Good storytelling has magic, and when Martin McDonagh tells you a story, you know you’re in the hands of a real magician. His latest, THE BANSHEES OF INISHERIN, is a sweet, funny, poignant, all-around enchanting ode to the Irish people. It transports you to a place and time, introduces you to a cast of lovable characters, and packs a profound message about the meaning of life. Those 109 minutes flew by.
Set on the fictional island of Inisherin off the coast of Ireland in 1923, when civil war was raging in the country, the film stars Colin Farrell as Pádraic and Brendan Gleeson as Colm. Pádraic is a kind, positive fellow who is… let’s say not the brightest bulb in the box. Besides doing some light farming, he spends his time at the pub, especially with his thoughtful, more mature musician buddy Colm. In fact, we catch him picking up Colm for a pub visit in the film’s opening scene. As he merrily points out to the older man, it’s two o’clock.
Only this time, Colm turns him down. And as he later makes clear, he no longer wishes to see or speak to Pádraic ever again. Baffled and hurt, Pádraic tries to figure out his best friend’s sudden change of heart. He consults with his sister Siobhan (Kerry Condon) and other townsfolk on the island, including the good-for-nothing bum Dominic (Barry Keoghan), even sends the priest to do his bidding. But it only strengthened Colm’s determination to end their relationship, leading him to declare that he will chop off one of his fingers each time Pádraic comes looking for him. Things escalate as Pádraic tries to save this friendship; in the meantime, many of the characters come to understand their fate on the island and react in hopeful/desperate ways.
The first hour or so of the film is endlessly endearing and laugh-out-loud hilarious. McDonagh populates Inisherin with memorable characters who make up an alcohol-fueled ecosystem of gossip. There’s the jolly barkeeper, the nosy grocery store lady, the bad-tempered policeman, the maybe-gay priest and the witch-like Mrs. McCormick. In this island community where time stands still and nothing ever happens, someone refusing to speak to their best friend is major news and everyone feels involved. Written with comedic precision and a distinct Irish voice, the screenplay captures the barely concealed curiosity and eagerness, the foul-mouthed good humor of a people perfectly. It also brings the two protagonists compellingly to life, where the genuine bewilderment of Pádraic bounces off Colm’s considered, impenetrable resolve. The dialogue leaps off the page and you can’t help but fall in love with these often crude, probably drunk, always authentic people.
The story takes a decidedly serious turn in the last act. Without getting into specifics or claiming to know the point McDonagh is trying to make, the film struck me as a reflection on what one leaves behind after a life lived. Is a legacy of artistic creation more worthwhile than the memory of having been a decent person? And if a man has lost his decency, does the greatness of his achievement still mean anything? I also find the portrayal of what happens to Siobhan and Dominic inexplicably moving. Perhaps the film’s not about an argument between two pub buddies after all, but the petty grudges and bitterness it symbolizes which characterize life at a place where the priest curses the most and the policeman beats his own son, where everybody is busy doing nothing, just staving off the inevitable. The question, then, is whether one has the chance and the courage to do something about it, to change their own destiny.
McDonagh’s direction is eloquent and effective, bringing the snappy comedy effortlessly to a dramatic close. Farrell and Gleeson are both fantastic. They have a kind of reverse character arc as each of Pádraic and Colm goes through changes of their own, and they both nailed it. Farrell proves he hasn’t lost his comedic chops. The perplexity, indignation or goofiness in his exchanges with Siobhan and the others is comedy gold. And when something terrible happens in the third act, the heartbreak and steeliness he brings carries the weight of that intense finale. Gleeson is such an incredibly watchable actor. There’s nothing flimsy or unreal about him. His very presence – from his face to his posture, from the way he talks to the way he walks – gives the film an anchor of humanity to stay grounded no matter the shifts in tone. Supporting players Cordon and Keoghan are excellent too, each so winningly natural they contribute significantly to the fullness of the narrative.
Thanks to Ben Davis’ textured, gorgeously lit cinematography and the breathtaking Irish landscape, the film looks amazing. And thanks to Carter Burwell’s fanciful, xylophone and harp-centric score, it sounds like a dream. The 79th edition of the Venice Film Festival is shaping up to be one of the strongest in recent memory and my list of films that I can’t imagine going home empty-handed is getting long. Farrell and/or Gleeson now join Brendan Fraser as bona fide candidates for the Coppa Volpi. And McDonagh is a real possibility for screenplay/director. The race is definitely on.
