‘The Banshees Of Inisherin’ Asks The Question: Does God Care About Miniature Donkeys?
(REVIEW) Ever get the sinking feeling that your friends don’t like you? That every time you talk, they’re just wishing you’d shut up — that they’re even timing how long you talk? Or worse, have you always thought you had a friend until, one day, they just told you they didn’t like you anymore?
That horrifying premise is the driving force behind Martin McDonagh’s heartbreakingly bloody friendship breakup “The Banshees of Inisherin.” The movie has been nominated for nine Oscars this year: Best Picture, Actor in a Leading Role, Actor in a Supporting Role (twice), Actress in a Supporting Role, Directing, Editing, Original Score and Original Screenplay.
The small island of Inisherin is a peaceful place by and large, entrenched in the monotony of rural life. It’s populated with thin dirt roads, watched over by a statue of the Virgin Mary; its pub is its primary community center, and the priest is ferried over by boat every Sunday.
That small-town life is ideal for Pádraic Súilleabháin, a farmer described by himself and others as “a happy lad” and “one of life’s good guys.”
His best friend, Colm Doherty, is described by others as a “thinker” who’s nonetheless charming and beloved, particularly for his skill at playing the fiddle.
Colm puts an abrupt end to their friendship, determined to spend the rest of his life devoted to composing and performing music. He claims that Pádraic’s “aimless chatting” and “dull” company is getting in the way of that goal, and insists Pádraic never speak to him again.
When Pádraic is unwilling to accept the end, Colm threatens him by putting his own treasured music at risk.
It’s a bizarre twist in which Pádraic seemingly has nothing to lose but that which he’s already lost, and Colm has everything to lose — his friendship, his music, what amounts to his life’s purpose and, frankly, a lot of blood.
Devastating friendship breakup aside, “The Banshees of Inisherin” is ultimately about two men desperately trying to find meaning in a life that so easily becomes meaningless. By losing sight of what’s important, each ends up completely bereft.
Colm’s actions remain somewhat puzzling from the outside, but his motivations very quickly become evident. He tells Siobhán, interceding on Pádraic’s behalf, “I do worry sometimes I’m just entertaining myself while I stave off the inevitable,” and tells Pádraic during the initial breakup, “I just have this tremendous sense of time slipping away on me.”
When Colm attends confession one Sunday, the priest asks him about his “despair,” and the Súilleabháins decide over dinner one evening that Colm must be depressed. Despair certainly has something to do with it, though despair feels like an understatement for the all-consuming existential dread Colm feels.
Unfortunately — unsurprisingly — this drastic course of action does nothing to ease Colm’s mind. In fact, the sequence of events that spirals out from his one harsh decision ruins the remainder of his life in full.
It ruins Pádraic’s life, too. It can’t be overstated how much this guy is just sunshine and rainbows. In the movie’s opening sequence, that’s even literally true. He’s got a wardrobe of chunky-knit sweaters, and his best friend is a miniature donkey named Jenny. He loves his sister. He’s even close to the young man everyone regards as the village idiot. He’s magnificent.
But Colm’s abandonment turns Pádraic into a jealous, angry, bitter shell of himself, prone to his own violence and cruelty. Some of his actions are warranted, but some are just plain mean.
That’s the most tragic part of it all, really. Life’s good guys are rare enough as it is, and even rarer are those who are content with the people they know, the work they do and their “aimless chatter.”
To have those things stripped away from one mostly innocent person is a victory for the idea of a cruel, uncaring universe, and it shows just how devastating the loss of a friend is.
By the time Colm comes to regret his mistakes, it’s far too late to reverse them. He’s hurt his friend irreparably and changed him in the process, and his despair is worse than ever.
After another Sunday service, he confesses to his sins against Pádraic and nothing more.
“Do you think God gives a damn about miniature donkeys, Colm?” the priest asks him, in hopes he’ll address some of his other wrongdoing.
“I fear he doesn’t,” Colm says. “And I fear that’s where it’s all gone wrong.”
But Colm isn’t talking about God. Not really. In fact, what God thinks of miniature donkeys isn’t the important part of this conversation — which is lucky, because animal theology is opening up a can of worms beyond what’s reasonable.
When Colm took the reins of his own life to such a ferocious degree, he did so with the belief that nothing matters beyond legacy and greatness — because the world is cruel, and niceness is a simple man’s virtue.
In fact, the opposite is true. The world can be a place full of things that are good and nice, if not for the wills of stubborn men getting in the way. Ah, if only we cared more about miniature donkeys.
“The Banshees of Inisherin” is available to stream on HBO Max.
Jillian Cheney is a contributing culture writer for Religion Unplugged. She also writes on American Protestantism and evangelical Christianity and was Religion Unplugged’s 2020-21 Poynter-Koch fellow. You can find her on Twitter @_jilliancheney.