Rating: R
Runtime: 1 hour, 54 minutes
Director: Martin McDonagh
Quick Impressions:
The other day, my sister said to me, “So we watched the Irish movie with Colin Farrell, and I’ve never seen anything more Irish in my life. It’s good but super depressing.”
If she wrote this review, it would be a lot shorter! I mean, that’s it in two sentences! But at the time, I had resigned myself to missing the entire Oscar season and never watching a new movie again. (This was Wednesday!) Plus, she didn’t tell me Martin McDonagh wrote and directed the film. Both my husband and I loved Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri to a ridiculous degree. It was one of the first films we saw in the theater after a long hiatus when my son was an infant. Electrified by it, we left so energized, jabbering about how much we loved the movies, and I finally started loving Sam Rockwell.
I’ve liked all of Martin McDonagh’s films. (I haven’t had the opportunity to watch any of his plays.) So I was extremely excited to see this movie, so much so I cajoled my husband to stay up past his bedtime watching it. (We had to watch the Fabelmans again first. My daughter was so excited to show it to him.)
This is a wonderful movie. I really like the stuff McDonagh writes. Fiction is the best, the only possible way to convey anything true. (I’m frustrated with the non-fiction I’m working on now. It’s so limiting, compared to fiction.)
The Good:
What I love about this movie is that we alternately ask, “What’s wrong with Colm?” and “What’s wrong with Pádraic?” It’s an existential debate between the two. I particularly love Pádraic’s early solution to the problem when he looks at the calendar. He’s not wrong. The whole thing is an April Fool’s prank. He’s just wrong about it being played on him by Colm. It’s being played on both of them (and everyone else) by God (or else Not God in the event there is no God). Life is an April Fool’s Joke. Hahahahahahaha! (Right?)
Clearly the only sane people in the film are the two who leave the closed system—the fool and the genius. One exit provides a better outcome than the other. But which one? We’ll never know for sure!!! Hahahahahahahahaha!
Watching this, I thought, “You know what? I should move to Ireland and go around setting people’s houses on fire!” because you’re never going to get anywhere being nice or banging on about musicians you misremember and don’t understand.
I suppose my sister’s right that the movie is super depressing. But it’s also extremely funny. Almost every scene is funny. The humor is very dark. For a McDonagh film, it’s not that violent, and the humor does not come from the violence, refreshing to a degree.
Watching the opening scene—from the way it’s set up—I thought, “Okay, this is going to be like Waiting for Godot or something, right? We’re never going to get the answer, right?” (To avoid spoilers, I won’t say if my initial impressions were correct.)
Here’s the basic premise. In a tiny Irish island village in 1923, Colin Farrell (Pádraic) and Brendan Gleeson (Colm) have been best friends for years. One day, Colm starts blowing Pádraic off. The movie opens as Pádraic is knocking on Colm’s door. Colm doesn’t answer. He just sits in his chair, smoking, right next to the window, fully aware Pádraic can see him. Pádraic can’t think of anything he’s said or done to offend Colm, but he explains this and says he’s prepared to apologize sincerely. And Colm tells him, “No, you didn’t say or do anything wrong. I just don’t like you anymore.”
And that’s what drives the plot. For no real reason, Colm wants Pádraic to leave him alone. Forever. And Pádraic can’t accept this. (It’s worth noting that hardly anyone lives on this island. All the occupants appear to fit in the pub at the same time.)
What’s brilliant is the irony of the ending. Without spoilers, I can say only that these two become truly incompatible. They’re stuck in opposing if/then statements. For one, the friendship can continue only if certain conditions are met, and for the other, those conditions being met is the one thing that can end the friendship.
The set-up is remarkably like a bit you might watch on Sesame Street or Bubble Guppies (really any show designed by educators to teach young children about relationships). And Pádraic would fare much better if it were one of those shows, where conflict is often resolved through a magic combination of kindness, patience, listening, and social skills.
It kind of reminds me of a children’s Christmas special. When I started watching them again as a parent, I suddenly noticed, “Wait a minute! No wonder these ‘grumpy’ people don’t like Christmas. The message young people are getting is to harangue seasonally depressed, withdrawn people to death. Do anything to force them to enjoy Christmas the way you do! Break into their house if that’s what it takes!”
If this story took place in the present day, I’d like to think someone would take steps to get Colm committed (not for wanting Pádraic to leave him alone. His behavior escalates. He’s a danger to himself). His behavior is odd because he doesn’t want everyone to leave him alone. Just Pádraic. But clearly, he still cares for Pádraic. His actions do not match his words. (But he does follow through on his threats.)
Watching the film, I was asking all the same questions as the village priest (i.e. “Are you dying?” “Are you in love with him?”) This is hard to discuss without spoilers because the entire plot is the progression of this ever-evolving situation, and I don’t want to ruin the story’s surprises.
We’re all dying! Colm strikes me as someone who is depressed but has sunk so far into depression that he now no longer realizes he’s depressed. I get where Colm is coming from because when you’re that depressed, you do want people to leave you alone, especially if you care about them. If they care about you, that creates an obligation. Every social interaction is implicit obligation. It’s like a bunch of kids breaking into your house singing Christmas carols. Now you can’t just be miserable in peace, you have to avoid harm coming to all these urchins in Victorian garb jumping all over your sofa. Plus, if you’re unable to prevent yourself from being the worst version of yourself, if people keep hanging around you, sooner or later, they’ll be like, “I hate this person now.”
To me, Colm’s situation looks like very advanced depression. He’s gotten to the point that he can’t even remember he’s depressed. When you’re in that kind of mind frame, the conversation of other people often does seem dull, vexing, draining because they just don’t get what you’re talking about, and you couldn’t possibly care what they’re talking about. And the idea of explaining your mental state to them is so exhausting, especially because every time you try, they don’t seem to be on the same wavelength.
I can see why Pádraic’s incessant questioning would be extremely annoying. Sometimes the answer is, “There is no reason why.” (You know, people can be like, “I don’t think anything should be wrong.” And you’re like, “I don’t think so either. Nothing should be wrong. You’re right. It’s almost like I have a lifelong medical problem. Guess you’ve won this round. Congratulations. Bye. Be sure to take some cookies to those children singing Christmas carols on your way out. Wait! First I have to make cookies.”) (And then the person is like, “Let’s go to the store together!” The next thing you know, you’re married–because you haven’t been paying attention to what’s going on, and now you still can’t get away from them because you somehow owe them $35. You’ve adopted all the orphans, except one. He died. It’s your fault. Your new partner drowned him, but he married you to keep him from doing things like that. The rest of the kids are distraught, so you spend all your free time taking parenting classes. All you’ve wanted to do from the start is work on your music!) (I have more trouble ending conversations than Colm. But I deeply sympathize with the agony of his, “What do I have to do to get you to leave me alone?” exasperation. You would think carrying through on his threats would get Pádraic to leave him alone. (It’s almost like the person Pádraic really cares about is himself.) (I say this, but Pádraic was the person in the movie I cared about, too.)
I differ from Colm, though, in that if my best friend reached out to me, I would not ignore him. If my husband asks me, “What is wrong?” then I tell him, “Oh dear me, all the things…”
But I deeply empathize with Colm’s sense that time is running out (because it always is), so he needs to devote himself to his music. I feel this way myself about my writing. I don’t expect to be remembered for centuries. Clearly the key to immortality is human relationships. But you need something to do with yourself while you’re here! (The irony of the situation I describe above is that your husband and the remaining orphans have now formed a band without you and are on tour.) I never have enough time, and finding time in the day for socializing outside the home is so difficult because there’s so much socializing going on inside the home. And writing books takes a lot of time. The more intently you’re writing, the faster the time goes by. So I can see why Colm doesn’t want to listen to interminable stories about the bodily functions of barnyard animals.
Pádraic, of course, is much easier to sympathize with. We all felt terrible for him through the whole movie. (I get called “nice” as an insult all the time, too.) What’s happening to him is so unfair, and, like life, so mysterious and frustrating. That he refuses to give up on his oldest friend is a hard quality to fault him for. Granted, if someone doesn’t want to have anything to do with you, forcing your company on them is really not the way to go. But once Colm carries through on a certain threat, Pádraic’s refusal to honor his wishes seems more justifiable. He’s in this strange predicament of technically being in the wrong for most of the movie simply because he cares for his friend. (When someone asks you to leave them alone, you should. But Colm needs help, and they’ve been close friends for a long time.)
For a while, I thought, “Is Colm angling for suicide by proxy?” (Or is this altered mental state caused by a condition related to aging? If it weren’t 1923, surely someone would force him to see a doctor.) Clearly what Pádraic is looking for is healing, or, at the very least, closure. Maybe Colm is lashing out at Pádraic because God won’t give Colm himself any reason or answer. Or maybe he’s outgrown him, and it’s just hard to break up with people on a really small island. Or maybe he never liked him. (We only have Pádraic’s word that he did.) Maybe he liked him the way Pádraic likes Dominic (which is funny because as we see near the end, Pádraic actually does like Dominic. But I love the echo of the idea that “maybe you never were nice.”) (Then part of you wonders, “Is Colm trying to catch Pádraic up, to create a suitable companion for himself?” If so, that backfires horribly!)
As you can see, I’m quite taken with the story and characters. I’m also especially impressed by the film’s humor. The film I’ve described so far probably doesn’t sound funny, but it’s darkly hilarious (in practically every scene). Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson seem to find every possible bit of humor in their interactions. It’s nice, too, that over on the mainland, the civil war is happening for no reason anybody understands. That’s a nice backdrop.
The characters in this are quite captivating, and a big part of that is the actors’ nuanced performances. Kerry Condon as Pádraic’s sister Siobhán gives my favorite performance of the film. Siobhán is the one character in the story who doesn’t seem vaguely doomed. Other standouts in supporting roles are Barry Keoghan as Dominic (widely regarded as an idiot, though given what we learn about him, I’m not sure that’s a fair assessment) and Sheila Flitton as Mrs. McCormick (who gets increasingly spooky as the film progresses). (At one point, my daughter noted, “It seems like she’s in Macbeth.”)
I find the film’s main (musical) theme haunting, and I’d like to watch again to listen more carefully to Carter Burwell’s score. Ben Davis’s cinematography is gorgeous. The movie’s filmed on location in Ireland, and every shot is gorgeous, alive with rich color, indelibly atmospheric. (After watching The Fabelmans and this back-to-back, I’m feeling like, “I have got to show my daughter The Quiet Man.” We used to watch that all the time because my grandma loved it so much. I haven’t seen it in quite a while.)
Best Scene:
By far my favorite part of this film is its funniest moment, that bizarre “bread truck” part. I laughed out loud so hard. My husband said, “You never would have seen that coming!” (But I kind of did see it coming. I thought I was just joking to myself, though. I didn’t think the movie was actually going to do that.) (You don’t even have to feel guilty for laughing because imagine the man’s relief when he gets home.)
This reminded me so much of an anecdote my mother used to tell. Before I was born, she and my dad were in a car with someone he worked with at the radio station. They started joking about railroad safety as they drove across railroad tracks and how dumb someone would have to be to stop on the tracks. Then the man said, “That’s how my father died,” but they thought he was joking, so they continued joking and laughing about it. He was serious, though. It’s such a horrible, disastrous story. My mother would always say in consternation, “Why do I always have to think everything’s so funny!”
Best Scene Visually:
Every exterior is breathtaking. The interior of the pub is quite cinematic, too.
I love the look of two scenes, one when Siobhán stands looking across the water and another when Pádraic (a name I’ve been pronouncing wrong all my life) hides behind a wall on an eerie evening. (I really love the way the island becomes spookier the longer we’re there, or—probably more accurately—the more Pádraic slips into Colm’s mindset. Pádraic obviously does love Colm. He follows him all the way into despair. It’s quite tragic. If he just would have left him alone, they could have parted as friends (except if they’re friends, Pádraic sees no reason why they should part).
Best Action Sequence:
Probably the greatest action sequence is the moment when we see that Colm really does mean what he said.
Most Oscar Worthy moment, Brendan Gleeson:
Best I like Gleeson’s final scene in the confessional. We gain tremendous (longed for) insight into his character here, most of it because of it through subtle inflections and facial expressions.
Most Oscar Worthy moment, Colin Farrell:
I’ve always loved Colin Farrell. I remember watching him on TV back when I was in college. He kept swearing and getting bleeped and apologizing using phrases that included further profanity. I remember he seemed so bewildered about it like, “You can’t say that on TV here either?” That made me love him forever.
This is an excellent part for him because thanks to the horrible, unfair, frustrating situation, the character is so sympathetic. Of course, we all know that if someone decides not to be in a relationship with you (which would include a friendship), you have to respect their wishes. But in this particular case, Colm’s behavior is so bizarre, illogical, and (seemingly) cruel that it’s pretty hard not to feel for Pádraic.
I think I like Farrell best in the scene around the dinner table when he finds out the one person in the village reliably duller than he is tosses off fitting French phrases that he has never heard before himself. His drunken dressing down of Colm in the pub is also excellent, particularly the moment when he speculates that maybe Colm was never nice.
Most Oscar Worthy moment, Kerry Condon:
Condon gives my favorite performance of the film. (That’s probably not fair because Gleeson and Farrell carry the movie. Gleeson often doesn’t even have to say anything, and the movie still works at that moment just because he’s on screen.) One thing I love about Siobhán is she’s such a normal person. You think, “How did you end up stuck on this island with all the boring crazy people? You belong with more interesting crazy people!” She seems much more centered than everyone else, and she’s definitely ahead of her time (or else they’re behind theirs, which is more likely). I like her in the scene with Dominic by the water. She’s also great every time she challenges Colm. (I’m finding it odd that I truly love Condon’s performance and character, and yet I can’t think of much to say about it.)
Most Oscar Worthy moment, Barry Keoghan:
When we first meet Dominic, he seems much stupider than he turns out to be. That’s what I love about this character. He behaves in unacceptable, often off-putting ways, but as we discover more about the character, it begins to seem more likely that he’s tremendously damaged and socially awkward because of a lifetime of abuse. I like his final scene with Pádraic.
The Negatives:
My sister is right that a movie featuring Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson in Ireland talking for two hours about not speaking to each other does seem pretty Irish. Curiously, I didn’t find it depressing. It’s more like equal parts comic and tragic simultaneously. Gleeson’s character is almost certainly depressed (or having a neurological problem), and what happens to Farrell’s character is increasingly horrible and demoralizing. But watching the film didn’t leave me feeling depressed. (Of course, I was slightly depressed when I started watching it, and I enjoy watching movies.)
Not everyone is going to like this. For example, if you hate Martin McDonagh’s work in general, you’ll hate this, too. Also, Three Billboards was, I thought, much more like a traditional, popular American movie than The Banshees of Inisherin. This has more the feel of a stage play. Don’t get me wrong. It has captivating cinematography, a gorgeous location, wonderful costuming, and a haunting score. But still, if I simply heard the plot described, I would expect to watch this on the stage or read it in my textbook in a literature course. If you’re someone who goes to movies searching for easy answers and pat morals, then you’ll probably hate this. I liked it, but I wouldn’t say it’s McDonagh’s best (which is by no means an insult of any kind), and it’s also not my favorite movie of the year. I’m starting not to have a favorite film of the year. I’m not even sure I want to keep watching all these movies.
You know, maybe the film did depress me. I find it all too easy to slip into a depressive mindset these days.
No, it didn’t. This movie scratches an intellectual itch, but Steven Spielberg’s The Fabelmans offers a vision of reality more likely to keep you alive. I like Spielberg’s, “You don’t owe anyone your life,” because ultimately, we’re all going to die. (So you can’t promise someone your life. They can’t give you theirs.) (Like Spielberg, I’m thinking of my mother.) Spielberg’s movies don’t scratch the same kind of itch, but they make being alive look a lot more fun. I like the way Spielberg manipulates his audiences. There’s one scene in The Fabelmans when Mitzi has a concerning “prophetic dream,” and then we see what looks like a police car at the window. In the theater, I accidentally gasped, “Oh no!” And my husband did exactly the same thing last night on the couch. And then it’s all a big trick and everything is fine. It’s the same kind of thing that happens in Schindler’s List when water comes out of the shower. When stuff like this happens, it’s like the director saying to you, “See? You cared.” And you realize you did.
This movie seems more dishonest. (Last night I thought it was truer than anything I’d seen in ages!) It pretends there’s a way out, but there isn’t. Someone is allowed to leave, to escape. That isn’t fair (unless it’s an allegory for life, or we’re supposed to note the irony in “escaping” to the civil war and its aftermath). In this movie, I don’t particularly care about Pádraic or Colm. I’m intellectually engaged, but when I watch, I think about me. When I watch The Fabelmans, I think about the characters in the story.
No, that’s not true, either. You know what? I don’t know! I guess that’s the only fault I find with this movie—it didn’t depress me. Material so depressing should be more depressing. But I found this intellectually stimulating and delightful instead.
I’m also curious about the authenticity of McDonagh’s depiction of 1920s Ireland. I know he’s written plays with a similar setting, so possibly, the setting of the story is quite well researched. It’s just that I remember all that controversy about McDonagh’s inaccurate portrayal of Missouri. I don’t know enough about 1920s Ireland to tell if what I’m seeing is accurate. The movie kept making me think of The Quiet Man. My daughter thought of Macbeth. I have no idea if we can trust what we learn about the setting. (I’m probably being too suspicious.) (I also don’t think this matters. To me, there’s an artificiality about McDonagh’s work. I always feel like I’m watching a stage play or being told a story. I become engrossed in the telling, not absorbed in the story. Maybe that’s because I’m a writer.
The problem is only that I couldn’t finish this review before bed, and I’m always depressed in the daytime, so now it’s extremely uneven. I don’t have a clue how I feel about this film or anything else! You win Martin McDonagh!
Overall:
I liked The Banshees of Inisherin. It’s gorgeous, well written, superbly acted and shows us what happens when you go too far into your own head—or too far into someone else’s. In life, there’s no way to win, really. But if you live well, there is a lot to lose.