Written by Andreas Babiolakis

Warning: the following review contains triggering subject matter including the discussion of suicide. Reader discretion is advised.

Let’s face it: everyone’s gotten meaner. Even before the pandemic, society was facing a rift catalyzed by finger-pointing projections and anger displacement. Board us up in our own homes and sprinkle a little bit of financial despair, and you’ve got a recipe for discomfort and angst. It’s no wonder why we’re so confrontational nowadays. Some of the disgruntled citizens around us have also pondered how there hasn’t been a new Civil War with the amount of political divide we’ve seen this last decade, and it’s hard not to wonder the same thing. Well, it sounds like Martin McDonagh — one of the finest directors to deal with onscreen conflicts and uncomfortable discussions — has had the same sentiments on his mind since his last feature Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri. He’s no longer trying to capture the butting-of-heads in the United States, though. Now, he has traveled back to Ireland to try and settle the score between himself, society, his own inner dialogues, and the history that lead to this very point. His conclusion? Life’s just too fucking short.

The Banshees of Inisherin may be McDonagh’s finest feature to date, and it’s because he allows the darker themes of his storytelling to fully overtake his comedic side. The end result is a highly desperate affair with the occasional (okay, frequent) hiccup of hilarity that bubbles up at the (purposefully) wrong times, just like all of the funniest moments of a dismal life do. The scene is set in 1923 during the Irish Civil War (see, there’s McDonagh’s awareness of a nation that’s at odds with itself), and two best friends are no more. Pádraic arrives at the pub right on time to meet his pal (the musician Colm), but Colm suddenly wants nothing to do with him. Pádraic worries that he said something blue while drunk the night before, but that isn’t the case. Colm has just decided that time goes by too quickly, and he can’t be dealing with Pádraic’s monotony anymore. Ouch. It seems a little silly at first until you see how far McDonagh is willing to go with this premise. He toys with his audience brilliantly, leaving me really bothered and almost hateful of Colm and his stubbornness. That’s when McDonagh flips the script and places Colm in a state of vulnerability, underneath the wrath of Pádraic and his bested patience.

To be frank, everyone in this film that lives on the fictional Inisherin island is depressed and self loathing, and this misery festers. It leads many to alcoholism and suicidal thoughts. In fact, a number of shots in The Banshees of Inisherin take place on very high cliffs, as if Ben Davis’ cinematography (as breathtaking as it may be, and it’s some of the finest you’ll find this year) is flaunting their height in the faces of the lonely. The sadness rings in the title of the film, taken from a fugue that Colm is working on. Who are the banshees? Well, to me, the banshees are the citizens of Inisherin. Yes. All of them. This film showcases their cry for help and to be felt. Whether we accept an unmemorable life or try to chase a legacy (especially when it’s likely far too late to achieve greatness), we are accepting that we aren’t special. In a world where people are quick to accuse others of being snowflakes, The Banshees of Inisherin is a petri dish of dead souls that have accepted that they aren’t worthwhile. McDonagh makes the case that they, and everyone else, are actually worthwhile, at least in varying capacities. Pádraic combats Colm’s quest for relevancy via music by stating that anyone that was ever nice in his own life left an impact on him. Sometimes, kindness in a dark world goes a long way. There are glimpses of these generosities in The Banshees of Inisherin, even within the fog of execration.

Three filmmakers came to mind while watching The Banshees of Inisherin. I saw the visual, poetic brilliance of John Ford (I also couldn’t help but think of How Green Was My Valley, for obvious cinematographic reasons). I also saw flashes of Ingmar Bergman, who was heavily influenced by Ford, alongside the existential surrender throughout the island of Inisherin. I finally felt Robert Bresson’s cautions while we were focussed on other, menial plot points (it also doesn’t hurt that a donkey plays a major part of The Banshees of Inisherin, and it truly does feel like Au Hasard Balthazar at times). I always knew McDonagh was a great director and screenwriter, but to see him operating at the level of some of cinema’s greatest visionaries is quite something. Am I insinuating that The Banshees of Inisherin is a major cinematic achievement of 2022? Absolutely. It is a fully realized look at that aching feeling of suffocation one gets after loss (or just by living in an anxiety-inducing world today).

Every cast member is operating at their top form. Carter Burwell’s score feels like the only acts of empathy throughout the film at times. We’re seeing how beautiful the world can be, and yet we feel it being ripped to shreds by the heavy-hearted inhabitants within it. We don’t see these lives slowly deteriorate (outside of the moral corrosion that occurs in characters like Pádraic), but we can sense what they are experiencing by looking at how McDonagh captures Inisherin itself: it looks so beautiful on the outside, but we can feel that it is hurting on the inside, and we know that it isn’t what it once used to be. The Banshees of Inisherin isn’t afraid to embrace its hilarious, ugly, and tragic sides (sometimes all at once). It gets bloody as soon as it seems optimistic. It lets out an uncomfortable laugh during some darker moments. It finds hope during challenging times (even with gunshots going off in the distance). The Banshees of Inisherin is a reminder that when a nation is at war with itself, we, too, are at war with ourselves: collectively, and individually (treating ourselves as our own worst enemies). It is an essential watch in 2022 not just because of its relatability. It is absolutely one of the finest assembled films of the year, with everything meshing together in this portrait of phenomenology.

Andreas Babiolakis has a Masters degree in Film and Photography Preservation and Collections Management from Toronto Metropolitan University, as well as a Bachelors degree in Cinema Studies from York University. His favourite times of year are the Criterion Collection flash sales and the annual Toronto International Film Festival.