Four stars. Rated PG-13, and rather harshly, for brief sensuality
By Derrick Bang
There’s a moment in this film
when Eilis Lacey (Saoirse Ronan) pauses at the top of the stairs in her home in
tiny Enniscorthy, Ireland.
Director John Crowley holds on
this hushed and wordless tableau, as Eilis thoroughly scans her bedroom, and
the room immediately adjoining. Ronan’s expression is intent and focused, her
carefully composed gaze a blend of determination and regret.
And we understand that she’s
memorizing these rooms — this childhood haven where she grew up — certain in
the knowledge that she’ll never return. The realization is heartbreaking: one
of the most poignant leave-takings I’ve ever seen on the big screen.
Brooklyn is filled with emotionally powerful moments,
most given additional heft by Ronan’s exquisitely sensitive performance. She
has the added benefit of excellent material; Colm Tóibín’s acclaimed 2009 novel
of the same title has been deftly adapted by Nick Hornby, an excellent novelist
and screenwriter (About a Boy, An Education) with a strong sense of
dialogue and interpersonal dynamics.
This is a gentle, simple tale:
also an ironically timely one, given the current national — and international —
furor regarding immigrants. Crowley and Hornby couldn’t have anticipated such
real-world turbulence during production, and therefore cannot be credited (or
blamed) for deliberately creating subtle advocacy cinema.
At the same time, it’s nice to be
reminded of the American values that have made our “land of the free, home of
the brave” such a cherished destination for so many people from throughout the
world, and for so long.
Occasional cultural references
pinpoint this story in 1952 and ’53. Eilis has spent her entire life in
Enniscorthy; we meet her during a final shift at a local all-purpose shop run
by Miss “Nettles” Kelly (Brid Brennan), a condescending harridan who clearly
enjoys embarrassing her less refined customers.
Work is scarce throughout
Ireland, and under ordinary circumstances Eilis’ prospects would be extremely
limited. But she’s lucky; her older sister Rose (Fiona Glascott), with
assistance from Catholic priests on both sides of the Atlantic, has arranged
for Eilis to emigrate to Brooklyn, New York.
Departure is bittersweet at best;
although Eilis is excited, the bond with her sister is strong, as is a shared
concern for their somewhat frail and lonely mother (Jane Brennan), who never
fully recovered from her husband’s death.
The ocean journey, though not
without incident, is cleverly condensed by Hornby; it also sets up a “passing
it forward” encounter that comes to fruition, quite poignantly, toward the end
of the film.
Eilis arrives in Brooklyn to find
a wholly structured life. (All newly arrived transplants should be so lucky!) She
has lodging in a boardinghouse run by the indomitable Mrs. Kehoe (Julie Walters,
such a hoot), who tolerates no
“untoward behavior” from the young women living under her roof.
That said, she probably enjoys
verbally sparring with the snarkier ones.
They’re a lively bunch, to be
sure. Patty (Emily Bett Rickards) and Diana (Eve Macklin) are mildly catty
troublemakers, eager to make fun of the shy Eilis; the quieter Sheila
(Nora-Jane Noone) proves to be kinder.
Eilis also has a job waiting for
her, as a counter clerk at a posh department store. But it’s all too much, too
quickly, and letters from Rose merely reinforce Eilis’ feelings of
homesickness. Encouragement comes from émigré priest Father Flood (Jim
Broadbent, the epitome of kindness and sensitivity).
Time passes; thanks to
distractions such as night classes, local Friday night dances, and the
boisterous (if occasionally mocking) boardinghouse dinners, Eilis gradually
makes peace with her new surroundings, and with herself. A key turning point occurs
when she helps Father Flood serve dinner to downtrodden Irish immigrants on
Christmas Eve: an unexpectedly uplifting ritual granted additional poignancy
when one of the men stands and serenades the room with an Irish ballad.
Can anything be sadder than an Irish lament?
The moment is transcendent, and
with good reason: The unnamed performer is played by famed Irish singer Iarla Ó
Lionáird, and — once again — Crowley wisely pauses for maximum impact. It’s as
if time stops: In a subtle way, everything shifts for Eilis.
Then there’s Tony (Emory Cohen).
Eilis encounters this young
Italian plumber at one of the dances; the mutual attraction is cautious,
playful and incredibly sweet. Ronan and Cohen are magical together, sharing a
chemistry that ignites palpable sparks. This is old-school romantic sparring,
with a soupçon of 21st century candor: Tony the politely bold but somewhat abashed
gentleman, Eilis surprising even herself with mildly tart, come-hither
declarations.
Their increasing encounters are charming,
Crowley and Hornby in no hurry to move things along. And that’s just fine; we
can’t get enough of these two young people (although viewers with short
attention spans may get antsy).
Things get even livelier when
Tony brings Eilis to share dinner with his family: a rambunctious affair
highlighted by Tony’s smart-mouthed youngest brother, Frankie (James
DiGiacomo). This sequence is pure comic relief, and yet it’s still endearing.
The little touches are
particularly clever, as well: the manner in which Eilis is given “lessons” in
the arts of (for example) eating spaghetti, or donning a bathing suit. So captivating.
The film’s key themes have become
clear by this point: most particularly the nurturing comfort of family, whether one’s original parents
and siblings, or the high-spirited antics taking place around a boardinghouse
dinner table, or while within the noisy but warm embrace of Tony’s home.
Equally important is the aching
tug between the childhood home to which one is devoted, and the beckoning
allure of an as-yet unknown adult life. This dynamic also plays out on a grander
scale, with Tóibín having focused on an Ireland whose native sons and daughters
left and never came back, choosing instead to contribute to the blossoming
history of post-WWII America.
But just as Eilis slips
comfortably into her new surroundings, her plans go awry with the arrival of
unhappy news from Enniscorthy. This leads to a third act which, while essential
in thematic terms, dips into unnecessarily melodramatic waters that (in my
view) seriously abuse the faith we’ve placed in Eilis up to this point.
This contrivance may have worked
in Tóibín’s novel, where he had the luxury of more pages, and the authorial
ability to put us into his heroine’s head, thereby better explaining and
justifying her subsequent behavior. But it doesn’t work in Crowley’s film,
where we want to reach into the screen, shake her, and demand to know what the
hell she’s playing at.
Granted, Hornby’s script comes to
its senses in time for a satisfying resolution, but still: Some damage has been
done.
Which is a shame. This is a
breakthrough role for Ronan, radiantly embracing adulthood and carrying this
film with an assurance that won’t surprise anybody who recalls her sensitive earlier
work in Atonement and (although
admittedly weird) The Lovely Bones.
Her Eilis initially has a China doll fragility that gradually morphs into
self-assurance; it’s a delicate, captivating transition, like watching a flower
unfold.
Eileen O’Higgins is radiant in a
brief role as Eilis’ best friend in Enniscorthy; Domhnall Gleeson also stands
out as the shy but engaging Jim, son of an Enniscorthy pub owner.
Production designer François
Séguin vibrantly captures the post-war development of Brooklyn, with its
various neighborhood enclaves; cinematographer Yves Bélanger frames and lights
the many sets and locales in a manner that evokes movies made during the 1950s.
The scenes in Ireland actually were filmed in Tóibín’s home town of
Enniscorthy, and we can’t help feeling that things haven’t changed much during
the past 60-odd years.
Brooklyn is a sweet, spirited coming-of-age saga;
it’s also a charming love story that plays out against the gentle struggle
between homeland identity and the desire to build a future in a new place.
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