1. They are good with bombs, beer, and whimsy. Make that and/or.
2. The older they get, the more likely they are to win the lottery. And, it goes without saying, our hearts.
3. Unwed mothers are irascible but firmly loving of their bastard children.
3a. Irish children are filthy.
4. The British are snooty, snotty, and humorless. No need for the and/or. (And, yes, this means you, Howell. And Stokes, if you still peep in.)
5. Irish can be played by Scottish, Welsh, and British actors. Sometimes American actors, too, except Kevin Spacey, who wins the “I won an Oscar then pissed away my talent in godforsaken ventures” award, taking it away from Cuba Gooding, Jr. (who, let’s face it, didn’t deserve it anyway, but who would–come to think of it–probably make a more convincing Irishman than Spacey). Sometimes a great Irish film–like The Playboys–need barely have any Irish people starring at all.
5a. Colm Meaney can play Scot, Welsh, British, American, whatever. So can Brendan Gleeson. Jury’s out on the pretty guy with the eyebrows.
6. Thank Christ for Neil Jordan.
7. What a dirty protest is is really quite dirty.
Omagh was not very good.
Mike, is this what you’ve learned from watching (mostly) films made in America and the UK?
I think it would be hard for an objective commentator to disagree with any of these observations. They are all valid. This is why movies are wonderful: they take you to the very heart of a place. I have to say, given the shitty weather, why bother to visit Ireland at all when you can capture its essence on the screen (much the same is true of Kazakhstan)?
‘Bloody Sunday’ was very good.
To John: do the Irish make movies? Those scamps! Yes, I’ve seen both. My post was a reaction to Omagh, referencing as well any number of flicks Irish, vaguely UK-in-origin, and American. I stand by my claims.
We rented Omagh precisely because Bloody Sunday was good; Greengrass had a hand in writing this one, as well, but another director ran the camera. But whereas B.S. had energy and suspense and a precise eye for how an event spirals out of control, O was dispiritingly obvious and drawn-out.
I mentioned Colm Meaney because of Intermission, an Irish (Irish-produced, -written, and -directed) caper flick which wasn’t bad but in which he was astounding (and I’m also recalling The Snapper, the best of the Roddy Doyle adaptations, and Layer Cake). The film is–I gather–a reasonable sample of some of what is going on in Irish indie film today: they, like everyone else everywhere, are a little too Tarantinoed. (And they’ve suffered for years from the nostalgic nausea-inducing cloning of small-town rural whimsyfests, as well as the equally nostalgic dirty beat-your-ma “realist” pics.) That said, Intermission had some good moments, and it had Meaney–and that’s really something.
I mentioned Neil Jordan because he’s one of the best filmmakers in the world, and he’s Irish. The Butcher Boy should have forever ended–because so perfectly, Platonically realizing and reimagining–the dirty abuse-ridden realism of small-town Irish poverty and close-mindedness. I can’t wait to see Breakfast on Pluto, which I may actually get to the theater to see.
I would note that three of my favorite Irish writers of the moment–Doyle, and the playwrights Martin McDonagh (yes, yes, born in UK, but Irish parents) and Conor McPherson might agree with my list, and add their own details. (McPherson did a fine, strange little caper film that goes in completely unexpected directions — name of I Went Down, with a stellar performance by Brendan Gleeson.)
Why the hell am I defending myself? Fuck off with your hat. I’m headed there in January and I’ll compare my cinematic impressions with real Irish charm; I’ll try to track down some unwed mothers to see how irascible they really are.
Sorry Mike, I didn’t mean to sound like I was attacking. In fact, my question was innocent. Just wondering how many of the films you had seen were American, UK or co-productions.
Myself, I know very little about Irish cinema, so I was curious.
Sorry!
I did not take it amiss; my little “fuck off” was a playful Irishism. Those Irish! They seem to love profanity as much as their plentiful bastard children.
John, you know I love you. Love means never having to say you’re sorry. Wait, what am I saying? A long relationship (with a beautiful, lovely woman) has taught me the exact opposite. In fact, I’m going to have to apologize for this post, and all of my comments on this post. Sorry!
Of note on Irish cinema of the last few years–more is being made there than we ever get to see. Even on dvd, the market is a bit drier than you’d expect. (And even on ebay or other black market outlets, it can be tough. I’ve been trying to find a copy of Michael Winterbottom’s tv film of Roddy Doyle’s “Family” — from the early ‘nineties — for about five years now. It’s nowhere to be seen.)
“The Butcher Boy should have forever ended–because so perfectly, Platonically realizing and reimagining–the dirty abuse-ridden realism of small-town Irish poverty and close-mindedness.”
can you elaborate?
This is the first time I’ve seen you defensive, Mike. Cut it out. It’s not like we’re talking about race, for Christ’s sake. This is the Irish. I liked your first post.
my impressions of the irish are based entirely on the “leprechaun” series of films. i conclude that if you don’t mess with their gold they tend to leave you alone.
the only Irish things I’ve seen are Leprechaun 1 through 4. And all I know really about the irish is that they turn really vicious when you take their gold…and don’t think that going into “the ‘Hood” or even into outer space will protect you from those wily paddys!
I really wasn’t defensive. so fuck you, Howell! Or that’s what I want to say, but I fear it’ll be taken as defensiveness. Even if John had attacked me, I have traumatic memories of too many nights of drunken attacks from John (and other vicious sorts) to take it amiss. I was mostly just riffing…
As to Butcher Boy, I can do more, but in a nutshell:
–I think you can take the novel and the film as exemplars of a certain kind of story: drunken, abusive father; beleaguered, submissive mother; horrible townsfolk, close-minded and class-conscious; the failings of social services; the sexual abusiveness of social services, particularly the Catholic institutions; and the boy victimized by it all, getting caught up in a cycle of violent reactions, or struggling to ‘escape’ in fantasy (both popular and religious).
–I think you can also take the novel and the film as exemplary parody of such a story and its elements, hyperbolically envisioning the story so that while affecting it is also reflexively critical of the storytelling motives (like “authenticity” or “innocence”). In the book, such parody is wholly the product of that astounding acerbic voice, the boy who narrates; the film captures some of that narration but also uses bleak, beautiful, sardonic compositions and editing to undermine the ‘naturalized’ image of authentic Irish hardscrabble rural existence. In particular, the gorgeous doubling of Stephen Rea–as both the abusive father, hyperbolically vicious and drunk, and the grown-up abused boy, hyperbolically innocent in gaze and demeanour.
Rea’s work with Jordan is as good as the best director-star pairings we could name. I was sold on Breakfast on Pluto when Rea popped up in the trailer, as a magician; god that guy has an expressive, complicated face.
So does John Bruns, for that matter. Complicated face. Uncomplicated body, but ooh that face.
Wait–Arnab, you need to buy your jokes from someone other than Michael’s writer.
think of this and beware: arnab and I were thinking and posting about Leprechaun at almost the exact moment! Is a cosmic force–perhaps a drunken one about to bust into “Danny Boy”–toying with us?
I do like The Butcher Boy very much, and now I think I understand that sentence you wrote (I’m still trying to work out the grammar to be honest but if I read it out loud to myself I think I see where you are going). Yeah, The Butcher Boy is magical realism softly filtered through a pile of feces leftover from Jim Sheridan’s Bobby Sands flick (In the Name of the Father? Some Mother’s Son? I can’t remember which is which). What I liked most about the film was Eamonn Owen’s electric performance (never read the book though McCabe’s recent trilogy of novellas set in New York City was a good read). Anyway, at the time I truly thought I was watching a performance as good as DiCaprio’s in the “overweight mama” movie, and I very much looked forward to what the kid would do next (he was in The General which I like a lot as well The Magdalene Sisters, which is tough going but definitely worth a look). Plus, I can’t think of a film that cinematically captures mental illness as well as The Butcher Boy.
it is so freaky that arnab and michael posted the same post at the same time! so, so freaky. for some reason, it’s making me incredibly happy.
i didn’t like Bloody Sunday, maybe because i paid 9.50 for it. but i found it energy-less and suspenseless. another word for it is boring.
i don’t think mike did anything wrong or unnecessary explaining himself. i appreciated that, for one. i think, on the other hand, that john should not have apologized so profusely. mike’s not gonna hurt you, john. don’t worry, okaaaay?
Well, ‘Bloody Sunday’ was meant to evoke a documentary (at least I hope it was, otherwise it was energy-less and boring) which explains, I think, the pacing and structure of the movie. I simply liked the way the POV shifted back and forth between the British army and the Republican demonstrators, and the unhurried sense of evolving chaos on both sides.
I think we can assume that the lack of energy and suspense was deliberate because the director went on to do ‘The Bourne Supremacy’ which had, if anything, too much energy.
Was ‘The Commitments’ an Irish movie, or a movie about the Irish? That really was sentimental crap.
‘Taffin.’ Now there is a sentimental, weightless, fluffy Irish movie that works. And it has Pierce Brosnan looking a damn sight cuter than Giovanni Ribisi. His debt collector with a heart of gold deserves to go on Mike’s list of things we learn about the Irish from movies.
Are you serious–is Taffin good? Kris will be all over that; she even liked Evelyn, where deadbeat dad Brosnan somehow gets his kids back, to swelling music.
The Commitments is a superb novel (Doyle), softened and smoothed out for an easy film by Alan Parker. He did, as well, the execrable Angela’s Ashes. I like saying execrable. Makes me feel all New Yorker.
I liked Sunday for exactly the reasons Chris noted, and for its lead’s performance. I forget his name, but I’ve recently seen him playing North-English in Millions and on some BBC crap as a Brit.
For the record, I was never upset, I appreciated John’s apology but it was absolutely unncessary for any number of reasons (not least because I deserve to be yelled at more often). And, for the record, it was fun to actually be pushed to think about Irish film–which I haven’t done too much. Given how “Irishness” is usually what’s being sold, I haven’t paid that much attention to the sites of production, or comparing national cinema to other visions of that nation, etc. It’s probably worth examining in much more detail than my offhand post.
It’s hard to believe a post on the Irish got us all a bit antsy, but I blame it on the troubles.
Now, for my post on the Jews.
I cannot, in good conscience, recommend ‘Taffin’ to anyone who cares deeply about movies. But I did kinda like it for the low key performances, and the way it just stayed this side of “heartwarming.”