Fingering “The Banshees of Inisherin”

For a good time, DON’T call Martin McDonagh. At least, when attending one of McDonagh’s plays or movies, don’t expect a lot of easy-going fun. McDonagh, a British-born playwright who’s turned into a successful filmmaker, is about as far as you can get from John Ford, another director who was not born in Ireland but retained a strong family affinity for the auld sod. Ford showed his love for the Irish countryside in 1952’s The Quiet Man, a romantic romp in which John Wayne and Maureen O’Hara struggle to get the best of one another. Fighting and feuding dominate the action, but all’s well that ends well.

 McDonagh’s plays about hard-scrabble Irish country life end far less happily. (I’ll never forget the finale of The Lieutenant of Inishmore. It’s billed as a comedy; I’ll say only that I’m sorry for whomever has to clean up the stage at each performance’s end.)  As a film writer and director, McDonagh has ventured far afield. He went to a Medieval town in Belgium for In Bruges and to the American heartland for Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, which scooped up seven major Oscar nominations, and won statuettes for Frances McDormand and Sam Rockwell. His fourth feature, The Banshees of Inisherin, returns him to a remote Irish village on a rocky isle across the water from where the Irish Civil War is just winding down. Though the island village is far from the shooting, there’s enough anger and confusion in the souls of local inhabitants to fuel some major hostilities. No, they’re not feuding about politics. The fierce emotions that dominate the screen are a simple (or not-so-simple) matter of two men who discover that they can no longer remain drinking buddies and bosom pals. .

 The Banshees of Inisherin grew out of the experience of making In Bruges, in which the roles of two antsy Irish hit-men were played to a fare-thee-well by Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson. So well did Farrell’s hyperintense Ray play off against Gleeson’s phlegmatic Ken that McDonagh was moved to re-team them in a film about the waning of a friendship. He also worked into his plot Gleeson’s considerable skill on the violin. Gleeson is credited with composing and performing a piece of Irish music that’s essential to the film, and everyone who’s seen it knows how large a role his musical dexterity plays in the unfolding plot.

 Viewers should be prepared for a nightmarishingly gruesome element to the story: McDonagh hardly soft-pedals matters that are horrific to watch. There’s also a sad subplot involving a young man who might be described as the village idiot. That being said, many of the moments I remember are comedic ones, growing out of ther personalities of townsfolk who’ve lived their whole lives on a tiny island.  Minor characters are as colorful as in a John Ford movie, like the publican who’s seen it all, the priest who doesn’t need the confessional to know everybody’s business, and the shopkeeper who shows no shame when, as acting postmistress, she reads the rare important letter that arrives for one of locals.

 The coast of Ireland, as depicted in this film, is a place of rare but stark beauty. The quaint houses, the cozy pub, and the rocky seashore all have a powerful allure, as seen in the brilliant cinematography by Ben Davis, on holiday from his usual superhero flicks. A shout-out to music by the always interesting Carter Burwell and by the eerie portrayal of an ancient local crone, Mrs. McCormack (Sheila Flitton), who’ll show you what a banshee really is.