In all honesty, it has been about a week since I watched The Banshees of Inisherin. Normally, I try not to leave too much time between watching a film and writing about it. A little time to let it sit and to develop what exactly I have to say about it, but only ever a few days at most. Yet here I am, a week later, still trying to get my thoughts together on the film. I am still not sure what I can say, what I have to offer about Banshees. I know what I feel and think about the film, on a general level. It is brilliant. It is moving. It is rich and bleak and devastating. 

I can praise the elements easily. Cinematography and score are both beautiful. Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson, just as in Martin McDonagh’s earlier film In Bruges, play off each other wonderfully. Kerry Condon gives a breathtaking performance as Siobhán. The dialogue balances wit and humor with profound tragedy and melancholy. But, while all this is true, saying it feels so impersonal and removed from the film. All these praises don’t capture the experience of Banshees. So, once again, I do not know what to say about The Banshees of Inisherin. 

The plot is deceptively simple. Pádraic (Colin Farrell) wakes one day to find that his best mate Colm (Brendan Gleeson), seemingly out of nowhere, no longer wants to be friends with or even speak to him. And things continue to fall apart from there. It is a story about what we value and what makes life worth living. It is a story about alienation and community and the performance of civility.  It is a story about kindness and despair and what we leave behind when we are gone. Despite the simple and straightforward premise, it is about so much. But, once again, this does not get to the heart of things. I still do not know what to say about The Banshees of Inisherin. 

It could be easy to see this as a problem with the film. When somebody says, “I don’t have much to say about x,” that is hardly a good thing. But this is a vital distinction: do not hear “I don’t have much to say about The Banshees of Inisherin.” What I am saying is “I do not know what to say about The Banshees of Inisherin.” And, I think, at least to me, this is praise. It speaks to the brilliance and gravity of the film.  I do not know what to say about The Banshees of Inisherin. Watching the film made me feel so many things, so deeply. Even after a week of sitting and stewing and turning over and over in my brain, I still have nothing to adequately sum up the experience of the film or what can be taken away from it. 

I realize that, by this point of the review, I have written 400-some-odd words without really saying anything at all and, for the most part, have just repeated the same sentiment overt and over again. But I hope this really gets across the struggle of thought this film evokes, and I can think of nothing else I can do to show how worth it it is to see this film. For what it’s worth, I can tell you what I consider to be the strongest parts of the film. The tender sibling relationship between Siobhán and Pádraic. Pádraic speech on profoundly moving speech on niceness. Gleeson’s subtlety. The film’s Irish folk music. But that can only ever get you so far.

I  could talk about Banshees for a long time. There is so much I could say about the film; there is a lot to praise. But none of it would effectively capture the experience and strengths of the film. The most accurate thing I can say about it is that it left me without words.