staving off the inevitable

& the death of niceness in ‘the banshees of inisherin’

I find that it’s a very American thing to do, seeing as there’s such an identity crisis here, but I have a lot of pride about where my family is from. My mother is Mohawk, and my father is several things but mostly Irish. So naturally, I get to point fingers at a lot of things—excessive drinking, the gambling problem that exists in my distant relatives and, most importantly, what is referred to as “the deep, hereditary sadness of the Irish”. 

Fundamentally, everything is a joke or it will destroy us. Push everything down and keep it there until you die. You know, the works. 

It’s obviously a very heavily stereotyped understanding of my Irish lineage, and very American, but in truth I’m proud to have family from Cork. You can imagine my excitement when I heard there was a new Colin Farrell movie where he actually got to be Irish in Ireland. 

I made it a point to go see The Banshees of Inisherin in theaters, even though the journey ate up a quarter of my gas tank. I don’t regret it a bit: it immediately became one of my favorite movies, which seemed unlikely because I’d never liked a Martin McDonagh movie prior. 

Disintegrating friendships are not new territory in McDonagh movies, but there was something in this one that struck the right chords. 

The more I reflect, the more I think it’s the quietness of the movie that makes it mean so much: here are two men, and the stakes don’t seem very high at first. There’s Pádraic, who is selfless and sweet which gets him labeled as “dull”. Then there’s Colm, who was already ornery but more ornery yet when he starts to feel that his life is passing him by with nothing to show for it. And when you examine both of them a little more closely—actually, when you examine Siobhán and Dominic, too—you realize that, like everybody, they’re just doing their best to not feel empty. Pádraic wards off emptiness through companionship, humans and animals alike. Colm finds newfound meaning in music, which is where the movie’s dilemma begins. 

A priest asks Colm, “how’s the despair?”. There is something eerily like my great grandfather, an Irishman through and through, in Colm’s character that perhaps leads me to sympathize with him more than the general audience. I also realize that, lately in my friendships, I have been more Colm than Pádraic. I have been meaner and colder in the name of self-preservation, and it has not left me in better shape. But I understand his motivations anyway; when you feel like it’s all going to be over soon, whether from suicide or some unknown force, you start to feel like you haven’t accomplished anything. You start withdrawing. It’s a cycle I’m far too familiar with, and one that this movie highlights so effectively. 

Essentially, Colm is asking: where did niceness ever get me? What did niceness ever solve? 

That leaves Pádraic as collateral. 

To Pádraic, niceness makes the world go round. Without a little kindness, a little friendship, what would any of us have? When put up against Colm’s life philosophy, it’s clear how hard the two mindsets clash. It prompts the audience to ask how these two were ever friends in the first place. 

Personally, that is what makes the heart of the movie—the ability to see both sides of this conflict. To hold a little bit of Colm and a little bit of Pádraic in your chest at the same time. It’s what makes the characters not only compelling, but also what makes their disputes so hard to endure. 

Basically, it’s what makes The Banshees of Inisherin feel like more than just a comically sad period piece. We’re watching not only the death of a friendship in the midst of an actual civil war, but the demise of niceness itself.

Even more devastating than watching Colm leave Pádraic out to dry is watching Pádraic become as bitter as his former best friend. Pádraic tries many times, in vain, to rekindle something between himself and Colm; every failed attempt hardens his heart, which was practically bursting at the seams when the movie started. 

It’s terrible to watch naturally kind people (an oxymoron, because it is more natural to be unkind) lose themselves to cruelty. It’s terrible because it takes effort for them to be mean. It takes thought. It’s all-consuming, and there is never any kindness left by the end of it. One more silent man on Inisherin, as Siobhán said, and one more callous person in the world. 

What can be done about it?

It seems like Banshees is saying, “not much”. The movie ends with Pádraic’s miniature donkey still dead, Colm’s appendages still forcefully removed. The two have neither animal companions or the ability to make more music, which is what they had decided they wanted if they weren’t going to have each other. So, it’s all just one big circle: all they have is one another, whether they like it or not. No one understands the gravity of their situation and their grudges except them. It is a weight that the two of them, and only the two of them, can carry. 

If Colm and Pádraic teach us anything, it’s that we’re damned: we damn ourselves to become what we hate most about others. And we damn ourselves to forever be linked to the people that make us miserable, because we destroy everything else in the process. Colm and Pádraic need each other more than ever by the end of the movie, even if they pretend to not be able to see it that way. 

Who’s right about niceness, then? 

In Pádraic’s eyes, niceness didn’t last. He has none left to give. No one deserves niceness anymore. But to Colm, Pádraic is still nice. After everything, he’s only playing at malice. 

So it doesn’t matter. None of it. Niceness existing or not, it seems that Colm and Pádraic will have to pick up the pieces. The cows still have to be fed. The dog still has to be taken care of. Life still has to go on. It is up to Colm and Pádraic if they want a shoulder to lean on in the future, and the audience isn’t owed any indications.