Farrell and Gleeson at Film Event
_(52448073104).jpg){kind=link}
Raph_PH, CC BY 2.0, via Wikimedia Commons
Friendly Fire: A Film Review of The Banshees of Inisherin
By Geoff Carter
One of the staples of the movie industry is the “buddy film” in which two friends—usually guys—share adventures, tribulations, and even (in a few rare cases) some emotionality. We can remember classic boy buddy flicks like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, 48 Hours, The Sting, The Odd Couple, and even Dumb and Dumber. Of course, to be equitable, we also have the female buddy movies like Thelma and Louise, The Heat, and Ghost World. And these lists barely scratch the surface. The genre—like most—is spawned from a fairly cut and dried formula. In most of these movies, friendships are formed—sometimes under duress—strengthened, tested, and then, finally, solidified. However, in Martin McDonagh’s dark comedy, The Banshees of Inisherin, set on the fictional island of Inisheran off the western coast of Ireland during the last part of the 1923 Irish Civil War, these usual “buddy film” expectations take a sharp left turn.
At the beginning of the movie, local farmer Pádraic Súilleabháin (Colin Farrell) is informed by his lifelong friend and drinking buddy Colm Doherty (Brendan Gleeson) that he no longer wishes to talk with him or be his friend. Bewildered by Colm’s sudden rejection of their friendship, Padraic attempts to get to the bottom of Colm’s decision, who finally tells Padraic that he is “too dull”, and that Colm wants to spend the rest of his life working on his music and accomplishing something he might be remembered for.
The good-natured Padraic is hurt by his former friend’s assessment of their relationship and keeps trying to reestablish their friendship until the exasperated Colm finally gets to the point where he tells Padraic that each time he tries to talk to him, he will cut off one finger of his left hand. Siobhan (Kerry Condon), Padraic’s sister, tries to talk sense into the two, but Colm is adamant. Dominic (Barry Keoghan), a somewhat dim-witted local lad, also tries to reconcile the two but to no avail. Padraic will not give up, however, and will not stop talking to Colm. When his former friend follows through with his promise, to the village’s horror, Padraic cannot believe Colm’s extreme repudiation—and will not accept it.
Almost immediately after Colm tells him he doesn’t want to be friends anymore, Padraic is puzzled and asks him, “Are we rowing?”, not sure why is friend is angry. His sister asks the same thing, and although no one on the island seems to understand Colm’s behavior, they accept it. When Siobhan and the local priest confront Colm, asking him why he would do such a thing, he says why not, to which they simply reply, “It’s not nice”. Padraic, however, cannot let it go. He keeps asking the local publican, Dominic, and Siobhan if he really is dull. They—of course (after a slight comically charged hesitation)—say he is not, but Padraic is filled with doubt. Colm’s rejection fills him with self-doubt about his own self-worth.
Colm, for his part, says he needs to use his remaining time wisely, to work on his music and refuses to waste his time with Padraic. By throwing Padraic aside, even in the name of art, Colm is selfishly prioritizing his own needs. When he demonstrates his resolve, the sacrifice he is making for his art is simultaneously horrifying and extravagant—much as the sacrifice he is making of his long-time friendship.
Despite its sudden and semi-unexpected violence and dark undercurrents, McDonagh’s screenplay is wickedly funny. The odd reasoning of Dominic’s conversations with Padraic are so idiotically funny they almost make sense. In fact, the whole sequestered universe of the island seems strangely insular—almost dreamlike. While the village’s expectations of civility (“Because it’s not nice.”) are somewhat mundane and exactly as dull as Colm says they are, his abrupt rejection of them—and Padraic—is accepted with a shrug. Changes in this small world seem to be inevitable as fate–and just as readily accepted.
Farrell’s portrayal of the earnest, good-natured, and sincere Padraic is endearing. It’s hard not to like the guy, but the viewer gets the feeling that Colm is right—Padraic is dull. He allows his pet miniature donkey into the house, and, after the departure of his sister, he lets all the farm animals share his space. His kindness seems to have no bounds, but as it becomes apparent Colm is steadfast in his decision—and tragedy strikes—Padraic’s anger boils over. Farrell’s performance is nothing short of brilliant. He handles the tectonic shift in Padraic’s character in a way that seems simultaneously believable and inevitable.
Gleeson’s performance as Colm is marvelously understated, even as the man’s behavior goes way over the top. He carries the self-conscious air of the long-suffering artist, and, as a man who is painfully aware of his own mortality (just as Padraic is blissfully unaware), his self-centered decision to live the life of the mind seems pitifully inadequate.
The island of Inisheran is isolated but close enough to the mainland to see it, and at times its inhabitants can hear distant sounds of battle from the Civil War, a conflict pitting friend against friend and brother against brother, a grim analogy to the strife between Padraic and Colm. In fact, Inisheran seems to be an insulated, non-threatening, but banal world. At times in the film, because of the pacing and the beautiful landscape, the setting seems almost dreamlike, an idealized world. The conflict between the two friends is perhaps an intrusion from the outside world into this Irish utopia—or Garden of Eden.
Colm’s aspiration to immortality through his art, his tune “The Banshees of Inisherin” is the cause of all the troubles on the idyllic island. At one point, when Colm describes the song, Padraic says that there are no banshees on the island. And, of course, a banshee is a female spirit that heralds the death of a family member. Colm seems to be hearing them, and contrary to Padraic’s opinion, there is a banshee on the island.
The Banshees of Inisherin is not in any sense a typical or predictable movie. The beautiful imagery of the film is tempered by the dark strain of humor and jarring violence that runs throughout. It is a film that plumbs deeply into the inner recesses of the human soul, searching out the darkest corners of the human heart. It is in many ways a cypher—a film that, like the beautiful scenery of Inisheran—stays with you long after you leave the theater.