WARNING: SPOILER ALERT. MANY SPOILERS.
Nothing occurring to me is up to par, so you’ll have to supply your own snark.
The Banshees of Inisherin (2022) is an almost too obvious of a parable concerning the Irish and the common aphorisms concerning them: obstinate, deceivingly prideful. In 1923 or thereabout, on the fictional island of Inisherin, separated from Ireland by a slender strait, is located a village, presumably of the same name. Isolated, yet connected to Ireland, the Irish Civil War afflicting the big island has little effect on Inisherin, although occasionally the village inhabitants’ eyes are drawn to the bells of hell of a people torn apart: gunshots, cannon bellowing, and the usual announcements of bellicose barbarism.
But on Inisherin a new hell is beginning to form. Colm Doherty, a man in his late middle years, as we so politely like to put it, is feeling the weight of history on his shoulders, which is to say he fears that, in twenty years, if his ghost returns and asks a random inhabitant Who was Colm Doherty?, the answer will be What is that name now?, followed by a head shake. No wife, no children, we must assume, only his faithful dog inhabits his hut with him, the dog and his artistic efforts.
To the end of avoiding such an ignominious fate, Colm now focuses on composing an intangible, perhaps since the intangible fight the rot of time more effectively than the tangible, and the composition is a new fiddle tune. In Colm’s eye glints the fear of finality, of being forgotten.
His buddy, Pádraic Súilleabháin, is younger than Colm, a peaceful, humble shepherd. He cares for his cows and their milk, and, perhaps too much, donkeys, and when they’ve been cared for, he calls on favorite donkey Jenny to escort him to Colm’s, and then the pub for a pint or three, all without a wife; Pádraic lives with his sister, Siobhán, who quietly despairs as she keeps house for him. Day in; day out. Thus are timeless rhythms of life established, carrying society onward.
And that’s not good enough for Colm, who one day begins to ignore Pádraic. Pádraic, who wonders how he’s offended, how he’s become inadequate, how everyone thinks he’s dull. Pádraic, who becomes deeply confused when he learns the local policeman’s son, a late teener or early twenties, is beaten on a regular basis by his father, and sexually molested, too.
Pádraic, who doesn’t fight back when, upon revealing his knowledge of the policeman’s brutality, is himself beaten senseless by the policeman. And all the villagers, who hear and witness, shake their heads at his interference.
In the meantime, said son, Dominic Kearney, with his bruises, unfiltered mouth, and unfortunate manners, would like to court Siobhán.
But I’m getting ahead a bit. Pádraic is stubborn, believing Colm merely needs to have Pádraic interfering in his life in order to be reminded that he’s missing something. Colm disagrees and tells Pádraic that if he interferes again, Colm will start cutting off his own fingers. Colm’s, that is.
Surely a rhetorical device, a more sophisticated person, such as his own sister, might opine. Shortly thereafter, though, Colm calmly deposits a finger on Pádraic’s doorstep. All to the fell melody of the Civil War, which now yields up its own crop of fingers in the form of prisoners up for execution. That cop? He doesn’t even know which side is executing the other, he just knows there’s a cash offer for executioners, and he couldn’t possibly turn it down.
It’ll be fun. Such is the morality of officialdom, eh?
And then another crop of fingers comes to decorate Pádraic’s doorstep, and now events turn serious, because Jenny the donkey mistakenly ate two or three, and choked to death on them. Would that I knew Irish history in some detail. Regardless, Pádraic is heartbroken, for the next best thing to a wife is dead, a loyal donkey, and must be repaid.
The message from Pádraic to Colm? Well, he’s a civilized person, so he tells Colm to keep the dog out of the house tomorrow, because Pádraic intends to burn Colm’s house down, and Colm can be in it or not as he sees fit.
Meanwhile, Pádraic’s sister Siobhán receives an offer to work at a library over in Ireland, a dream job, and as the Irish insanity surges around her, she decides to be off, leaving Pádraic and Colm to their shared madness. Again, Irish history would be useful.
Far be it from me to attempt to detail the parable here, as my knowledge of Irish history – if my reader hasn’t guessed – is no better than the average American’s. The Irish have been persecuted by the Brits, who took and colonized Dublin, while indulging religious hatreds; the Famine years; the eventual hard-won independence, followed by the Troubles, eventually brought to an end by a treaty, which these days occasionally threatens to come unraveled; the Irish Catholic Church tragedy; and even today there’s apparently “recreational rioting” in Dublin.
But the personifications of various facets of Irish society are apparent, from obstinacy to official corruption, the face of morality behind which base grasping and urges reign supreme, all for which Ireland, to various extents, is known – as if no other nation has suffered them. This parable is pointed. Perhaps too pointed.
But this is not the only way to read it, for I actually thought of The Good, the Bad and the Ugly (1966) as a comparable approach to storytelling first. In this story, three men, hating each other, yet dependent on each other, are searching for a hidden treasure. During this search for a little temporary wealth, the American Civil War is booming around them, with battles to be dodged and survived, the implicit morality of freeing the American slave population a condemnatory note concerning their banal search for gold.
There are similar notes struck in The Banshees of Inisherin. The Irish Civil War suggests that some sort of moral struggle is going on, although closer examination might falsify the assumption. The Inisherin struggle is certainly that of the trivial, and the reaction overwrought, almost as if a proportional reaction is just too boring for words. And the ending?
Well, that would be telling.
All that said, it’s a well told tale, although if you find Irish accents difficult, then this will be a struggle. But the story raises the hair on the back of the neck when the audience isn’t laughing. And the Civil War is ending, is it? No, it’ll go on forever and forever, so long as the subtle arrogance of the Irish goes on.
Thus are the Banshees known to be present.
Excellent.
