It is perhaps no coincidence that The Banshees of Inisherin, the fourth feature film written and directed by Martin McDonagh, is also his best. His first three films were not set in Ireland, except for a brief prologue in In Bruges, and by returning to his native soil, McDonagh is on firmer ground. He lets his characters breathe, developing complex relationship among them, and the political subtext is more subtle. McDonagh is a playwright by training, and this film is stagey without being obvious about it (the title is also similar to his previous stage plays like The Lieutenant of Inishmore and The Cripple of Inishmaan). In fact, I would not be surprised if McDonagh repurposed this stage draft for the screen, which is another way of saying that the film is opportunity to regard a thoughtful dramatist in rare form.
Like those aforementioned plays, Inisherin is a fictional island off Ireland’s coast, one where the sparse population has no choice being up in each other’s business. Pádraic (Colin Farrell) is perfectly content with this situation: he lives with his sister Siobhán (Kerry Condon) and tends to the animals on his homestead. His main joy, however, is chatting at the island’s sole pub with his best friend, a musician named Colm (Brendan Gleeson). But an unexpected change in Colm’s mood shatters Pádraic’s world: Colm decides he cannot abide Pádraic’s incessant conversation, and tells him firmly – but not unkindly – he would prefer never to speak to him. Pádraic is in denial at first, and then he receives a grim ultimatum. If Pádraic keeps bugging Colm, Colm will cut off his own fingers. This grim experiment in deterrence has real stakes, as Colm is clear he would rather lose his livelihood than hear Pádraic any longer.
At first, the impasse is about nothing more than the challenges of adult friendships. Young friends tolerate each other’s faults because they do not know any better, whereas Colm figures that life is too short to listen to Pádraic patter on. The performances by Farrell and Gleeson elevate the relatively small stakes. Pádraic is not an idiot, but a simple man who believes that his kind nature allows him certain considerations, like a best friend who tolerates his bullshit. Gleeson is not gruff, exactly, but closer to an intellectual who would rather spend long silences contemplating the seaside. Sharper than her brother, Siobhán feels stuck between them, leading to cutting lines that ease the tension. Like McDonagh’s previous plays and films, he has a flair for seemingly superfluous detail, creating situations where people cannot see the forest for the trees. This can be very funny, and The Banshees of Inisherin includes enough supporting characters so there is always some gentle running commentary.
McDonagh is not exactly known for his formal ability – even his fans would agree it is not his forte – so one of the charms to the film is how great it looks. Together with cinematographer Ben Davis, McDonagh creates a specific sense of time and place, one full of natural beauty that is comforting and suffocating – often in the same scene. Colm and the others have unlimited access to ocean views, and the trouble is that’s all that Inisherin can offer them, even when there is the encroachment of the outside world just beyond the horizon.
The film is set in spring 1923, in the midst of the Irish Civil War, and while the characters offer little more than the passing observations, its realities take firmer hold. When the stakes between Colm and Pádraic get higher, there are alarming, inevitable political implications. No matter how civil two friends attempt to be, they have to take a side and there are certain lines they cannot cross.
There is another parallel story to Pádraic and Colm’s feud, and it has to do with kindness. McDonagh implies that kindness is something that should be gently applied, but thoughtfully. It would be a mistake to think of this as a uniquely Christian idea, something made clear by Colm’s brusque interactions with his priest. Instead, the characters must look for something deeper than dogma, and decide what it means to treat someone or something with decency (both Pádraic and Colm have pets, and their scenes with furry friends say more about who they are than any perceived slight). It is through these animals, and dimmer characters like Pádraic or Dominic (a scene-stealing Barry Keoghan) that we understand McDonagh’s deeper purpose. The line between tolerance and self-determination is always shifting, or it means something different for every man and beast. My line is different than yours, and this film dares to wonder what might happen when someone finally stands firm. The consequences are more dire, and ultimately more life-affirming, than you may think.
Photo courtesy of Searchlight Pictures
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