Martin McDonagh’s “The Banshees of Inisherin” is near plotless, driven by conversation (brilliant screenplay) and a near-biblical dilemma. On a remote Irish island, Colm (a superb Brendan Gleason) suddenly decides to stop talking to best friend Padraic (a never-better Colin Farrell). Why? Nobody, including the audience, knows. It’s an existential character drama that is expertly written and wise beyond words. If I’ve given flack to McDonagh’s films over the years for being none-too-cinematic, well, Banshees resolves that issue with Ben Davis’ luscious images of coastal Ireland. It’s been a weak year at the movies, but McDonagh’s film felt like an oasis when I saw at it at TIFF in September. It encompasses everything I love about movies, the inherently beautiful aura of drama, the mysteriously cinematic that can arise when you watch something that catches your attention and never lets go. McDonagh has gone back to his darkly comic roots and made what is, by far, the best film of his career. Contribute Hire me
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