The Banshees of Inisherin: A Tragicomic Film

In director and screenwriter Martin McDonagh’s The Banshees of Inisherin (now on HBO Max) he has two excellent Irish actors, Colin Farrell (as Pádraic Súilleabháin) and Brendan Gleeson (as Colm Doherty), deal with a universal human problem. But it is one that is seldom addressed in films or books—How do we deal with someone who wants to be good friends, but we don’t?

About eight minutes into the film Colm offers a cryptic explanation to Pádraic as to why he doesn’t want to be friends with him anymore. It isn’t anything you’ve said or done, explains Colm, “I just don’t like you no more.”

Before the first half hour of the movie is up, Colm tells us more about why he doesn’t want to spend more time with Pádraic. And as he said earlier, it isn’t any one thing. But I’m going to remain vague about specifics because the film has dramatic developments, and I don’t want to give too much away.

Nevertheless most of us, at least if we’ve lived long enough, have probably met people who want to be closer to us than we do to them—and I’m not just talking about possible romantic relationships. So how do we handle that? Well Colm’s way is harsh indeed, and leads to some tragic occurrences. But there are also enough comic aspects, that the film could be labeled a tragicomedy, of which the Russian Chekhov was a master.

Colm’s decision not to spend any more time with Pádraic devastates the younger man. They live on the fictional Irish island of Inisherin. It is 1923. And Colm had been Pádraic’s best friend, with whom he had often gone to the local pub to enjoy a drink—or more.

Whether Colm realizes it or not, his determination to end all dealings with his former friend is a serious ethical decision. For any of us today a similar choice, or even one to just minimize our contacts with someone, could also be important. Consider the elements involved. We might decide that to spend an ample amount of time with x (let’s call him/her that for convenience) is folly and a waste of our time because x is boring or talks only about inane subjects, or about him or her self. Surely, we could make better use of our time. That could be one choice. An opposite one would be to abide with x’s personality, partly because we don’t want to hurt x’s feelings.

In my own life my wife, Nancy, and I sort of symbolized these two choices. She never wanted to hurt anyone’s feelings. I remember once we went to a party, and she stood there listening to a self-described bullshitter for about 20 minutes. Afterwards, I told her she needed to learn some “breakaway” lines like “excuse me, I’ve got to go and get another drink.” And her response was, “No, if I did that, I’m afraid he’d realize I was just trying to get away from him.” At the time, I thought my way of handling the situation was better than Nance’s. Now I’m not so sure.

Having given more thought to love and empathy, and valuing them more now, I take more seriously St. Paul’s words about love: “If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.” Maybe Nance’s party response was more loving than my suggestion that she make use of a “breakaway” line.

Or maybe the answer to the ethical choice involving x is for us to be more creative and imaginative. I remember my frequent response to students who said that something was boring. “Are you sure it is the subject that is boring? Or could it be a reflection of your own limitations?” (Shakespeare’s lines in Julius Caesar express it better, “The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves.”)

I once wrote, “Perhaps the wisest person I have ever had much interaction with was Howard McClusky (1900-1982).” He was an important educator and the first president of the Adult Education Association. Yet, despite all his accomplishments, I personally witnessed that he “was always a good listener and really cared about what other people had to say, regardless of their social status.” Also, Nancy once had a good friend who, like Howard, was a really good listener, and moreover a great question asker.

Maybe if Colm in McDonagh’s film would have tried to be a better listener and question asker of Pádraic, he might have continued to wish to interact with him. Colm knew much more about culture than did Pádraic, who didn’t, for example, know who Mozart was. But perhaps if Colm had been more empathetic, a better listener, and question asker, then he might have appreciated Pádraic more. In today’s world where U. S. voting patterns are increasingly reflecting educational levels—college educated skewing more Democratic; high school or less, more Republican—it is especially important that the better-educated avoid any snobbish pretensions or exclusiveness.

Besides all the dynamics surrounding the shall-we-remain-friends question, there is much more to enjoy if viewing The Banshees of Inisherin. Not only is the acting of

Farrell and Gleeson first rate, so too is that of the rest of the cast. It includes Kerry Condon as Pádraic's quick-witted sister Siobhán Súilleabháin; Barry Keoghan as the dim-witted, but often humorous, Dominic Kearney; and Gary Lydon as his child-abusing father and local policeman, Peadar Kearney. Even Pádraic and Siobhán’s little donkey, Jenny, adds some tender, comic, and sad moments. All these actors are Irish.

So too is director and screenwriter McDonagh, who also directed Farrell and Gleeson in In Bruges (2008). His dialogue is sharp, crisp, and often funny. The film’s scenery is lovely, with the sea almost always in the background of the picturesque island. In one of the scenes, we see one of my favorites, which I have enjoyed in various locations—the sun setting and then disappearing beyond the sea’s horizon.

Finally, the whole film breaths the Irish spirit to which I am partial. Although more German than Irish in my genealogy, one of my great great grandmothers was born in Dublin. And since my mother played “Danny Boy” and “Molly Malone” on the piano, I have loved Irish ballads. (And we named our third child, Daniel) At the time of the film’s setting, 1923, almost all of Ireland, except Northern Ireland, was Catholic, and I was raised Catholic.

When Colm goes into the confessional, has a disagreement with the priest, and is told his sins will not be forgiven and he says, “Well I’d better not be dying in the meantime or I’ll be pure fucked,” I knew what he meant. Although I never dared to talk like that to a priest (or my parents), I knew the fear of hell that the nuns who taught us in grade school implanted in us. If we committed a mortal sin and it was not forgiven in confession, we would likely go to Hell—and for ETERNITY. I’m not sure about other Catholic boys at the time, but nothing scared me more than the idea of ETERNITY in Hell.

Besides two confessional and two Sunday church scenes, there were religious objects in the hut of Pádraic and Siobhán, for example a crucifix and a picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus.

Although Catholicism dominated Ireland, there was also the Catholic-Protestant strife, especially in Northern Ireland, and a little background about that antagonism is needed to understand the gun sounds that the people of Inisherin sometimes hear (set in 1923) from the mainland. After a few years of bloody conflict, the Irish Free State, a self-governing dominion comprising most of Ireland, obtained semi-independence in December 1921 from Great Britain. However, much of Ulster in the northern part of the island, where the Protestants were dominant, remained a part of Great Britain. But some Irish nationalists, led by Eamon De Valera and the Irish Republican Army (IRA), were unhappy with the agreement and waged an unsuccessful civil war until De Valera’s arrest in 1923.

In the film there are several references to religious antagonism and the civil war. On one occasion policeman Kearney passes on some news by telling a woman that a certain man, “Protestant, of course,” stabbed someone six times. Another time, while in the pub, Kearney tells Colm that he’s going to the mainland in the line of duty to beef up a police presence at an execution, but he’s a little confused as to who in the civil war is going to be executing whom.

Besides all the religious reminders and strife, another important part of the Irish tradition is the pub. More often than not, the drinking depicted was in the daytime, and there are several references to Pádraic or someone else drinking too much.

Within the pub there was sometimes Irish music. Colm writes songs and plays the fiddle, and on one occasion inside the pub fiddles while a woman sings the old tune I’m a Man You Don’t Meet Every Day, in which a man says he’s from “county Kildare,” and “be easy and free when you're drinkin' with me.” On another occasion Colm is in his cottage holding up his dog (a border collie), and semi-dancing with it while he sings a song about walking from one Irish place to another—"I walked from Mallow town to Aghadoe, Aghadoe."

The Irish use of language also has its charms. Watching the movie, one would think the Irish use the word “fecking” a lot, as when Sioban tells Colm that the men of Inisherin are “all fecking boring with their piddling grievances over nothing.” Although I could figure out the meaning of “fecking” without looking it up, I did have to look up “gom” when whether Pádraic was one (a foolish person) or not was being discussed.

But more than the film’s treatment of friends and friendship, music and words, religion and strife, and pubs and drinking, what pleased my partial Irish heart was that sense of life as tragicomic. Yes, life has its many tragic moments, but to keep us from jumping off a cliff into the sea, it has also given us music, a pint of ale, perhaps religion, and hopefully—a sense of humor.