“It was in the reign of King George III that the aforesaid personages lived and quarreled; good or bad, handsome or ugly, rich or poor, they are all equal now.”

Thus states the rather plainly blunt Epilogue to Stanley Kubrick’s Barry Lyndon, a film of reserved tension and exquisite imagery. Also along for the ride are themes of the cost of vanity, the solemnity of the varied faults of youth, misplaced love, the unwise desire for fame or fortune, and the eventual inescapable tragedies of pride.

The film Kubrick meticulously presented to the world in 1975 is not one of his most popular ones 35 years later. It is neither as groundbreaking as 2001: A Space Odyssey or as controversial as A Clockwork Orange; it has not the verbal saturation of Full Metal Jacket, nor the the ribald humor of Dr. Strangelove. Instead, with Barry Lyndon Kubrick challenges the viewer to admit that human nature more often than not drives a man to the lesser choice in regards to his long term interest. When we are young and full of passion and vigor, we rush to conclusions and do not consider the repercussions. For Redmond Barry (Ryan O’Neal), this means falling for his cousin’s romantic advances wholeheartedly, which she merely sees as a fun diversion. When we are older we play it “safe” by abandoning our desire for the affections of an individual for that of society. Therefore, Redmond Barry Lyndon (having acquired a high-class name by marriage) seeks to be honored by the class he presumes to inhabit, never realizing that there are no fewer disreputable individuals on that level.

That this is done against the endless painterly canvas of the film’s cinematography is a tribute to Kubrick’s background in photography. Every frame is a loving composition, from the candle-lit interiors to the lush English hillsides as backdrop for the noble (and clearly foolish) pistol duels. It appears that Kubrick knew that part of the tragedy of seeking worldly matters above all is to ignore the world itself, particularly its visual beauty which the world offers freely.

While most of the film is spent observing how wrongheaded, though spirited, choices lead to ultimate disfavor and ruin, it is at its most poignant during the events surrounding Barry’s son Bryan. Echoing King Vidor’s silent masterpiece The Crowd (1928), some tragedies in life are by no means brought about by ignorance or selfishness, but by simple misfortune. It is in these scenes that one learns they cannot look down upon Barry Lyndon, for within his soul – like all men – is the capacity to sincerely love, have charity, and seek those things that can bring true joy to life. No, Kubrick truly wants us to empathize with Barry Lyndon, both despite of and because of his faults, so we may acknowledge our own. From that recognition should come our desire to update and improve our priorities, lest we follow the same downward spiral.

The film has a power that grows with subsequent viewings; at first glance it may seem too deliberately paced for the less forgiving of viewers. Yet its tone is not that of an endless cycle, but of a steady pulse, continually driving towards the inevitable conclusion. And at its end, the real tragedy for Barry Lyndon is that more time was not spent on truer and more joyful endeavors, while so much time was wasted on frivolous matters. And then the final strike of the Epilogue: no matter the time or place, or one’s quarrels or status, we are all equals in the end.

Barry Lyndon is available on DVD and Blu-ray Disc from Warner Home Video.