Tag: Martin McDonagh

The Banshees of Inisherin: To be friend or not to be friend

Like his previous movie Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri (2017), writer director Martin McDonagh opens The Banshees of Inisherin with a quiet and peaceful song. The lush green landscape of the island of Inisherin merging with the calm and harmonious chorus pulls us into this cinematic fable right away. McDonagh loses no time to bring out the heart of the matter, the sudden fallout of a lifelong friendship between Pádraic (Colin Farrell) and Colm (Brendan Gleeson). In parallel, across the island on the mainland, the Irish civil war rages. The year is 1923. 

The juxtaposition of mellow, ponderous music with outward conflicts always makes interesting contrasts, just like mixing comedy with drama, humour and sadness, which McDonagh is so apt in doing. An acclaimed British-Irish playwright whose plays have been performed in the West End and on Broadway, McDonagh is astute in his dialogues, embedding them with humour and poignancy to reveal the nature of the characters:

Pádraic’s sister Siobhán (Kerry Condon) likes to read and is the most sensible character in the movie. In one scene, Siobhán is reading.

Pádraic: How’s the book?
Siobhán: Sad.
Pádraic: Sad? You should read a not sad one, Siobhán, else you might get sad.
Siobhán: Mm.
(pause)
Siobhán: Do you never get lonely, Pádraic? 
Pádraic: Never get wha?
Siobhán: Lonely.
Pádraic: (mutter in annoyance) No. “Do I never get lonely?” What’s the matter with everybody? 

That could give a hint why Colm stops being friends with Pádraic because “he’s dull”. Colm is older and he now thinks more about how he will be remembered when he’s gone. A fiddle player, Colm spends his time playing and composing music. “I just don’t have a place for dullness in my life anymore,” he tells Siobhán. So, when Pádraic, baffled and hurt, confronts his old friend, “you used to be nice,” Colm engages with him about the value of being nice versus being remembered. Mozart, though living in the 17th century, he says, is still being remembered today for his musical legacy. Paintings last; poetry lasts. Who’s going to remember your niceness?

Even though happy go lucky, Pádraic is now saddened by the sudden termination of friendship. He doesn’t care about Mozart, or whatsisname Borvoven, but he remembers his Mammy and Daddy, they were nice, and his sister, “she’s nice. I’ll remember her, forever.” But Colm counters, no one else would remember them other than you. Colm may be facing an existential crisis, seeking for something more permanent or trying to leave a legacy, but McDonagh’s humour seeps through simple dialogues and not let the high ideals of his character be taken too seriously by movie viewers. In this scene, Siobhán has the last word. She corrects Colm, “it was the 18th century, anyway. Mozart. Not the 17th.” Then turns and walks away. This is a dark comedy, after all. 

The superb cast brings out McDonagh’s writing perfectly. Farrell and Gleeson reunite after In Bruges (2008, Oscar nom for McDonagh’s original screenplay). It’s fun watching the pair engage, a simple, usually happy Pádraic stonewalled by his best friend’s sudden withdrawal of friendship, not only that, but shocked by his drastic action to cut off one of his own fiddler finger every time Pádraic talks to him.

Condon as Siobhán is most apt in representing the rational mind amidst this absurd development. Her later decision to seek a saner and more meaningful existence is poignant. The yellow coat she wears is a bright symbol of hope. The fourth character that makes up this outstanding ensemble of actors is Barry Keoghan as Dominic, the jester who is probably the saddest of them all and one who sees more clearly than he appears.

One more crucial character must be credited, and that’s Jenny the miniature donkey (Jenny), which plays a pivotal role in the final act, inciting a drastic action from Pádraic. Friendship between man and animal just might be more steadfast than between humans. And that last vengeful resort by Pádraic brings back a similar scene in Three Billboards.

Director of photography Ben Davis’s camera is crucial in revealing the deeper meaning of McDonagh’s fable. Often we see Pádraic on the outside peering through the window into Colm’s home, or into the pub looking for Colm. Poor Pádraic now is an unwanted outsider, rejected and isolated, reminiscence of similar shots in Bresson’s Diary of a Country Priest. Or, the metaphor of the Banshee, the omen of death, represented by Mrs. McCormick (Sheila Flitton), her creepy appearance exemplifies the ever-present threat of mortality, just like the Grim Reaper in Ingmar Bergman’s The Seventh Seal (1957). They don similar costume too. And the ubiquitous religious symbols and activities––the statue of the Virgin Mary on the island, the cross, the Latin mass––just make one question how their faith is relevant in the actions of these islanders.

The Banshees of Inisherin is nominated for nine Oscars in the coming awards night to be held on March 12: Best Picture, Martin McDonagh for Directing and Original Screenplay, Colin Farrell for Best Actor, Kerry Condon Supporting Actress, Brendan Gleeson and Barry Keoghan both for Supporting Actors, Film Editing, and Music (Original Score).

~ ~ ~ 1/2 Ripples

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Related posts mentioned in this review:

Don’t Just Drive Past Three Billboards

Diary of a Country Priest: Film Adaptation (1951)

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March is Read Ireland Month 2023 at Cathy 746 Books. You can read the screenplay of The Banshees of Inisherin online here.  Upcoming posts will include books by Irish writers and possible book to screen adaptations. 

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Don’t just drive past Three Billboards

Three Billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri is a ‘Coen-esque’ feature with Fargo (1996) star Frances McDormand. This might well be one of the better Brit-U.S. collaborations in recent, tumultuous years. And McDormand just might head to another Best Actress Oscar win after Fargo.

Caution: The following discussion involves a minor spoiler. Not so much a spoiler in plot but in idea. I can’t be more obscure in reviewing the film if I’m to delve into meaning.

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In British writer/director Martin McDonagh’s debut feature In Bruges (2008), the main character, a hitman, Ken (Brendan Gleeson), explains to his angry crime boss Harry (Ralph Fiennes) why he didn’t kill his young protégé Ray (Colin Farrell) as Harry had ordered, saying: “He has the capacity to change. We all have the capacity to change.”

Three Billboards outside Ebbing, Missouri is McDonagh’s damatization of this pivotal idea in full force: We all have the capacity to change. Viewers may not like the characters or their speech, but the dark comedy leads us to the point where we’ll find it worthwhile to hold our judgment, no matter how despicable they behave or speak. And that is the main reason for the gratifying ending of Three Billboards: Change. A change from distraught to calmness, from tension to release.

three-billboards-poster-2

Indeed, language is the spoken expression, the tip of the iceberg. What lies beneath and beyond language is the essence of a character. McDonagh’s script is starkly effective in presenting the different sides of his characters. Not that we should make excuses for their wrongs, but that everyone has a backstory and a present reality to deal with.

Mildred Hayes (Frances McDormand) has lost her teenage daughter Angela (Kathryn Newton) to a most violent, horrific crime, ‘raped while dying’. She is frustrated by the inability of the police to bring in any arrests. The three billboards she pays for outside Ebbing, Missouri advertise to the world her rage, targeting police chief Willoughby (Woody Harrelson). It’s her intention that the publicity they draw could lead to some effective police actions.

McDonagh is apt to instil humour into the sombre subject matter. The dialogues are sharp and the actors deliver. Call it a dramedy if you will, but the spontaneous laughters generated in the theatre are bittersweet, for they are acerbic depiction of racism, injustice, and the grieving rage of the unconsoled.

The three billboards pit Mildred against the town except for her co-worker Denise (Amanda Warren) in the gift shop and an admirer James (Peter Dinklage) in the bar. Her action has put her otherwise devoted son Robbie (Lucas Hedges) in an awkward position in school and inflamed her ex Charlie (John Hawkes), whose 19 year-old girlfriend Penelope (Samara Weaving) is totally oblivious to what’s going on in town. Dixon (Sam Rockwell) from the police station shows his utter disgust with unchecked impulses.

While the ensemble cast deserves kudos, the pivotal acts fall on three characters. Their superb performance augments the incisive and thoughtful script.

McDonagh wrote the role of Mildred Hayes with Frances McDormand in mind, and she delivers with a punch. Her actions as an angry and helpless mother is stark and brutish, but McDonagh also shows us her vulnerable side, a mother who is regretful of the argument she’d had with her daughter on that fateful day, mournful for a daughter who’d never come home, and embittered by the ineptness on the part of the police. McDormand indwells her role so effectively that she makes me see only the angry Mildred, and totally forget the pregnant, innocent police woman in Fargo.

Sam Rockwell’s dimwitted, racist Dixon stirs up non-stop laughs in the theatre. His ultimate change is the powerful force that makes the latter half of the story so gratifying.  Rockwell’s performance is spot-on. McDonagh wants us to have a last laugh on him too: Dixon’s heart may have melted by some kind, motivating words from chief Willoughby, but his intellect remains intact.

Woody Harrelson plays Chief Willoughby with a heart. He is a tough police chief and yet underneath is a kind man, a loving husband to his wife Anne (Abbie Cornish) and a devoted father to his two young girls. Furthermore, Mildred is not the only one bearing life’s harsh blows. While Mildred reacts with rage, Willoughby deals with repressed fears.

A few kind words can cause immense change. And when one person changes, the ripple effects are contagious. The latter part of the film with its twists and turns slowly reveal how positive changes ripple on. For often underneath the hard surface lies a moldable heart. I particularly appreciate the audacity of McDonagh’s writing. Among the tough and macho, love is noted as the key to hold up oneself as love leads to calmness, and calmness to thoughtful actions.

Tying up the emotional bond is the music, in particular, the Irish folk song “The Last Rose of Summer”. Thomas Moore’s lyrics and the soft yearning of Renée Fleming’s voice sings out the sad tune in Mildred’s heart, a cry for justice and the dispelling of emptiness and loss. In the opening scene, the song introduces us to the three billboards as Mildred drives by and contemplates her vengeful scheme, the song reprises as vengeance engulfs a distraught heart and leads to a violent act. Ironically, that scene becomes a pivotal turnaround for Dixon in the police station.

‘Tis the last rose of summer left blooming alone
All her lovely companions are faded and gone
No flower of her kindred, no rosebud is nigh
To reflect back her blushes and give sigh for sigh

The juxtaposition of a quiet Irish folk tune with a fictional, small American town dealing with the fallouts of a horrific, unsolved crime may sound incompatible, but it’s poignant and effective here.

Old loves are irreplaceable, yet regrets cannot heal deep wounds. Lovely companions may have faded, but new ones can be forged, albeit not the same nature, but there’s  hope for new bonds. The last rose of summer dissolves to the first red leaf of fall. It could still be a beautiful season.

~ ~ ~ ~ Ripples