I haven't seen Barry Lyndon either. I asked Bard, the Google AI chatbox, to write a review of the movie by Dave Barry. Here ya go:
Barry Lyndon: A Review by Dave Barry, Esquire (of Sorts)
Hey, folks, it's your favorite purveyor of pointless pronouncements, Dave Barry, back with a review that's as fancy and frou-frou as a peacock with a rhinestone-encrusted monocle. I'm talking about Stanley Kubrick's "Barry Lyndon," a movie that's about as long as a Florida summer and just as unpredictable.
Now, I'm not your average movie critic. I'm more of a "did it make me snort soda out my nose?" kind of guy. But even I could appreciate the sheer visual splendor of this flick. It's like Kubrick dipped his camera in a vat of melted candlelight and then filmed a painting by Thomas Gainsborough. Every frame is a feast for the eyeballs, with costumes so fancy they could make Liberace blush and enough gold trim to choke a leprechaun.
The story, well, it's about this Irish fella named Redmond Barry, who's got ambition the size of Texas and about the same level of moral compass. He scrambles his way up the social ladder, from penniless pugilist to posh aristocrat, using his charm, cunning, and a healthy dose of luck. Think of it as "Downton Abbey" meets "Fight Club," with a dash of "The Great Gatsby" thrown in for good measure.
Ryan O'Neal plays Barry with the charisma of a used car salesman and the acting chops of a particularly expressive lampshade. But hey, sometimes a blank slate is the best canvas for a character like this. You can project your own sense of moral outrage onto him as he schemes, cheats, and sleeps his way to the top.
And let's not forget the supporting cast, a veritable who's who of British acting royalty. You've got Patrick Magee as the sneering Lord Bullingdon, Barry's stepson who's about as charming as a rabid badger. Marisa Berenson as Lady Lyndon, a beautiful trophy wife who's about as happy as a goldfish in a bowl of hot sauce. And the ever-wonderful Patrick Stewart as Captain Potts, who's basically the movie's resident snarky narrator, providing running commentary like a grumpy cricket in a powdered wig.
Now, "Barry Lyndon" ain't for everyone. It's slow, it's long, and it's about as subtle as a brick to the forehead. But if you're looking for a visually stunning, morally ambiguous, and surprisingly hilarious journey through the decadent world of 18th-century aristocracy, then buckle up your powdered wig and get ready for a ride. Just don't expect a happy ending. In this game of social climbing, everyone loses, eventually. Except maybe the costume designer. Dude probably got a raise the size of Buckingham Palace.
So, in conclusion, "Barry Lyndon" is a movie that's as beautiful as a sunset over the Everglades and just as unpredictable as a Florida gator on a sugar high. It's got enough eye candy to keep your eyeballs busy, enough moral ambiguity to make your brain hurt, and enough snarky humor to make you snort soda out your nose (but maybe not in the theater, please). Just remember, folks, even the fanciest gold-trimmed carriage can't outrun karma. Or, as my grandma used to say, "What goes up the social ladder must eventually come crashing down, splattering everyone with champagne and regret."
And that, my friends, is the gospel according to Dave Barry. Now go forth and enjoy "Barry Lyndon," if you can handle the opulent beauty and the moral decay. Just don't blame me if you start quoting Patrick Stewart at your next cocktail party. You've been warned.
Sounds kinda fun. I think I'll check it out.
I'll cut to the chase now and say I was blown away with both of these "masterpieces of cinema" .... just .... WOW !! 
