Our resident film critic Will Ashton reviews John Michael McDonagh’s Calvary.
Morality has been at the basis of filmmaking since its early inception. It’s never been about the questions, though. It’s always has been about the answers. That’s where movies like Transcendence falls apart and The Tree of Life excels; it’s about what you have to say, not what you think you should ask.
Thankfully, John Michael McDonagh’s (The Guard) Calvary is on the good side of the equation—painting a morose, healthily disgruntled movie that approaches its heavily thought ideas with good wit and a easeful disregard of sentimentality.
It’s during an atypically dapper confession hearing that Father James (Brendan Gleeson) receives some troubling news: a local man, molested severely by a different priest in his childhood, plans to seek revenge for his imparted sins by killing James. Knowing that he has done nothing wrong, so that it will send a message.
Given one week to set his affairs in order, James helps his disbanded group of Irish townspeople through their day-to-day troubles, with the threats towards his life looming heavily over his head. It is during this time period that James also becomes reacquainted with his psychologically distraught daughter Fiona (Kelly Reilly) and also grows to know more about an emotionally unhinged but economically rich townsman Michael Fitzgerald (Dylan Moran), just to name a few. As his days become slimmer, however, so too does his restraint and his good-demeanor deflates.
Much like his debut The Guard, the soul of the film’s sharply wheedled poking wit comes from McDonagh’s script. Patient and thoughtful, it constantly relies on his characters’ moral disgruntlements, but never goes overly preachy or pompous. Even as each passing scene deals with matters like philosophical confusion and soul searching.
This is likely created through McDonagh’s ever-refrained direction, letting the audience feel like a fly on the wall on these characters’ dour lives. Nothing about Calvary is ever flashy or loud, and if it is it serves a distinct and disquieting purpose.
Forbearance is the name of the game here. Those needing a shot in the arm of fast editing and whizz-bang-buck in their movies may find themselves thrown off and subsequently turned off by Calvary’s slow burn, thoughtfully produced vision. It’s the type of movie that relies on buried emotions and long drawls, but even when the movie drags, it still contains a black-hearted wit and sense of humor that keeps everything on a fairly elevated level.
Gleeson, as always, perfectly distains every bubbling doubt, compassion and constantly unnerving integrity within his character’s disbanded and sullen bearded face. Also shining here is the always-dependable Reilly, serving as the movie’s bleeding heart and voice of compassion. Additionally, providing the movie with its constantly deflating but always cheeky sense-of-humor is Chris O’Dowd. Playing up to his strengths as the goofy side character, while also getting some wiggle room to play a more somber character than he has ever been approached to perform before.
The movie, starting off as a dry and weary dark comedy, transforms itself more and more as a brooding drama before the curtains close. Ultimately, it is at its best when it is able to slide its dark comedy into moments of grave theatrics. But, as a drama, it’s the quiet, sullenly melancholy moments that impact the most. Never letting heavy emotions get in the way of the script’s thoughtfully written idealism.
While Calvary may just be too sullen in its pacing to be a homerun, it’s still a reflectively robust and quietly haunting movie with sensitivity but rarely melodramatics. It should hit home to those who enjoy their drama with more restraint and less heart. If anything, it will be a constant reminder of just how great Gleeson is as a screen actor. Seriously, he should be recognized more for his chameleon-like ability to play drama and comedy with well-grace aplomb and well-handled restraint.
