[Rating: Rock Fist Way Up]
In Theaters Friday, October 21
You have to watch out for Martin McDonagh, man. One minute you’re doing coke with a sexy thief in Belgium, or having a cuddle with your mini-donkey in coastal Ireland, and then BAM! A scene hits you with the force of an anvil dropping through sugar glass, and all of those well-earned, easy chuckles are replaced with gasps. The writer/director’s newest film, The Banshees of Inisherin, is no exception, and proves that McDonagh is still the undisputed master of crafting films that straddle the thin boundary between tragedy and hilarity.
Opening with majestic overhead shots of the white cliffs and emerald fields of an island off Ireland’s western coast, the idyllic setting makes a case for itself as a member of the topline cast. This place, Inisherin, is home to a few dozen rural folk who, in 1924, seem content to live within the small universe that exists for them between milk deliveries, grocery shopping, and pub trips. When Pádraic (Colin Farrell), the local dairy farmer, makes his daily call on friend Colm (Brendan Gleeson) for a trip to the pub, he learns that his best friend no longer wants to speak with him. Colm provides no reason for his new position on the matter except to say that “I just don’t like you no more,” which confounds not just Pádraic, but the whole town, too.
Among those most confused is Pádraic’s sister/roommate, Siobhán (Kerry Condon), along with Inisherin’s local fool, Dominic (Barry Keoghan), who both know Pádraic to be somewhat dull but otherwise good natured. It’s this kind heart that inspires Pádraic to keep making attempts at reconciliation with Colm, who eventually places an ultimatum on circumstances. Colm resolves to sever one of his fingers every time his former-friend speaks to him: a threat not made idly (or without dire consequences).
Simple though the set-up may seem at first glance, there’s things to unpack for days, here. This idea that a person could one day just decide to live without someone (or something) else is an explosive notion, and one that a viewer can take in a number of directions in Banshees. The obvious thematic parallel is to the Irish Civil War, whose terrible, final echoes quite literally reverberate in the background of several scenes. But the strength of the movie lies not in the obvious or easy thematic connections, but in the universal nature of a simple struggle presented here with not just grace and humor, but also the solemnity it deserves.
After all, this is about more than just people or nations deciding they have nothing to say to each other any longer: it is an examination of a world that allows it to happen, and the confusion felt when it does. Indeed, the other side never understands the “why” in these situations. How many middle-aged Americans with Ultra-MAGA flags in their front yard and “White Lives Matter” memes pasted throughout their Facebook post history have trouble wrapping their heads around the suddenly aloof nature of their once-amiable relatives? How many generations of British royals have suffered the confusing indignity of seeing their conquered subjects turn their back on the commonwealth in favor of independent rule? And how many Irish citizens suffered through a civil war without a complete understanding of why they were tearing each other to pieces, and right after they had seemingly ousted the British, no less?
This last example is made explicit in Banshees, with several characters either confusing their allegiance or outright stating their miscomprehension of the struggle. Colm’s reasoning for separation is much more clear-cut, though just as difficult to explain to someone from the outside looking in. In Farrell, the wounded, spoiled idiot, Banshees has the perfect vessel to explore this dynamic with a no less impressive turn from Gleeson as his sounding board. The pair, so magnetic and emotionally affecting in McDonagh’s In Bruges, benefit from a familiarity that is felt on both sides of the screen, and make the material sing.
It’s not just them, though. McDonagh is using all of his tools as a filmmaker in Banshees, yet does so with such mastery that the audience often doesn’t realize all the intricacies at play. The costuming, for example, carries as much of the narrative and thematic weight of the script as the dialogue. Pádraic and Colm start the film in red and blue shirts, respectively, and as opinions and attitudes change between the men and those looking on, so too does the clothing. Just as a sailor can look to wind, pressure, and temperature to get a handle on the sea, so too can the audience track the clothing choices of all characters populating Inisherin to get a better read on what’s going on, here.
Socially and historically relevant, emotionally charged, and with top-tier performances that are matched only by the thoughtful precision of the directing, The Banshees of Inisherin is the complete package. Although Farrell and Gleeson pull much of the audience’s attention with career-best turns in the lead spots, Condon and Keoghan add some much-needed texture (and perhaps more metaphor, i.e. Indian and African colonialism) to the broader piece. Poignant and hilarious and tragic and achingly real in all the ways McDonagh’s films are, every goddamn time, this one is a gut punch, sure. But it’s a shot worth taking to experience what proper storytelling and filmmaking can look like in the right hands.
“Obvious Child” is the debut novel of Warren Cantrell, a film and music critic based out of Seattle, Washington. Mr. Cantrell has covered the Sundance and Seattle International Film Festivals, and provides regular dispatches for Scene-Stealers and The Playlist. Warren holds a B.A. and M.A. in History, and his hobbies include bourbon drinking, novel writing, and full-contact kickboxing.
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