'The Banshees of Inisherin' review: Martin McDonagh's Wry Tragicomedy is his best film since 'In Bruges'

Every afternoon, as far back as the inhabitants of the fictional little Irish island of Inisherin can remember, two friends have sat together in the only pub in town for a few pints of Guinness. This shared ritual might be the only thing these men have in common.

Pádraic Súilleabháin (Colin Farrell), the younger of the two, is a sweet, simple guy who doesn't ask much of life and gives exactly that in return. If he died five meters from where he was born, that would be fine with him. Colm Doherty (Brendan Gleeson) is cut from a more intense fabric. An amateur but obsessive violinist, in his sixties and convinced that he has exactly 12 years left to live, Colm is prone to a certain resentment at the smallness of his existence.

One idyllic day in 1923, as the local birds chirp loudly enough for the people of Inisherin to ignore bombs exploding on the water and to a distant world, Colm suddenly announces that he will no longer be friends with Padraic. "You haven't done anything," insists the old man with the calm of a doctor who offers a diagnosis and treatment in the same breath. "I don't love you anymore."

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So, less than six minutes into Martin McDonagh's deliciously biting 'The Banshees of Inisherin', the seeds of a new enmity are sown - not a metaphor for the Irish Civil War, but rather a sort of absurd microcosm for this one. The result is (by far) the writer-director's best film since his equally haunting 'In Bruges', which also found the same lead actors trading sublime jabs of existential desperation with all the bruised grace of a heavyweight fight. heavy. It's a moving tragicomedy in which one man's sympathetic but uncompromising thirst for freedom sets off an escalating series of reprisals that can only end in a stalemate or self-immolation. Or both. Or worse.



Unfolding like a gleefully sadistic mirror image of the scene in 'Good Will Hunting' when Ben Affleck tells Matt Damon about the best part of his day - one friend encouraging the other to let go of their dead-end life - "The Banshees of Inisherin" watches Colm's decision ripple through the kind of small community where strife tends to be swallowed up like fellowship, and cruelty only occurs behind closed doors. That's not to say the locals d agree with Colm's assessment that the man is a total bore.

In fact, no one understands Colm's decision better than Pádraic's loving sister, Siobhán (Kerry Condon), a smart and beautiful single woman whose motherly affection for her only parent has only grown stronger and stronger. limit themselves since the death of their parents. She is deprived of the world beyond their island, and the world is deprived of her in return. Pádraic may be the softest soul on Earth, but his lackluster kindness can be a bear trap, and watching Siobhán try to break free of it quickly becomes one of this film's greatest pleasures (thanks in large part with exquisite shade of Condon supporting performance tender but fiery).

Pádraic's sudden need for a new pal also has a pronounced effect on the one character more pitiful than him. The village delinquent – ​​and incidentally also the son of the village cop – Dominic is an unwashed Shakespearean fool of a child whose mischievous enthusiasm for sharing uncomfortable truths only dries up when it comes to his own. Obviously played by Barry Keoghan (who is obviously perfect for the role), Dominic was shunned by the people of Inisherin with the same callousness he was abused by his father. He is the most innocent soul on the island, which also means he is forced to bear the brunt of his guilt. But that only becomes a factor long after Colm starts chopping off one of his own fiddle fingers every time Pádraic tries to redeem himself. It wouldn't be a Martin McDonagh movie if people didn't seek peace and/or absolution through cartoonish acts of ultra-violence.