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On the Climactic Duel in Barry Lyndon

This was written in a thread discussing Kubrick's much-maligned masterpiece BARRY LYNDON, which I consider to be quite possibly the greatest of all his films. The original message text to which I responded to is in italics:

May 21, 2003

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So, what do you do with the final duel scene where Lyndon fires into the ground? Has the character arc changed? Are we to understand that his relationship with his own son, and his final promise, have somehow altered his fundamental character? I didn't believe that Lyndon had changed at the time of the duel, and so the gesture of firing into the ground seemed almost sentimental. How are we supposed to read this sudden character reversal?

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My own take was that this scene crystallizes the hopeless predicament in which Lyndon has found himself caught by this point, regarding the official and unofficial rules that he has failed to grasp in the course of his social climbing. The duel is supposed to go according to a certain "program", a certain decorum, a certain script, based on a certain notion of gentlemanly "fairness". One person fires, then another. These are the rules. But then Lord Bullingdon's gun goes off prematurely -- is this a "fair" turn? By the official rules of the duel, it is, and so Barry has the right to take aim, fire and win the duel. BUT, we know from the looks of the witnesses and officials that this does not sit well -- and if Barry fires, he may well likely be considered a cruel, uncivilized ruffian, the scoundrel that everyone suspects him of being, given his dubious origins and of course his very improper prior explosion with Lord Bullingdon.

My guess is that Barry is well aware of this, at least on an intuitive basis, and as always wants to be considered a gentleman. So what would a gentleman do? Barry makes a choice, which, like his first duel with the English lord, turns out not to be a choice at all.

But before I jump to that point, it's worth dwelling on what significance there is in Barry's "choice" not to shoot his stepson. It could be sentimentality driving him over rage; there's proof that both emotions are strong in him (compare his grief over his son's death with his punishment of his stepson). I think that sentimentality won out because as he stood facing his stepson he could see himself from way back when, impudent yet naive and clearly vulnerable. And I think that shock of recognition (while not telegraphed in Kubrick's restrained handling of the scene -- but his technique in this film is a whole other ball of wax to get into, as you point out) informs his action.

PS: I think it's worth considering that the rather smug and pat tone of the narrator renders it to some extent unreliable, esp. when things he says seems to chafe both tonally and factually with what Kubrick presents visually -- I think Kubrick presents the voice over narration in such a way as to challenge the viewer's inclination to take his words as authoritative historical fact (which brings the entire foundation of historical narration under question).