The characters in The Banshees of Inisherin do not behave logically. In a way, the entire plot is pushed forward by inexplicable behavior by some and absolute befuddlement by others. As you watch, you may find yourself befuddled as well, not by the film itself but by the stubborn persistence that defines it. It’s 1923 on an island off the coast of Ireland named Inisherin (evocatively named, it is indeed fictional). So close to the mainland that you can hear the rifle shots and cannon fire that has become the soundtrack to the Irish Civil War. Inisherin is spared the gory reality of that conflict, but on the island, a fierce tension is brewing amongst its citizens. Two best friends, Pádraic (Colin Farrell) and Colm (Brendan Gleeson), go to the pub every single day to chat about news of the day in their provincial town, until one day Colm says he doesn’t want to be friends anymore. When Pádraic asks why, Colm calmly explains: “I just don’t like you no more”.

The drastic change in feeling is made worse for the lack of a substantial reason. After further prodding from Pádraic, Colm explains further: conversations with Pádraic are dull recitations of a dull life in a dull town. A folk musician, Colm wants to dedicate his time to his music, including writing a new piece on his violin. Still confused and further insulted, Pádraic struggles to accept Colm’s terms. He wants a legitimate explanation, but Colm refuses to give him one. Colm only becomes more harsh, castigating Pádraic for his boring conversational topics (an hours-long chat about the contents of pony poop particularly offends him) and his dim intellect. Pádraic lacks any curiosity in culture outside of Inisherin, while Colm’s home is filled with trinkets of transcontinental artwork. The local pub’s owner (Pat Shortt) begins to wonder how they were ever friends to begin with.

At home, Pádraic discusses the matter with his sister Siobhán (a terrific Kerry Condon), who thinks it’s just another childish spat between childish men. The brother and sister live together, both unmarried, sharing a bedroom. The set-up, both endearing and troubling in its arrangement barely registers for Pádraic, but it’s on Siobhán’s mind. Like Colm, she has a curious mind, and wishes to escape Inisherin. The crux of the plot is an ultimatum Colm brings forth to Pádraic: if Pádraic refuses to leave him alone and stop talking to him, he will start cutting off his own fingers and delivering them to Pádraic’s door. He will do this until he has no fingers left. The statement, so bizarre and dramatic, stuns Pádraic, who can barely fathom what his friend is even saying. Pádraic tries to come to terms with his friend’s cruel demands, while having an inner debate about what he can do – if he can do anything – to fix it.

Banshees is written and directed by Martin McDonagh, the Irish playwright and filmmaker whose movie career has seen its ups and downs, sometimes in very quick succession. His scripts, darkly funny and riddled with political allegory, have a playwright’s insistence on metaphor. His films require a level of buy-in from the audience, and occasionally they have left many an audience with buyer’s remorse. His last film, Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, was a Best Picture nominee and won Oscars for its two main stars, Frances McDormand and Sam Rockwell, but it’s garnered a reputation for glibness – especially regarding the controversial issue of race violence in America – with characters spending more time representing sociological concepts than behaving like actual human beings. That Inisherin takes place in his home country of Ireland is an improvement.It’s a place where his political consciousness has more authority and his agro-poeticism makes much more sense.

The film also reunites the Farrell and Gleeson, who were the stars of McDonagh’s feature debut, In Bruges, in 2007. Bruges is probably still McDonagh’s best film, a raucous gangster comedy with a true soul throughout its themes and performances. It succeeds almost because it doesn’t burden itself much with higher meaning like his subsequent work. That said, Banshees of Inisherin might be the closest McDonagh has ever come to perfecting his balance of jet black humor and elevated symbolism. The preposterous nature of Colm’s behavior combined with the infantile reactions from Pádraic play out in borderline absurdist ways, but McDonagh’s control of the material is steadfast. His care for his characters makes it so their thematic representation doesn’t consume them, and while metaphors for the Irish Civil War are easy to spot (perhaps too easy), there is a lot to like about Banshees even when taken at face value.

This may have to do with the performances throughout the film, an ensemble of Irish talent that runs the gambit of hilariously amusing to heartbreakingly sad. Condon’s Siobhán is the film’s sole sensible figure, a kind woman fraying under the pressure of the male violence that surrounds her. The performance gets several standout scenes, with Condon delivering on them wonderfully without betraying the film’s minor key tone. The same could be said of Barry Keoghan, who plays Dominic, a dim-witted young man with an abusive policeman for a father. Dominic is an outcast, the kind of character that Keoghan has made a specialty of playing in the last few years (including in 2017’s The Killing of a Sacred Deer, which also co-starred Farrell), but where menace has often been his calling card, Banshees allows Keoghan to tap into a vulnerability he rarely gets to show. Like others in the film, Dominic’s story turns tragic, an inescapable fate for many a McDonagh creation, but unlike before the weight of loss hangs heavy on the film.

The highest praises are reserved for Farrell. In In Bruges, his chemistry with Gleeson was based on a standard mentor-mentee relationship. Banshees gives them a more even playing field, or at least attempts to, as Colm’s superior intellect proves to give him the upper hand. Farrell plays Pádraic beautifully, crestfallen not only by the loss of his best friend but also by the sudden realization that his life is worthless, whittled down into ponderous conversations that mean nothing as war screams across the sea. Farrell does not play this simple man’s enlightenment with any heightened awakening, but instead as someone who fights against it every moment that he can. Colm’s biggest complaint is Pádraic’s lack of interest in anything outside his donkeys and cows, but Pádraic is too old a dog to learn new tricks (he brags about not knowing who Mozart is). Farrell gets some of the movie’s biggest laughs but as we see it dawn on him that he’s ill-equipped to repair his friendship, it can break your heart. It may be the best performance of his career.

This is certainly McDonagh’s most handsome film. Costumes by Eimer Ni Mhaoldomhnaigh and cinematography by Ben Davis give the film a real time and place, taking full advantage of the lush greens and scenic landscapes of the Irish coast. Despite his inherent criticism of the banality of Ireland’s bloody conflicts, Banshees takes time to pay tribute to the country’s natural beauty, contrasting it brilliantly against the ugliness of his characters. Likewise, Carter Burwell’s brooding score works against the playfulness of the diegetic music played in the film, and underscores the movie’s roiling anxiety. Where Three Billboards (and to lesser extent, his second film, Seven Psychopaths) was a square peg/round hole fit, Banshees is McDonagh at his most comfortable. This is most obvious in the performance of Gleeson, the steady, veteran Irish actor whose presence hangs mercilessly over the entire movie. Gleeson’s brilliance here lies in his unwillingness to give the rationality behind his behavior, a rationality the audience might desperately crave. This is the gear McDonagh has always wanted to work in, and Banshees is the epitome of what he can accomplish.

 

Written and Directed by Martin McDonagh