to the story and the performances.


Do you like writing alone or would you like to work with a script writer?


I enjoy working with someone I find stimulating. One of the most fruitful and enjoyable collaborations I have had was with Arthur C. Clarke in writing the story of 2001: A Space Odyssey. One of the paradoxes of movie writing is that, with a few notable exceptions, writers who can really write are not interested in working on film scripts. They quite correctly regard their important work as being done for publication. I wrote the screenplay for Barry Lyndon alone. The first draft took three or four months but, as with all my films, the subsequent writing process never really stopped. What you have written and is yet unfilmed is inevitably affected by what has been filmed. New problems of content or dramatic weight reveal themselves. Rehearsing a scene can also cause script changes. However carefully you think about a scene, and however clearly you believe you have visualized it, it's never the same when you finally see it played. Sometimes a totally new idea comes up out of the blue, during a rehearsal, or even during actual shooting, which is simply too good to ignore. This can necessitate the new scene being worked out with the actors right then and there. As long as the actors know the objectives of the scene, and understand their characters, this is less difficult and much quicker to do than you might imagine.


Thursday 4 January 2024

Cheating

 




cheat (v.)

mid-15c., "to escheat, to seize as an escheat," a shortening of Old French escheat, legal term for revision of property to The State when The Owner dies without heirs, literally "that which falls to one," past participle of escheoir "happen, befall, occur, take place; fall due; lapse (legally)," from Late Latin *excadere "fall away, fall out," from Latin ex- "out" (see ex-) + cadere "to fall" (from PIE root *kad- "to fall").


Also compare escheat. The royal officers who had charge of  escheats evidently had a reputation for unscrupulousness, and the meaning of the verb evolved through "confiscate" (mid-15c.) to "deprive unfairly" (1580s), to "deceive, impose upon, trick" (1630s). 

Intransitive sense "act dishonestly, practice fraud or trickery" is from 1630s. To cheat on (someone) "be sexually unfaithful" is attested by 1934. 

Related: Cheated; cheating.


cheat (n.)

late 14c., "forfeited property, reversion of property to a lord," from cheat (v.) or from escheat (n.)

Meaning "a fraud committed by deception, a deceptive act" is from 1640s; earlier, in thieves' jargon, it meant "a stolen thing" (late 16c.), and earlier still "dice" (1530s). 

It also was used in canting slang generally, as an affix, for any "thing" (e.g. cackling-chete "a fowl," crashing-chetes "the teeth"). 

Meaning "a swindler, a person who cheats" is from 1660s; from 1680s as "anything which deceives or is intended to deceive."


Entries linking to cheat

ex- 

word-forming element, in English meaning usually "out of, from," but also "upwards, completely, deprive of, without," and "former;" from Latin ex "out of, from within; from which time, since; according to; in regard to," from PIE *eghs "out" (source also of Gaulish ex-, Old Irish ess-, Old Church Slavonic izu, Russian iz). In some cases also from Greek cognate ex, ek. PIE *eghs had comparative form *eks-tero and superlative *eks-t(e)r-emo-. Often reduced to e- before -b-, -d-, -g-, consonantal -i-, -l-, -m-, -n-, -v- (as in elude, emerge, evaporate, etc.).


*kad- 

Proto-Indo-European root meaning "to fall." 

It forms all or part of : accident; cadaver; cadence; caducous; cascade; case (n.1); casual; casualty; casuist; casus belli; chance; cheat; chute (n.1); coincide; decadence; decay; deciduous; escheat; incident; occasion; occident; recidivist. 


It is the hypothetical source of/evidence for its existence is provided by : Sanskrit sad- "to fall down;" Latin casus "a chance, occasion, opportunity; accident, mishap," literally "a falling," cadere "to fall, sink, settle down, decline, perish;" Armenian chacnum "to fall, become low;" perhaps also Middle Irish casar "hail, lightning."


escheat

cheating

cheater


escheat (n.)

the reverting of land to a King or Lord in certain cases, early 14c., from Anglo-French eschete (late 13c.), Old French eschete "succession, inheritance," literally "that which FALLS to one," noun use of fem. past participle of escheoir "happen, befall, occur, take place; fall due; lapse (legally)," from Late Latin *excadere "to fall out," from Latin ex "out, away" (see ex-) + cadere "to fall" (from PIE root *kad- "to fall"). As a verb, from late 14c. 

Related : Escheated; escheating. 

Late Latin *excadere represents a restored form of excidere, which yielded excise.


During five years of war 
the illustrious Frederick 
had so exhausted the males of His Kingdom 
that he had to employ recruiters who would 
commit any crime, including 
kidnapping to keep 
supplied those brilliant regiments 
of his with cannon fodder. 

Captain Potzdorf :
Good evening, sir. I'm Captain Potzdorf. 
To whom have I the honour of speaking? 

Lieutenant Fakenham :
Good evening. I'm Lieutenant Fakenham
Gale's Regiment of Foot. 

Pleased to meet you. Can we be of assistance to you? 

Lieutenant Fakenham :
Thank you, but I am carrying urgent despatches 
and must continue on my way. 

Captain Potzdorf :
And your destination? 

Lieutenant Fakenham :
Bremen. 

Captain Potzdorf :
Then you're obviously lost, Lieutenant. 
Bremen is in the opposite direction. 

Lieutenant Fakenham :
Are you sure? 

Captain Potzdorf :
Yes. 

Lieutenant Fakenham :
Wouldn't you know it! My departure was so hasty that my orderly forgot to prepare proper maps. 

Captain Potzdorf :
I understand. Please, do not be offended, Lieutenant,
but are you carrying your identity papers? 

Lieutenant Fakenham :
Yes, of course. 

Captain Potzdorf :
May I see them? 

Lieutenant Fakenham :
Of course. 

Captain Potzdorf :
Thank you. 
Thank you, Lieutenant, I hope 
I haven't inconvenienced you. 

Lieutenant Fakenham :
Not at all. 


Captain Potzdorf :
Now that we are riding in the same direction,
may I offer you a meal and a bed for the night 
and a proper map for the journey? 

Lieutenant Fakenham :
That's kind of you, Captain. 
I'd be honoured to accept. 

Barry was treated with great civility 
and was asked questions about England. 
He answered as best he could, 
inventing many stories. 
He described the King and Ministers,
boasted that the British Ambassador 
in Berlin was his uncle and even offered 
Potzdorf a letter of introduction. 

His host seemed satisfied with these stories. 
But, he led Barry on with a skillful combination 
of questions and flattery. 

Captain Potzdorf :
I know so little of your country of England -- 
except that you are the bravest nation in the world
and that we are fortunate to have such allies. 
Lieutenant Fakenham, let us drink to the friendship of our two great nations. 

Lieutenant Fakenham :
To our two great nations. 

Aren't you lucky, going to Bremen tomorrow? 
I know one of the loveliest women in Europe there. Would you take a letter to her? 

Lieutenant Fakenham :
Certainly. 

Captain Potzdorf :
By the way, to whom are you carrying your despatches? 

Lieutenant Fakenham :
General Williamson. 

Captain Potzdorf :
General Williamson? General Percival Williamson? 

Barry :
Yes, the same. 

Captain Potzdorf :
This man is under arrest. 

Barry :
Under arrest? Captain Potzdorf, sir... 
I'm a British Officer. 

Captain Potzdorf :
You're A Liar and 
An Imposter. You're A Deserter. 
I suspected you this morning. 
Your lies and folly have confirmed this. 
You pretend to carry despatches to 
a General, dead these ten months. 
You say The British Ambassador in Berlin 
is Your Uncle, with the ridiculous name of O'Grady. 
Now, will you Join and take The Bounty, or be given up? 

Barry :
I volunteer. 

The Prussian Service was worse than the English. 
The life of a Private Soldier was frightful. 
Punishment was incessant
Every Officer had the right to inflict it. 
The gauntlet was a common penalty for minor offences. 
More serious ones were punishable by mutilation or death

At the close of the Seven Years' War The Army, 
renowned for its disciplined valour, 
was officered by native Prussians. 
But it was mostly composed of men from the lowest levels of humanity hired or stolen from every nation in Europe. 

Thus, Barry fell into the worst company and 
was soon far advanced in the science 
of every kind of misconduct. 

Captain Potzdorf :
Help. Get me out of here. 

The Colonel's speech declared The King's satisfaction 
with the conduct of the Regiment at the Battle of Audorf,
and with Corporal Barry's bravery 
in rescuing Captain Potzdorf which was 
to be rewarded with the sum of two frederick d'or. 

The Colonel :
Corporal Barry, eight paces forward march! 
Corporal Barry. You're a gallant soldier
and evidently of good stock
but you're idle and unprincipled. 
You're a bad influence on the men. 
And for all your bravery, 
I'm sure you'll come to no good. 

Barry :
I hope The Colonel is mistaken. 
I have fallen into bad company, 
but I've only done as other soldiers do. 
I've never had A Friend or Protector before,
to show that I was worthy of better things. 
The Colonel may say I'm ruined, and send me to the Devil. 
But, I would go to the Devil to serve the Regiment. 

Corporal Barry, fall in. 

The war ended and Barry's regiment was garrisoned in the Capital. He had, for some time, ingratiated himself with Captain Potzdorf, whose confidence in him was about to bring its reward. 

Captain Potzdorf :
Good morning, Redmond. 

Good morning, Captain. 

Captain Potzdorf :
I should like you to meet my uncle, the Minister of Police. 


Good morning, Herr Minister. 

Captain Potzdorf :
Redmond... ...I've spoken to The Minister regarding your services and your fortune is made. 
We shall get you out of the Army,
appoint you to The Police Bureau, and, in time,
we'll allow you to move in a better sphere. 

Thank you, Captain. 

Captain Potzdorf :
Your loyalty to Me and service 
to the Regiment has pleased me. 

Now there is another occasion on which you can assist us. 
If you succeed your reward will be secure. 

Barry :
I'll do my best, sir. 

There is a gentleman in Berlin in the service of The Empress of Austria. He calls himself The Chevalier de Balibari. 
He appears to be a professional gambler. 
He's a libertine : Fond of women
of good food polished, obliging. 
He speaks French and German indifferently
But we have reason to fancy that 
Monsieur de Balibari is a native 
of your country of Ireland
And that he has come here as A Spy. 

Your knowledge of English makes you 
an ideal choice to go into his service 
and find out whether or not he is A Spy. 
Does this assignment interest you? 

Barry :
Minister, I'm interested in anything 
that can be of service to you
and Captain Potzdorf. 

Captain Potzdorf :
You will not know a word of English. 
If the Chevalier remarks on your accent, 
say you are Hungarian. You served in the war. 
You left the Army for medical reasons, then served 
Monsieur de Quellenberg for two years. 
He's now with the Army in Silesia, 
but you'll have a certificate from him. 


******

Barry :
Good morning, Your Honour. 

The Chevalier du Bari-Bari :
So you are the young man recommended by Seebach. 

Barry :
Yes, Your Honour, here are my credentials. 

The Chevalier du Bari-Bari :
Your Name is Lazlo Zilagy

Barry :
Yes, Your Honour. 

Monsieur de Quellenberg recommends you highly. 

Barry :
Monsieur is a very good man. 

It was imprudent of him but when Barry saw 
The Chevalier's splendour and noble manner 
he felt unable to keep disguise with him. 

Those who have never been exiled 
know not what it is to hear 
a friendly voice in captivity 
and would not understand the cause
of the burst of feeling now about to take place. 

The Chevalier du Bari-Bari :
You seem the right one to me. 

Barry :
Thank you, Your Honour. 

The Chevalier du Bari-Bari :
Are you ill? 

Barry :
Sir... 
...I have a confession to make to you. 
I'm an Irishman. My name is Redmond Barry. 
I was abducted into The Prussian Army. 
Now I've been put into Your Service 
by my Captain Potzdorf and his uncle, 
The Minister of Police, to serve as A Watch 
upon your actions, and to give Information to them. 

The Chevalier was much affected 
at thus finding one of his countrymen. 
For he too was an exile. And a friendly voice, 
a look brought the old country back to his memory. 

Barry :
He is very religious and attends church regularly. 
After Mass he comes home for breakfast. 
He then takes an airing in his carriage. 

Barry presented his reports regularly to The Minister. 
The details were arranged 
beforehand with the Chevalier. 
He was instructed to tell The Truth 
as much as his story would possibly bear

The Information he gave was 
very minute and accurate 
though not very important
Barry :
Wine or punch, Your Honour? 

Wine. 

It was agreed that Barry should 
keep his character of valet. 
That, before strangers, he should 
not know a word of English
And that he should keep a lookout 
on the trumps when serving the wine. 

Having excellent eyesight 
and a natural aptitude
he was able to give his dear patron 
much assistance against 
his opponents at the green table. 

If, for instance, he wiped the table with a napkin
the enemy was strong in Diamonds. 
If he adjusted a chair it meant Ace/King. 
If he said, "Punch or wine, My Lord?"
Hearts were meant, and so forth. 

The Prince of Tübingen who had intimate connections 
with the Great Frederick was passionately fond of Play 
as were the gentlemen of almost 
all the Courts of Europe. 

The Chevalier du Bari-Bari :
You owe 2000 Frederick d'or. 

Chevalier... though I cannot say how... 
I believe you have cheated Me. 

The Chevalier du Bari-Bari :
I deny Your Grace's accusation and beg you 
to say how you have been cheated. 

I don't know
But I believe I have been. 

The Chevalier du Bari-Bari :
Your Grace owes me 2000 Frederick d'or,
which I have honourably won. 

Chevalier -- if you will have Your Money now 
You must fight for it. 
If you will be patient, maybe 
I will pay you something another time. 

The Chevalier du Bari-Bari :
Your Grace, if I am to be so tame as to take this,
then I must give up an honourable and lucrative occupation. 

I have said all there is to be said. 
I am at your disposal for whatever 
purposes you wish. Good night. 

********

Captain Potzdorf :
Was The Prince cheated? 

In as far as I am able to tell, Herr Minister, no
I believe he won the money fairly. 

Captain Potzdorf :
What are the Chevalier's intentions? 

I'm not sure. The Prince told him 
that if he wanted his money 
he'd have to fight for it.  

********

Captain Potzdorf :
A Meeting with The Prince is impossible. 

Barry :
The Prince has left him no other choice

Captain Potzdorf :
Will you be able to return here tomorrow 
without arousing suspicion? 

*********

The Chevalier du Bari-Bari :
I know They won't allow A Meeting with The Prince. 
But if I say that, Do You Know Any Reason 
why he'll pay me What He Owes? 

You must tell Them I intend 
to demand Satisfaction

Don't look so downcast, my boy --
They cannot harm me
The Austrian Embassy will see to that. 

The worst They can do is send me 
out of this dreary country of Theirs. 

If they should, don't worry -- 
You shall not be left behind. 
Have no fear of that. 

*********

Captain Potzdorf :
The King has determined to send 
The Chevalier out of The country. 

Has he already demanded Satisfaction

Not yet, but I believe he intends to... 
...possibly Today. 

Captain Potzdorf :
Then this must be done tomorrow. 
All the arrangements are made. 
You said he takes a drive 
after breakfast every day. 

Yes, sir. 

Captain Potzdorf :
Is there any reason he should do 
any different tomorrow? 

No, sir. 

Captain Potzdorf :
Good. When The Chevalier comes out 
to his carriage in The Morning,
Two Officers will meet him 
and escort him to The Frontier. 
His baggage will be sent after him. 

Excellent. 

At ten o'clock the next morning, 
The Chevalier de Balibari went out 
for his regular morning drive. 

The Chevalier du Bari-Bari :
Where's My Servant, Lazlo? 

Two Prussian Officers :
I will let down the steps, Your Honour. 

The Chevalier du Bari-Bari :
What is this about? 

Two Prussian Officers :
Please get inside. 

The Chevalier du Bari-Bari :
Am I under arrest? 

Two Prussian Officers :
We're driving to The Frontier. 

The Chevalier du Bari-Bari :
Frontier? But I'm on my way to 
The Austrian Ambassador's House. 

Two Prussian Officers :
My Orders are to escort you to The Frontier... 
...and see you safely across The Border. 

The Chevalier du Bari-Bari :
But, I'm not going to The Frontier. 
I have very important business at 
The Austrian Ambassador's House. 

Two Prussian Officers :
My Orders are to take Your Honour 
to The Frontier by any means necessary. 
If you come willingly,
I'm to give you this purse on behalf 
of The Prince of Tübingen,
containing 2000 Frederick d'or. 

The Chevalier du Bari-Bari :
All Europe shall hear of this.
 
And so, without Papers or Passport
and under the eyes of Two Prussian Officers
Barry was escorted across the frontier 
into Saxony and Freedom. 

The Chevalier himself had uneventfully 
crossed The Frontier the night before. 
By these wonderful circumstances, 
Barry was once more Free and began 
his professional work as A Gamester,
resolving, thenceforward and forever, 
to live The Life of a Gentleman. 

The four wins. 

Soon he and The Chevalier were received 
in all the Courts of Europe and 
were speedily in the very best Society
where Play was patronised
and Professors of that Science 
always welcome. 


Lord Ludd :
The seven. Why not the seven? 
All...all, yes. No more bets. 


Number seven... loses. 
Place Your Bets. 

Lord Ludd :
Chevalier, will you give me credit 
for 5000 Louis D'Or, please? 

Of course, Lord Ludd. Five thousand. 


Now, everything on the four. 

Lord Ludd :
Yes, I know, everything on the four. 

No more bets. The four loses. 

Lord Ludd :
It is not important. Now, I'm weary. 
I would like dinner. Shall we? 

Excuse me, Lord Ludd. 
If you don't mind. Not at all. 



They always played on credit with 
any person of honour or noble lineage
They never pressed for their winnings,
or declined to receive promissory notes. 
But woe to The Man who did not pay 
when the note became due. 
Barry was sure to wait upon him with his bill. 
There were few bad debts. 

Lord Ludd :
Saluez. 

It was Barry's skill with The Swordand readiness to use it 
that maintained the reputation of The Firm, so to speak. 

On guard! 

Lord Ludd (DEEP, Masculine Voice) :
I will pay you today, sir. 

Thus, it will be seen, their life,
for all its splendour, was not without 
Danger and Difficulty, requiring 
Talent and Determination for Success.
 
And required them to live a 
wandering and disconnected life. 
And, though they were swimming upon 
the high tide of fortune and 
prospering with The Cardsthey had 
little to show for their labour, 
but some fine clothes 
and a few trinkets. 


Five years in The Army, and considerable 
experience of The World had 
dispelled any romantic notions 
regarding Love with which 
Barry commenced life. 
And he had it in mind, as many gentlemen 
had done before him, to marry 
A Woman of Fortune and Condition. 

And, as such things so often happen,
these thoughts coincided with 
his setting sight upon A Lady, who will play 
a considerable part in the drama of his life. 

The Countess of Lyndon, Viscountess 
Bullingdon of England,
Baroness Castle Lyndon of Ireland. 
A Woman of vast wealth and great beauty. 
She was The Wife of Sir Charles Lyndon, 
Knight of The Bath, Minister to George III 
at several of the Courts of Europe. 

A Cripple, wheeled about in a chair, 
worn out by gout and a myriad of diseases. 

Her Ladyship's Chaplain, Mr. Runt, 
acted as tutor to her son, 
the little Viscount Bullingdon, 
a melancholy little boy, much-
attached to His Mother. 


I'm going outside for a breath of air. 

Yes, My Lady. 

To make a long story short, 
six hours after they met,
Her Ladyship was in love. 
And once Barry got into her company,
he found innumerable occasions 
to improve his intimacy,
and was scarcely out of 
Her Ladyship's sight. 

Barry :
Good evening, gentlemen. Sir Charles.

Sir Charles Lyndon, 
Lord Bullingdon : 
Good evening, Mr. Barry. 
Have you done with My Lady? 

Barry :
Pardon? 

Sir Charles Lyndon, 
Lord Bullingdon :
Come, sir. I'm A Man who would 
rather be known as A Cuckold 
than A Fool. 

I think, Sir Charles, that you've had 
too much to drink. 

What? 


As it happens, Your Chaplain, Mr. Runt
introduced Me to Your Lady to advise Me on 
a religious matter, of which she is an expert

Sir Charles Lyndon, 
Lord Bullingdon :
He wants... to step into My Shoes. 
He wants to step into MY Shoes. 

Is it not a pleasure for me, 
as I am drawing near The Goal
to find My Home such a happy one, 
My Wife so fond of me, that she is even now 
thinking of appointing A Successor
Isn't it a comfort to see her 
like a prudent housewife 
getting everything ready 
for my departure?

 
I hope you're not thinking 
of leaving us, Sir Charles? 

Sir Charles Lyndon, 
Lord Bullingdon :
Not so soon as you may fancy, perhaps. 
I've been given over many times these four years. 
And there was always a candidate or two
waiting to apply for The Situation. 

I'm sorry for you, Mr. Barry. It grieves me 
to keep you or any gentleman waiting. 
Had you not better arrange with My Doctor or have 
The Cook flavour My Omelette with arsenic, eh? 

What are the odds, gentlemen, that I live 
to see Mr. Barry hang yet? 

Barry :
Sir, let those laugh that win. Gentlemen. 


I'll get a surgeon. 

Have some brandy, Sir Charles. 


From a report in 
The Saint James' Chronicle: 
"Died at Spa in Belgium, 
Sir Charles Reginald Lyndon, 
Knight of The Bath, 
Member of Parliament, 
and for many years 
His Majesty's Representative 
at various European Courts
He has left behind him A Name which is 
endeared to all His Friends. " 


The Rev. Samuel Runt (CofE) :
Dearly Beloved, We are gathered together 
here in The Sight of God, and 
in The Face of This Congregation
to join together this Man 
and this Woman 
in Holy Matrimony.

A Year later, on the fifteenth 
of June in the year 1773, 
Redmond Barry had The Honour 
to lead to the altar 
The Countess of Lyndon
The ceremony was performed 
by The Reverend Runt, 
Her Ladyship's Chaplain.

The Rev. Samuel Runt (CofE) :
And therefore is not in any way to be enterprised
nor taken in hand unadvisedly, lightly or wantonly
to satisfy men's carnal lusts and appetites 
like brute beasts that have no understanding;
But reverently, discreetly, advisedly, 
soberly, and in The Fear of God. 

Duly considering The Causes 
for which matrimony was ordained. 

First, it was ordained for 
The Procreation of Children 
to be brought up in the Fear 
and Nurture of The Lord, and to 
The Praise of His Holy Name. 

Secondly it was ordained for 
A Remedy against Sin
and to avoid Fornication.

Barry had now arrived at the pitch of Prosperity
and by His Own Energy had raised himself 
to a higher sphere of Society having procured 
His Majesty's gracious permission to add 
The Name of his lovely Lady to His Own. 
Thenceforth, Redmond Barry assumed 
The Style and Title of Barry Lyndon

Lady Lyndon :
Redmond, would you mind 
not smoking for a while?

Lady Lyndon was soon destined 
to occupy a place in Barry's Life 
not very much more important 
than the elegant carpets and pictures 
which would form the pleasant 
background of his existence. 

The Rev. Samuel Runt :
My Lord Bullingdon, you seem particularly glum today? 
You should be happy that Your Mother has remarried. 

My Lord Bullingdon :
Not in this way. 
And not in such haste
And certainly not to this man. 

The Rev. Samuel Runt :
I think you judge Your Mother too harshly
Do you not like your new Father? 

My Lord Bullingdon :
Not very much. 
He seems to Me little more than 
a common opportunist. 
I don't think he loves my mother at all. 
And it hurts me very much
to see her make such A Fool of herself. 

At the end of a year Her Ladyship 
presented Barry with A Son.
Bryan Patrick Lyndon, 
they called him. 

Her Ladyship and Barry lived, 
after a while, pretty separate. 
She preferred quiet, or to say The Truth, 
he preferred it for her, being a great friend 
to a modest and tranquil behaviour in Woman

Besides, She was A Mother, and 
would have great comfort
in the dressing, educating and 
dandling of their little Bryan --
For whose sake it was fit, Barry believed, 
that she should give up the pleasures and 
frivolities of the world, leaving that part 
of the duty of every family of distinction 
to be performed by him. 

Lady Lyndon tended to a melancholy and maudlin 
temper and, left alone by her husband, 
was rarely happy or in good humour. 
Now she must add jealousy to her other complaints,
and find rivals even among her maids

Lady Lyndon :
Samuel, what would the time be?

The Rev. Samuel Runt (CofE) : 
Twenty-five minutes past eleven, My Lady. 

Lady Lyndon :
Shall we make this the last game, ladies? 

Barry Lyndon :
Good morning, ladies. 
Would you mind excusing us? 
I'd like a word alone with 
Lady Lyndon. I'm sorry. 

The Tailor :
This coat is made of the finest velvet,
all cunningly worked with silver thread. 
No finer velvet has ever been woven, 
and you will see none better anywhere. 

Barry Lyndon :
Pardon me, Gentlemen. 
Good morning, dearest. 

Lady Lyndon :
We're taking the children for a ride to The Village. 
We'll be back for tea. 

Barry Lyndon :
Have a nice time. I'll see you then. 
Goodbye, little Bryan. Lord Bullingdon
Take Good Care of Your Mother. 

Lady Lyndon :
Come now, give Your Father a proper kiss. 
Lord Bullingdon -- is that the way 
to behave to Your Father
Lord Bullingdon, have you lost your tongue? 

My Lord Bullingdon :
My Father was Sir Charles Lyndon
I have not forgotten him, if others have.

Lady Lyndon : 
Lord Bullingdon, You have 
insulted Your Father! 

My Lord Bullingdon :
Madam, you have insulted My Father.

Barry Lyndon : 
Dearest, would you excuse us? 
We have something to discuss in private. 
Gentlemen. 

Barry Lyndon :
One. Two. Six. 
Lord Bullingdon -- I have always been willing 
to Live with You on friendly terms. 

But be clear about one thing
As Men Serve me, I Serve them. 

I never laid a cane on the back of A Lord before --
but, if you force me to, I shall speedily 
become used to the practice. 
Do you have anything to say for yourself? 

My Lord Bullingdon :
No. 

Barry Lyndon :
You may go. 

Barry believed, and not without some reason
that it had been a Declaration of War 
against him by Bullingdon from the start, 
and that the evil consequences that ensued
were entirely of Bullingdon's creating. 

Magician :
I shall make you into a real magician now, Bryan. 
I shall show you The Knot that never was. 

As Bullingdon grew up to be A Man
his hatred for Barry assumed an intensity
equalled only by his increased 
devotion to His Mother. 



Kubrick :
"I believe Thackeray used Redmond Barry 
to tell his own story in a deliberately distorted way 
because it made it more interesting

Instead of The Omniscient Author
Thackeray used The Imperfect Observer
or perhaps it would be more accurate to say 
The Dishonest Observer, thus allowing The Reader 
to judge for himself, with little difficulty, the probable 
Truth in Redmond Barry's view of his life. 

This technique worked extremely well in the novel 
but, of course, in a film you have objective reality 
in front of you all of the time, so the effect of 
Thackeray's first-person story-teller 
could not be repeated on the screen. 

It might have worked as comedy by the juxtaposition of 
Barry's version of The Truth with 
The Reality on The Screen, 
but I don't think that Barry Lyndon 
should have been done as A Comedy.