The Banshees and the Quiet Girl
Isobel Harbison
Two Irish movies have been nominated for Oscars this year: one in the Best Picture category – The Banshees of Inisherin, directed by Martin McDonagh, shot in English on the islands of Achill and Inishmore – while the other is a contender for Best International Feature Film (a category formerly known as Best Foreign Language Film): An Cailín Ciúin (The Quiet Girl), directed by Colm Bairéad, shot in Irish between Co. Dublin and Co. Meath.
Hollywood representations of Ireland and its people have a long history, from Sidney Olcott’s A Lad from Old Ireland (1910) to John Ford’s The Quiet Man (1952), movies that enjoyed commercial success in part by appealing to the nostalgia of the Irish diaspora in the United States. For someone raised Irish in London of the 1970s and 1980s, as McDonagh was, the dramatic and comedic potential of exaggerated Hollywood versions of Ireland must have seemed a fertile and spacious alternative to claustrophobic British depictions of Ireland and the Irish on screen. Inisherin is a fictional, imaginary island, and the ‘banshees’ of McDonagh’s title suggest a self-conscious summoning of Tinseltown’s old ghosts.
But the film – based on a playscript McDonagh wrote in the 1990s – releases into the world the most comprehensive collection of Irish stereotypes in contemporary cinema: town drunks, emotionally underdeveloped men, abused boys, crooked guards, malevolent postal workers, fraternal bartenders, clairvoyant hags, and a plethora of exhausted, subservient women rendered immobile by the weight of their shawls. They are all stuck, hemmed in by stone walls and a craggy coastline, and set upon by biblical bouts of judgment and rain.
Confusion is at the core of the plot: why is Colm (Brendan Gleeson) not speaking to me, Pádraic (Colin Farrell) wonders? Then he says it aloud, then he shouts it, and it eventually drives himself and everyone around him, including his loyal sister Siobán (Kerry Condon), totally bonkers. Nobody knows, not even Colm, who just wants to play his fiddle in peace away from this wittering fool. To keep Pádraic at bay, Colm saws a finger off his left hand every time Pádraic speaks to him. The movie is set in the 1920s but the self-harm and the quarrelling seem insulated from the political tensions of that decade: gunfire audible on the mainland is neither fully discussed nor metabolised by the characters. As a metaphor, the dismemberment short-circuits whichever way you run it and what’s left is a barren gesture. Nothing of meaning resonates beyond the noise.
An Cailín Ciúin is an adaptation of Claire Keegan’s story Foster, in which a quiet, unnamed girl is sent for a summer from her poor and populous family home to the farmhouse of her mother’s cousin and her husband. Keegan wrote it in English, with only a few traces of Irish appearing when the girl is addressed affectionally by the foster mother as ‘a Leanbh’ (my child) or ‘Girleen’ (adding the Irish diminutive suffix). Temporary fostering was common among Irish Catholic families of sparce resources for whom contraception was unavailable until 1985 (from 1979 with a prescription) and abortion remained illegal until 2018. Familial networks of care have long been essential to the survival of Ireland’s children, but they were not always reliable and, particularly for abandoned daughters, never guaranteed to be safe.
We know Keegan’s story is set in 1981 from the girl’s glimpses of the TV news and snatches of adult conversation about hunger strikes, details left out of the movie, which otherwise translates the entirety of Keegan’s pristine, sparse dialogue into Irish, and shifts the setting west from the Keegan’s County Wexford to the Gaeltacht na nDéise, an Irish-speaking area of County Waterford. In An Cailín Ciúin, the girl is given a name, Cáit (Catherine Clinch), and Irish is the language of intimacy spoken between her and her foster mother, Eibhlin (Carrie Crowley), and the rest of her maternal family. By contrast, English is spoken with her cantankerous and unreliable father (Michael Patric).
While a pervasive sense of danger nips at the edges of Keegan’s story, Bairéad has softened it, filming a gentle rural idyll, with colour-graded images of tree-lined paths and photogenic cattle, inserting dialogue between Cáit and her foster father, Sean (Andrew Bennett) about feeding calves on powdered milk. The adaptation transforms a particular story of refuge to a more universal one of an adopted home, scrubbed of overt political references and palatable to international audiences and distributors. But with its sustained attention to improvised forms of care, to solidarity between mothers and others, to moments of intergenerational communication between people neglected by a state that is itself navigating a strained, partial freedom, it has produced, within a portrait of a rural and somewhat beleaguered Ireland, an extraordinary parable of resilience.
These two films are not in competition with one another, and shouldn’t be; they’re oceans apart. They reflect the ways that different journeys of exile and assimilation have produced contrasting views of rural Ireland and what, in translation, might be won or lost. As for the Oscars, their categories show how the Academy places at its ceremonial centre the domestic Hollywood version of other cultures it has long created. His old ghosts it loves to sell.
Comments
The context of the meaningless brutal civil war on the mainland is satarised in the falling out between Gleeson and Farrell’s character. A war breaks out between two friends without good reason. The senseless damage reflects the destruction of friends and families in the civil war raging on the mainland.
When much is destroyed peace breaks out to an extent between them, which is a contraction of the healing of the divided Ireland over the years after the civil war.
I took that as the main message in the movie.
If Republicans had accepted the Free State as a stepping stone to full independence much of the subsequent "troubles" might have been avoided.
The irony is that after the civil war Republicanism as a revolutionary politics were pretty marginal to political life except insofar as its advocates were en route to incorporation with the Free State's natural party of government; it was as citizens of 'Northern Ireland' that a predominantly Catholic population rose up to demand civil rights in the sixties. If the loyalist police force hadn't batoned them off the street and made e.g. housing lists and employment law less discriminatory that *maybe* would have been a path to making partition viable. The Orange State and their benefactors in England only have themselves to blame.
Reviewers shouldn't confuse their own lack of comprehension with a director having nothing to say.
The commentator who said 'Father Ted taking itself seriously' is spot on!
"The Quiet Girl" deserves all the prizes it can get though and if there's one "Best Picture" that came out of Ireland last year, this would be it.