THE BANSHEES OF INISHERIN - A RESPONSE

 imagine decades of it, trapped by sheer circumstance and geography an inertia; feeling the weight of your own mortality creeping in, day by day, the mundanity becoming a bludgeon; thinking about the hours and hours of time spend in drink and mindless conversation

The Banshees of Inisherin - A response

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On a remote island off the coast of Ireland, Pádraic is devastated when his buddy Colm suddenly puts an end to their lifelong friendship. With help from his sister and a troubled young islander, Pádraic sets out to repair the damaged relationship by any means necessary. However, as Colm's resolve only strengthens, he soon delivers an ultimatum that leads to shocking consequences.

​Release date: 21 October 2022 
Director: Martin McDonagh
Distributed by: Searchlight Pictures

A Horror Movie Review by Kit Power 

Massive spoilers. I’m going to assume you’ve seen it. If you haven't, go see it. It’s brilliant.


Let’s start here; The Banshees of Inisherin is a fucking horror movie.


At the core of the movie sits isolation, alienation, the brutality of mortality, and the crawling, miserable hell that is other people. It may be the most misanthropic movie I’ve ever seen (which I mean as a great compliment, to be clear) and ranks amongst the most nihilistic, come to that. There’s a bleak hopelessness here, a sense of grim inevitability and the crushing weight of time that wouldn’t be out of place in a Ligotti essay. This fucker is dark.


It’s also, at moments, painfully funny. It’s also a tale that is quintessentially Irish; one that really could only be told in the time and place it’s set, yet one that deals with universal matters of the human experience.


Yeah, I dug the hell out of this one.


There’s genuinely too much to chew on here, so I’m going to focus just on the central relationship; the inciting event that sets the dominoes of the narrative falling in a manner not dissimilar to a Shaksperian tragedy. Pádraic (Colin Farrell) calls on his drinking buddy, Colm (Brendan Gleeson), to join him for a pint. Colm initially doesn’t respond. Eventually, after a bit of painful back and forth, Colm admits the truth; he simply doesn’t want to be Pádraic’s friend anymore.


This is the first ten minutes of the film, and I found it totally devastating. The movie conveys so much without words; the smallness of the setting, the close knit, insular nature of the island. As I’ve covered at arguably too much length, I grew up small town Devon, and this movie brought back an immediate, powerful feeling of claustrophobia that didn’t let up for the entire runtime. It’s not the same, exactly, but it’s close enough. That kind of environment, you’ll put up with a lot to get along with the people you’re stuck getting along with, due to a curse of geography. Options are limited. So it’s not hard to empathize with someone who has finally snapped; someone who, as Colm articulates, is suddenly feeling the pressure of mortality, realizes that creativity is the only thing likely to provide anything resembling a legacy; and who also, simply, cannot imagine spending any more time stuck in the company of a man he simply doesn’t enjoy, or even like very much.


As the kids might say, highly relatable content.


At exactly the same time, it’s hard - practically impossible, in fact - not to empathize with Pádraic. From his perspective, a decade’s long friendship has evaporated overnight, with no explanation. It’s not just the immediate loss; not even mainly that. It’s the loss of what was. Pádraic is forced to reexamine the whole relationship, to try and wrestle with and make sense of the fact that, not only does his best friend no longer want to be with him, he likely never enjoyed his company overmuch. It’s devastating, watching this essentially harmless and relatively blameless man trying to make sense of something that must have been years coming, yet from his perspective has dropped out of the clear blue sky.


And it’s brilliant because I’ve been on both sides of this one, and I’ll bet you have too. I’ve have acquaintances who I’ve come to realize have considerably more invested in the relationship than I do. Ah, fuck it, I’ll go one deeper; there are people who like me that I plain don’t like, and who I have no good reason to dislike, at that. I’d die before telling them, partly because I know it ultimately says nothing about them and everything about me, and partly because it would be unforgivably cruel and serve no purpose, and I’m just not in that particular game. But, it’s a real thing in my life, and always has been, and I bet (or maybe I just hope) you’ve been there too.


So, in that sense, there’s something shadow-self about Colm, and his articulation of something I’m wagering most if not all of us have felt and so very, very few of us would ever say. Back when I was writing A Song For The End, this was one of the things I was worrying at, I think; well, The Banshees of Inisherin doesn't so much worry as commit a live autopsy on the subject, ignoring the screams as it lays bare the internal organs, before silently asking you to take a good long look, and see what you can see.


At the same time, then, as we can identify, likely to our shame, with Colm, I’m willing to bet we’ve also all been Pádraic, at some point. Is there a more miserable feeling in the world than the creeping realization that someone you like, admire, care for, adore, cherish, sees you as, at best, as an occasionally diverting presence, and, at worse, an actual irritant? I mean, that’s hyperbole, of course there is… but it’d maybe be hard to put your finger on what, when you’re in the middle of it. It’s certainly a very particular and pointed kind of misery, I think; one that can't help but eat at your sense of self esteem, self worth. We’re often attracted to people with qualities we find admirable; how deep can it cut, when those same people find little if anything to admire in you?


And as soon as I write that, I want to flip the coin again, to ask who among us has not found themselves sat next to the bore at the office party who's had too much to drink, or the irritatingly chatty person on public transport; they're not necessarily being rude or impolite, but all of a sudden you’re a little too aware of the confines of the situation you’ve found yourself in, and somehow, that fact that manners prevent you from just telling them to shut up, or even just to walk away yourself, turn a merely irritating situation into one close to intolerable? And now imagine decades of it, trapped by sheer circumstance and geography an inertia; feeling the weight of your own mortality creeping in, day by day, the mundanity becoming a bludgeon; thinking about the hours and hours of time spend in drink and mindless conversation, with a creative drive unsatisfied and the shadow of the reaper moving ever closer to your door… at what point, I found myself asking, is the greater ill to not speak up, before it’s too late?


And there it is, the horror at the heart of this simple, brilliant tale. Neither of these men is evil, or wrong. Neither is acting out of malice. And yet, each driven by their own needs (Colm for creative solitude, Pádraic for companionship) will by the movie's end have committed horrific acts. Pádraic will go again and again against the wishes of his friend, pushing to find the magic formula that will somehow return things to The Way They Were (telling, and brilliant, I think, that it’s a state we, the audience, never get to see; for us, it’s always been unhappy Colm and mystified Pádraic), and Colm will commit acts of self mutilation so awful he’s no longer even able to play his beloved fiddle.


It’s the kind of truth so brutal and total that I have to remind myself there are other ways to human; that relationships can flourish where foibles are either forgiven or celebrated, where space and intimacy coexist. It’s both true that kindness is deeply important and that your own time is short and you should, fairly ruthlessly, spend it in ways that bring you joy.


But I also think most, if not all of us will, at some point in our life, find ourselves as both Pádraic and as Colm. And that pain is an intrinsic part of the human condition.


It feels like something we never, ever talk about. I’m therefore profoundly grateful that The Banshees of Inisherin exists, if only to facilitate the conversation.


KP
24/1/23

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