There's a special kind of madness that comes from living in a suffocatingly small town. In a place where everyone knows each other and their respective fathers, there's no sense of privacy, little sense of individuality, and even less chance of escape. Playwright-turned-filmmaker Martin McDonagh maroons his audience in such a claustrophobic community with his latest, the wickedly funny and nerve-rattling comedy The Banshees of Inisherin.
McDonagh reunites his In Bruges stars, Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson, for a fresh tale of fucked-up friendship. This time, rather than harried hitmen hiding out, the Irish actors play villagers of a tiny fictional town off the West Coast of Ireland. In 1923, Inisherin is a place of cozy farmland, picturesque cliffs, a local pub perfect for an impromptu sing-along, and a local market bubbling with gossip. Yet trouble brews, and not just on the mainland where explosions can occasionally be heard across the sound. Much closer to home, a simple request throws the whole of the island into a dark spin.
It's a day like any other in Inisherin, when simple farmer Pádraic Súilleabháin (Farrell) takes his routine walk to his best friend's house in hopes of hitting the pub for a pint and some conversation. But today, when the clock strikes two PM and Pádraic knocks on his best friend's front door, he learns Colm Doherty (Gleeson) has unceremoniously decided to unfriend him. When pressed on the matter, Colm, a musician who has a mug on him as if he's seen too much and yet not enough, lays down a grim ultimatum: If Pádraic speaks to him again, Colm will cut off his own finger. One by one, for each trespassed boundary.
The Banshees of Inisherin's brand of humor and tension is not for the faint of heart.
Forget Chekov's gun. With a smirking and savage wit, McDonagh has laid down an urgently gruesome set of stakes in the form of five chunky fingers. One moment, they might be dancing along a fiddle, making winsome music for the jovial pub crowd. The next, one might be chucked, stumped and bloody, at the Súilleabháins' front door, where Pádraic or his sister Siobhan (Kerry Condon) will have to deal with the mess of it.
The thing about throwing a self-amputated finger at a door? There's no map for what comes next. The sickening tension that begins to tighten in The Banshees of Inisherin comes from this uncertainty. It's unlikely that such a display will give a heartbroken Pádraic less to say to Colm. It's even less likely that Colm will back down, considering how casually he carries about his seeping self-mutilation. And it's seems impossible that anyone — be it a begging barkeep, the worried sister, or a nosy misfit (Barry Keoghan) — will be able to stop whatever is coming.
If you're familiar at all with McDonagh's past works — be it In Bruges, Seven Psychopaths, or Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri — you know that things will definitely get weird and worse. But precisely how they escalate is the shuddering fun of his latest.
Colin Farrell is brilliant in The Banshees of Inisherin.
Balancing the bloodiness and the pulsing threat of more violence is dialogue with a jaunty tone and a sharp edge, like a skip that ends in a kick to the shins. Farrell and Gleeson thrive in McDonagh's brand of banter, making a precise comedy duo of straight man and stooge. With a sour puss and no patience for nonsense, Colm delivers ice-cold lines that drive audiences to bark in shock and laughter because his tone is so calm. The conflict of content versus delivery is dizzying. Then, Farrell's reaction is the knockout.
Farrell's played the fool before, memorably in In Bruges, for one. Here, his earnest replies and befuddled expressions bolster the punchlines that Gleeson drops like lint from his pocket. With his wide eyes and desperate-to-please disposition, Pádraic might be the hero of a rom-com in some other movie. Oh, but here, his initial guilelessness is a lovely lure to drive us deeper into the dangers of rejection, the violence of betrayal, and the darkness that can lie in even the nicest guy in town.
Farrell is already generating buzz as a Best Actor frontrunner for the Oscars, and deservedly so, as he exposes a hellish decline of character with the nimbleness of a trapeze artist. Even as Pádraic readies himself to take action, some grisly part of you might be rooting for him in his quest for justice, no matter how reckless. In Pádraic's quest, McDonagh offers a power fantasy for anyone who's felt dejected. But in Colm's storyline, he offers the freeing fantasy of truly giving no fucks in a small town where everyone knows your business. Between these wild wishes grows a grudge match that is absolutely riveting.
The Banshees of Inisherin is full of incredible performances.
McDonagh has always had a sharp eye for casting his films, starting with his Oscar-winning short "Six Shooter," which features Gleeson as a grieving husband. In The Banshees of Inisherin, the cast is an embarrassment of riches. Gleeson turns grumbles into an art form, carrying the weight of an unsatisfying life heavy on Colm's broad sulking shoulders. A light in the darkness, Condon fires off at both warring friends with a warranted frustration but an undercurrent of sincere concern. Cozy in making audiences uncomfortable, Keoghan (who previously faced off against Farrell in The Killing of a Sacred Deer) leans into the overzealousness that turns a friend into a pest, creating a character who is itchingly annoying even as you feel for him. Lastly, Sheila Flitton brings out a terrifically crooked smile and menacing energy as Mrs. McCormick, a "ghoul" of a woman who is haunting and humorous in turn.
Unlike his last couple of comedies, The Banshees of Inisherin is freed from Hollywood's dictates. As such, McDonagh revels in dodging broad comedy, choosing a less frantic tone that envelops audiences in the slowness that soothes and stings the island's natives. This patient pacing means there's no escape from the social awkwardness of the core conflict as it escalates into social anarchy. McDonagh and his cast are ruthless in this execution, providing catharsis with dark cackles, along with breathless bits in between where we wait on edge for whatever might come next. There's an ache in there, right between heart and lung, as we sit in silent witness, hoping for — what? — the best that can be salvaged from this ravaged friendship? Or are we waiting in uneasy excitement for what might be the worst that could happen? Either way, McDonagh toys with our hopes like a cat batting a mouse, and each swipe is an exhilarating thrill.
Simply put, The Banshees of Inisherin is a fucked-up kind of fun that'll leave you chuckling, heartsick, and a wee bit anxious. Don't miss it.
The Banshees of Inisherin was reviewed for the 2022 Toronto International Film Festival. On Oct. 21, the comedy will open in limited release in theaters.
UPDATE: Oct. 21, 2022, 5:00 a.m. EDT This review originally ran on October 3, 2022, tied Mashable's coverage of TIFF 2022. It has been reposted with updated release information.
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