Barry Lyndon

Cinematography has often been described as “painting with light.” And few films can lay claim to achieving this goal better than Barry Lyndon, director Stanley Kubrick’s 1975 period piece that follows an ambitious cad (played by real-life cad Ryan O’Neal) who Gump’s his way from humble Irish beginnings to a life of wealth and privilege…at the expense of almost everyone around him. While the film has been buried in Kubrick’s canon of work in comparison to revivals and reissues of 2001 and The Shining, it’s finally getting critical reappraisal and recognition for being more than just “that movie they shot using real candlelight.” Cinematographer Jon Alcott’s ability to capture motion picture images using only natural flame - thereby recreating the true sense of 18th century life – won him an Academy Award. But it’s Kubrick’s painterly compositions throughout the rest of the film that make it more than a simple technical achievement. Few directors can compare with Kubrick’s eye for landscapes (John Ford and Terence Malick are the only legit contenders). Watching Barry Lyndon is akin to staring through an elaborate picture frame in which the subjects miraculously come to life. Co-star Marisa Berenson was in fact a fashion model chosen for her ability to strike a pose. Which might lead one to belief that the film is another cold Kubrickian statement of style over substance. Yet, Barry Lyndon is an epic, humorous, thoughtful and ultimately tragic stage play of human emotions set during a time when “all the best” people” refused to even acknowledge they had emotions. Which is what makes the film and O’Neal’s naively affected performance so effective. Part of the Stanley Kubrick Limited Edition Collection, which gathers nine of the director’s most well-known works, or available individually as an “Amazon Exclusive,” Barry Lyndon is perhaps the best-looking Blu-ray you’ll ever own in your collection. Which makes up for the fact that’s it’s completely bereft of extras.

Cranking out a good short story can be even tougher than writing the “Great American Novel.” Stephen King, for all his success with longwinded epics like The Stand, truly excels in the short form. And he drew most of his inspiration from Richard Matheson, an author / screenwriter whose work ranges from classic Twilight Zone episodes (including “Nightmare at 20,000 Feet”) to major movie adaptations like I Am Legend, Somewhere in Time and The Incredible Shrinking Man. Together with frequent writing partner Charles Beaumont they came up with Burn, Witch, Burn (1962), a classsic horror flick with all the earmarks of a classic short story. A successful and respected college professor, Norman Taylor (Peter Wyngarde) is shocked to discover his wife, Tansy (Janet Blair) is obsessed with protective spells and charms that she claims has furthered his career. When he insists she destroy them, it kicks off a series of misfortunes and tragic events that just might change his mind about the existence – and effectiveness – of witchcraft. Underneath the dated misogynistic role models and stay-at-home domesticity, there’s a crackling good conflict at work here. Tansy’s paranoia versus her husband’s confident disbelief sets up some incredible sequences; her frantic search for evil charms after a dinner party and almost psychotic reaction after her protective devices are uncovered and destroyed. The film sells the idea that this might be just a case of typical womanly intuition gone horribly wrong. But of course, as the audience, we know her fears are real. And eventually Norman does too, when it becomes obvious there’s another witch or warlock around who wants to ensure his demise. At 90 minutes, Burn, Witch, Burn feels a bit long. It would have made a perfect Twilight Zone episode though and proves once again that Matheson could accomplish more in 30 pages than most authors could with 300. Available as part of the MGM Limited Collection, Burn, Witch, Burn premieres on DVD via www.ClassicMoviesNow.com, a manufactured-on-demand service. The transfer looks quite nice, although a Matheson commentary (previously available on the out-of-print laserdisc) is not included.