4.5 stars. Rated R, for profanity, sexual candor, drug use and violence
By Derrick Bang • Originally published in The Davis Enterprise, 8.15.14
This one should be required
viewing for all filmmakers, particularly those residing in Hollywood.
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| During a conversation more candid than they've had for a long time, Fiona (Kelly Reilly) admits that she'd be shattered if something ever happened to her father (Brendan Gleeson). Sadly, this comes as disturbing news to the priest, who carries the knowledge of his own, likely very impending mortality. |
Not merely because writer/director
John Michael McDonagh has delivered a powerful drama fueled by Brendan
Gleeson’s heartbreaking and impeccably subtle starring performance — about
which, more in a moment — but because McDonagh flawlessly demonstrates the
proper way to breathe complex life into every single supporting character, even
those glimpsed only briefly.
Too many lazy screenwriters give
us one, perhaps two, maybe even three compelling characters; the rest,
invariably, are little more than scenery. Wallpaper with a few lines of
dialogue, but certainly nothing approximating actual people.
McDonagh, in great contrast,
populates his newest film with what seems an entire small town’s worth of men,
women and children who matter. Nor is this merely a function of crafting
compelling personalities; McDonagh and casting director Jina Jay also found
actors able to breathe life into each of these characters.
Every supporting player is
introduced in a vignette that feels like its own mini-movie, with the quiet,
sometimes raw power we’d expect from a live stage drama. Half an hour into this
film, we’re transfixed, thinking Goodness ... this is how it should be done.
And why doesn’t it get done this way more often?
All that said, Calvary is a
deeply melancholy and quite disturbing drama that builds to a shattering
conclusion: not an easy story to experience, and a difficult film to recommend
capriciously.
It’s also a very brave film, with
a narrative — and a revelatory point of view — all but ignored at a time when
strident media overload indicts people and institutions, based on guilt by
association.
Father James (Gleeson) is a
Catholic priest in the tiny hamlet of Easkey, County Sligo, on Ireland’s
craggy, wind-battered West Coast. The rugged pastoral setting, gloriously
illuminated by cinematographer Larry Smith, is both verdant and curiously
lonely, much of the action taking place against the brooding Knocknarea, a
massive, table-shaped hill that dominates this land.
Father James is a good man:
benevolent and patient, yet unwilling to suffer fools at all, let alone gladly.
His sharply perceptive observations are perhaps his most visible flaw; he
resents people who dissemble or otherwise avoid truths — mild or painful — and
he’s not shy about saying as much.
