12/24/22
Newsletter #198
The Crack of Dawn
I am a purveyor of narratives. I tell stories. A good narrative story moves inexorably to its conclusion. As I put forth in my book, The Complete Guide to Low-Budget Filmmaking, the author is God. My theory is that since everybody, no matter what they say, is afraid that there is no God and life may be pointless, takes great solace in narrative stories where there absolutely is a God – the author. The author knows the fate of every character. We would like to believe that all of our actions add up to a proper conclusion: I’ve been good, therefore favor will fortune me; that asshole has been bad, so fate will shit on them. But we know deep down in out guty-wuts that bad shit happens to good people, and vice versa. However, innately, we desire fairness. Therefore, in a story a character either gets what’s coming to them, or ironically, they don’t. In either case, it’s absolutely predestined. The author knows the conclusion from the beginning. How the character’s actions bring them to that specific end is the story.
I just watched HBO’s newest movie, The Banshees of Inisherin, written and directed by Michael McDonagh, who is hot shit at this moment. Mr. McDonagh came up with what I believe is a brilliantly simple story that is naturally compelling from the very beginning, which is not easy. This is not a spoiler; I’m not going to tell the story, just the first scene.
On an island off the coast of Ireland in a tiny town, Colin Farrell and Brendon Gleeson are long-time buddies who drink together in the pub every night. When the film begins Colin Farrell (in what may be his best performance) shows up at Brendon Gleeson’s house to accompany him to the pub. However, this evening, unlike all other evenings, Gleeson’s character declines, saying, “I don’t like you no more,” and shuts the door. Beautiful. The narrative is immediately compelling, meaning it’s leading somewhere. Why doesn’t he like him anymore? Colin Farrell, who is a fine actor, can play dumb really well. The befuddlement and confusion of the situation that constantly displays itself on his face is very funny. I laughed quite a few times during the course of acts one and two.
However, I suspected from early on that Mr. McDonagh had a great set-up, but didn’t know where he was going. Act one ends definitively, as it ought to, but it’s on a serious note that surprised me. OK, you can get serious in a comedy, so where was this going? And that’s exactly what you want the audience to be asking themselves at the end of act one. Act two is also pretty good, and funny, but my suspicion that this story didn’t know where it was going increased. Act two also ends definitively, as it ought to, but on such a serious note that it stopped being a comedy right there. Act three is dead serious, and concludes in an entirely unexpected way, that I found both terrible and reprehensible. The point Mr. McDonagh makes is ugly, and I think unnecessarily, and unbelievably cynical. As the Irish would put it, I think act three was schitte.
I also firmly believe that the film is a work of art and Michael McDonagh is free as an artist to take his story anywhere he wants. But that in and of itself does not make it good storytelling, or the proper conclusion. The ending is not fulfilling, nor does it feel appropriate, and therefore, to me, the film is a failure. It’s a good joke, with a particularly bad punchline.
Still, two good acts out of three ain’t bad. And Colin Farrell’s performance, with his wide array of stunned, quizzical, confused, stupefied expressions – his thick black eyebrows in constant motion – is fabulous and worth the price of admission.
Remember, every day is a miniature eternity.