[8.0/10] The strange thing about *The Banshees of Inisherin* is that, on the surface, it’s a very down to earth film. Writer-director Martin McDonagh and cinematographer Ben Davis find any number of scenic gorgeous vistas to shoot off the Irish coast, painterly compositions to frame the characters within, and the glint of natural lighting to make it all look perfect. But despite all that craft behind the scenes, the fictional berg of Inisherin seems like a genuine, unshowy place, with visuals that highlight the hardscrabble nature of the place surrounded by such beauty. It feels real and regular amid all the artistry at play.

The same goes for the film’s central performances, which come off lived-in and genuine. Longtime collaborator Colin Farrell has aged appropriately into a character actor, pouring himself into poor Pádraic, a dim but thoroughly nice everyman who struggles with the end of his closest friendship. Brendan Gleeson is a pithy open wound as his former best Colm, with every small expression giving the sense of a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.

Kerry Condon is lively but sharp as Pádraic’s sister, Siobhán, who’s too smart for this town full of gossipy dullards, but does her best to hold it together anyway. And even the most outsized character in the bunch, Dominic, the local dope (played by Barry Keoghan) is recognizable as a the sort of poor schmuck with no tact but the kind of problems at home that make him sympathetic anyway. Each brings a naturalistic approach in their acting that makes these characters, their conflicts, and their relationships feel real and textured, which is essential for such a character-driven piece.

When Pádraic sits and feels the weight of his loneliness, when Colm gives a ten-thousand yard stare and contemplates his dwindling years, when Siobhán grows teary-eyed at embarking on a new life and leaving her brother behind, when Dominic gets rejected and you see the sincere heart beneath the gormless exterior, you feel the relatable emotions and convincing predicaments of them all. You’d never mistake *The Banshees of Inisherin* for a documentary, but its unshowy approach gives it the sense of something grounded and authentic.

And yet, at the same time, the film is more than a touch absurd, more than a touch outsized, more than a touch treating its story like a fable as much as a genuine tale of four people’s experiences on an Irish island in the middle of nowhere. Real people don’t gradually cut their own fingers off and throw them at a neighbor’s doorstep to convince them to leave them alone. Real people don’t lose their favorite miniature donkeys due to choking on an ex-pal’s digit, only to declare the date and time when they’ll burn the offender’s house down (but not before saving the dog, of course). Hell, real people probably don’t go from being a dear friend to someone to “Never talk to me again because you’re so dull that you’re wasting my remaining time on this earth” from one day to the next either.

Amid all the trappings of reality in *The Banshees of Inisherin*, it is, at heart, a larger-than life tall tale. There’s a very writerly quality to the plot, with the characters taking dramatic or bizarre actions that the others in the story mostly take in stride. As recognizable as Pádraic, Colm, Siobhán, and Dominic seem, they’re also walking symbols for bigger ideas about what we should value in our fellow man, and what we overlook in them. When you step back and survey the film, there’s not nearly as much reality in it as you might think, but there’s plenty of truth.

Some of the unreality comes from McDonagh’s trademark black comedy. Pádraic fending off a potential rival for Colm’s friendship by telling him that his father’s been struck by a bread truck, only to discover that the poor sod’s mother was killed by a bread truck, is a completely absurd but utterly hilarious twist. A bleak line like, “It was all going fine until he chopped off all his fingers” is, somehow, a laugh riot. And Siobhán justified beleaguered disbelief at the madness all around her brings the laughs from her reactions alone. The chuckles here are dark as all get out, but strangely, that manages to make the comedy better and help buttress a story that borders on magical realism in places.

The breaks from reality help serve a bigger idea at play here. For all his being dull, Pádraic is a good man. He looks out for Dominic. He stands up to Dominic’s dad. He misses his sister. And he loves a little miniature donkey whom he’d like to keep in his house. No one will remember Pádraic. He’ll leave no mark on history. But perhaps there’s more to life than that, and preserving that sort of goodness in the world, if only for one unremarkable lifetime, is worth more than putting something into the world that will last for centuries.

That seems to be the arc of Colm, who wants to eschew Pádraic’s friendship so that he can focus on achieving something grand in his waning years, only to see the trouble caused, the nice man he corrupts, through his not-so-benign neglect. At one point in the film, the priest intercedes on Pádraic’s behalf, and Colm asks if not talking to his one time friend is a sin. The answers in the negative, but you get a sense that through such peculiar events, such drastic choices across the board, that lead to a broken man left without those who gave his life meaning, Colm starts to regret his actions, his putting legacy over decency, given the tragedies great and small that follow.

The Emerald Isle patter mixed with layman’s philosophy, the layered characters who make grandiose gestures, the humble setting interspersed with absurd, sometimes tragic events, give *The Banshees of Inisherin* a poetic, almost lyrical quality. It sneaks in its outsized meditation on what we should value in one another and ourselves through signifiers to make a ridiculous situation feel as real as it is poignant. The film roots itself in the low-to-the-ground lives of four simple people and the humble world they inhabit. But it uses that setting, and that tone, as a springboard to reach for something wild and transcendent beneath it, and within.