It's hardly an original insight to note that "The Banshees of Inisherin," Martin McDonagh's caustic and mournful new movie, is also his latest work to give its location top billing. Longtime admirers of this British-Irish writer-director's stage work know his fondness for regionally specific titles like "The Cripple of Inishmaan" and "The Lieutenant of Inishmore," two plays that — together with this film — form a loosely connected trilogy, tied together not by common characters but by common ground. If character is destiny in McDonagh's work, then both are also inextricably tied to location and landscape. Here, as before, he draws us into an insular Irish enclave, where the air is thick with salty insults and bitter laughs, and cruelty seems to well up from the soil like highly acidic groundwater.
Which is not to suggest that Ireland — either the country of McDonagh's firsthand experience or the one of his fictional imagination — has a monopoly on cruelty. That much is clear from his farther-flung plays, like "A Behanding in Spokane," and also from his movies such as "Three Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri" and "In Bruges." That 2008 comedy's co-leads, Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson, are superbly reunited in "The Banshees of Inisherin," only this time, rather than playing two hit men on a less-than-idyllic Belgian holiday, they're playing longtime best friends who have never known any home beyond Inisherin. And from our first glimpse of this small, fictional island, with its lush greenery and not-infrequent rainbows (beautifully filmed by Ben Davis), that might not seem like such a bad state of affairs.
By movie's end, we know better. The year is 1923, and in the distance the Irish civil war is raging, providing some blunt yet hazy thematic scaffolding for this more intimate tale of men in conflict. The beauty of Inisherin will soon turn sour and corrosive, much like the once-harmonious friendship between Padraic Suilleabhain (Farrell), a sweet-souled dairy farmer, and Colm Doherty (Gleeson), a gruff, gimlet-eyed fiddle player. In the opening scene, Padraic sets out to meet Colm for their usual afternoon pint, only to find the man sitting at home, his back to the window, quietly ignoring Padraic's knocks and entreaties. Can a man scowl not just with his face but with his entire hulking frame? Somehow, Gleeson manages.
