The Banshees of Inisherin is striking balance between dark edgy wit and melancholic pathos, while teaching us to cherish those right in front of us.
WAR. What is it good for?
This may very well be the thesis for the absurdist bleak dramedy that genius screenwriter Martin McDonagh based his latest feature on: The Banshees of Inisherin is but a mere tale of bitter divorce, except it doesn’t focus on a couple, but rather on two middle aged men whose friendship abruptly ends, and with it comes a collection of ever-escalating consequences for both and for those in their orbit. Set in 1923, amidst the Irish Civil War, we’re taken to the small fictional island off the coast of Ireland called Inisherin, where everyone knows everyone and news travels fast, particularly the bad kind.
In Irish folklore, there’s no worse news than the wailing of a banshee: which symbolizes looming doom, and on this small island as a bromance as old as the island itself is torn asunder, creating a small civil war of its own, the macabre banshee is symbolized in the petty bickering between Pádraic Súilleabháin (Colin Farrell) and his supposed best friend Colm Doherty (Brendan Gleeson) who, much like the Protestants and the Catholics on the mainland, can’t seem to figure out what they’re fighting over.
The squabble begins as Pádraic treads down to the beach, where he knows he’ll find his best friend’s house, and his adorable border collie Sam keeping him company. Unlike any other day, Pádraic’s knocking on Colm’s window seems to warrant no reaction from the unmovable Colm, much to Pádraic’s confusion who decides, perplexedly, to head down to their favorite hangout spot: the pub, and order the usual Guinness as he awaits the arrival of his compatriot.
Encouraged by the tap master and other locals to try once more to summon Colm, Pádraic is shocked at the sight of an empty house once he goes back, only to spot Colm on his lonesome way up the hill to the pub, with Sam in tow. The unexplained shunning hurts Pádraic, leading him to confront Colm – who turns out, simply does not like him anymore. And so rings in the first call of the banshee, and the lover’s quarrel between two former friends begins.
There is an ever-escalating sense of tragedy as the film unfolds, perfectly juxtaposing the ridiculousness of the arguments with the brooding bleakness of an existential crisis Pádraic is forced to live through as Colm traverses his own, in classic McDonagh fashion he allows the laugh to come fast and strong, until he hits us with the punchline, one that unpeels the layers revealed a grim reality that hurt because it’s so relatable.
The script is as sharp as a knife, blacker than a pint of Guinness, and strong it is symbolism and foreshadowing when it comes to the banshees prophesized doom. One of McDonagh’s strongest assets is his natural, rapidly paced & dry witted dialogue, which in itself flows back & forth between emotionally heavy and hilariously poignant.
Never is this clearer than with Siobhan (Kerry Condon), the scene-stealing sister of Pádraic, a scholar in her own right, who wisely tries to steer her brother away from the grievance he wishes not to accept, that Colm simply does not like him. But Pádraic can’t simply accept that at face value, because that is not nice, and it eats away at him.
McDonagh captures that which ails so many of us, we can’t properly express our feelings, so we repress emotions instead of communicating. While that can work in the short term, sooner or later it will come back to bite us and those we’ve resented. Padráic cares for the here and now, he cares for his sister, his donkey, and his best friend, he’s like by all in the island but maybe not respected. Colm on the other hand, being a lover of music who loves to compose and play for his fellow villagers, looks too far into the horizon, being now past his prime, knowing the banshee will come a-knocking for him sooner or later, he cares only to answer one question: how will we be remembered through history?
He waxes lyrically on the memorable existence of works from the likes of Picasso and Mozart. Colm sees Pádraic’s content life as an impediment to his art, making him believe he has to choose between one or the other, to the point he gambles with the very thing he longs for just to make a point: threatening Pádraic he’ll cut his own fingers off should his former friend not leave him alone.
This is in great contrast to Pádraic, who focuses on the simplest things in life, contents himself in cow-herding and in going down to the pub at 2 o’clock for a good hang with Colm. Yet he falls victim to fighting a war he did not ask for against his former friend, who wishes to be seen as a victor in the annals of history. The juxtaposition therefore may not be subtle, but it is effective – much like those murdered in the actual Irish Civil War, they will not be remembered, but they also never asked for this fight.
The tonality in The Banshees of Inisherin is striking balance between dark edgy wit and melancholic pathos, resulting in pure brilliance as McDonagh gives the audience time to process each character beat and its emotional weight, before delivering a quick-witted payoff that always, miraculously, works: Collin Farrell delivers on of his best works to date, a perfectly sympathetic puppy-dog like loner whose life around him crumbles so much yet he can’t make sense of it, particularly because no one blames him for it.
Pádraic needs reasons, needs logic, and the cruel hands of fate don’t seem to care to give him one. Brendan Gleeson brings pure quiet intensity to the screen, Colm is stern, never raises his voice and even barely changes expression, he’s a loner artiste, and cares not for other, not for the here or the now, but rather for him own sense of satisfaction with what he creates and leaves behind, and Pádraic is not part of his plan anymore.
The darkly comedic odd couple is both hilarious and profound in their unrelenting arguments all through the island of Inisherin, portraying their tirades in a manner that makes both look like petty children, but there’s a sense of endearment in the way Pádraic struggles to respect his friend’s wishes while also trying to salvage what was once there, to great comedic and emotional effect in each situation presented.
Characterizations are wonderfully three dimensional, to the point where the island of Inisherin itself becomes a character: a collection of macabre caricatures from two bitter middle-aged men squabbling about nothing, a scholar who has far outgrown the bickering of men, a gossip-hungry priest, an impotent policemen, and even the slow and undermined Dominic (Barry Keoghan) who by the end turns out to be the living embodiment of exactly what Pádraic and Colm were missing: just be kind to one another. Resulting in a crescendo earned because of the tonal shifts McDonagh employs and never in spite of them.
The Banshees of Inishering teaches us to cherish those right in front of us, be kind & to let go of pain & grievances lest they eat us away while unmasking the bleakness of human fragility with uproariously funny characters & dry Irish wit. Moral of the story: BE FECKIN’ NICE TO EACH OTHER.
FINAL GRADE: B+
NEXT: Don’t Worry Darling Review
About The Banshees of Inisherin
Set on a remote island off the west coast of Ireland, THE BANSHEES OF INISHERIN follows lifelong friends Pádraic (Colin Farrell) and Colm (Brendan Gleeson), who find themselves at an impasse when Colm unexpectedly puts an end to their friendship.
A stunned Pádraic, aided by his sister Siobhán (Kerry Condon) and troubled young islander Dominic (Barry Keoghan), endeavours to repair the relationship, refusing to take no for an answer. But Pádraic’s repeated efforts only strengthen his former friend’s resolve and when Colm delivers a desperate ultimatum, events swiftly escalate, with shocking consequences.
The Banshees of Inisherin played at the 2022 Venice Film Festival.
