The Dao of Inisherin (first draft)

The Dao of Inisherin

Cloaked in elements of eccentric dialogue, gruesome self-mutilation, a captivating score and idyllic pastoral cinematography, The Banshees of Inisherin is widely regarded to be a black comedy characterized by heavily stereotyped Irishness within a loose metaphor to the Irish Civil War of the early 1920s.

In the review “Blarney” for Slate, Mark O’Connell does well to lay bare the stereotyping in the film as well as its slack ties to the war, describing McDonagh’s Irish setting as “clearly the work of an ‘Irish writer,’ but it’s an Irishness formed as much by distance as intimacy […] reacting against a somewhat abstract idea of the place, informed by an emigrant’s reverence and romanticism”, while the backdrop of war “as a metaphor [is] both vague and clumsy [...] as a political allegory, it seems obviously retrofitted, tacked onto the narrative to add unearned resonance.”

Agree or not with the perspective Slate’s O’Connell offers, the elements described are certainly prevalent throughout the film and, taken in consideration with McDonagh’s prior works (particularly as a playwright), lead to O'Connell’s conclusion: “...expertly crafted light entertainment passing itself off, sometimes almost convincingly, as provocative, serious art [...] Banshees, like so many of [McDonagh’s] films and plays, follows an inexorable logic of tragedy, but is mostly too glib to be properly unsettling or emotionally cathartic.”

Almost contrarily, Dana Stevens, also a Slate writer and author of the review “Martin McDonogh’s Follow-up to Three Billboards Is His Best Movie Yet”, seemed to find more joy in McDonagh’s mechanics, taking pleasure in the performances of the film’s players and its perceived narrative simplicity, concluding: “The Banshees of Inisherin’s greatest gift to its audience is its refusal to turn its eccentric, intimate story into an allegory for anything other than what it is: the sad tale of an abruptly interrupted friendship in a beautiful, isolated place [...] McDonagh leaves us with no tidy moral lessons or injunctions about how to get on with our own friendships or otherwise conduct our lives.”

In my own view – though I appreciate the respective opinions of the Slate writers as well as many other reviewers of the film – while the eccentricities and aesthetic skill deployed in The Banshees of Inisherin serve collectively as an amusing veil, what’s hidden beneath is not a tale bereft of depth.

Rather, having crafted this film Martin McDonagh has cultivated contexts and manifested moments into a proverbial tapestry which – however inadvertently – might best resemble a Daoist allegory, conveyed with the subtle brilliance of Banshees’ marvelous cast.

In the Laozi (a.k.a. Dao De Jing; a foundational text for the spiritual philosophy of Daoism), it is suggested that a society is truly at peace when it is content with simplicity.  A small country with few people can find this sort of peace when it is in tune with the “Dao” – i.e., when it is harmonious with nature.  The people have means to travel but feel no desire to do so, have weapons with no urge to use them, “savor their food and beautify their clothes; content in their living and happy in their customs” (Laozi chapter 80; Dr Yang, Jwing-Min).

As we enter the world of McDonagh’s narrative, we are introduced to a land which appears familiar to this sort of peace – Inisherin – and to a man who wears this sort of simplicity on his sleeve: our protagonist, Pádraic Súilleabháin (Colin Farrell), who is nice.  The Banshees of Inisherin tells a story about the fracturing of Pádraic’s peaceful life and how he responds to that fracturing; as the story unfolds, we learn that the peace of Inisherin has been fracturing for some time.

In Daoist scripture, the order of the natural world is one of constant evolutionary change.  Change is perceptible in both the details of things as they exist, and in the near-repetitive cycle of how existing things behave – the exact composition of a body may vary from moment to moment, yet the body holds to a general pattern of form, while also following a path of inexorable growth and decay.

Akin to light, change is refracted by the mere fact of things existing and colliding into each other, geologically altering the pattern and moving things further away from how they originated.  These refractions are what allowed for the stars and planets to distinguish themselves from the vastness of space, for the sky and the earth to distinguish themselves and, in human societies, opened an expanding rift between people and nature – separating ourselves further still from the Dao.

A closer look during the introduction of the outwardly peaceful island of Inisherin reveals a deliberate series of very old rock walls delineating the shattered reflection of a grand ancient harmony.  In the time of Pádraic’s tale, memory of such harmony has long faded and a new yet less pure peace had since set in, now itself fracturing from external influence.  The last lines of Laozi 80 suggest that a society in harmony with nature will only maintain that harmony so long as it is able to keep to itself and not interact with neighboring societies – “even though neighboring countries are able to see each other, sounds of roosters and dogs can be heard, people do not communicate even til death”.

The serial chaos of the Irish mainland makes maintenance of harmony practically impossible for Inisherin.  Separation from the Dao is inevitable, and separation augments dichotomy.  In Banshees, there are two distinct dichotomies surrounding Pádraic’s narrative center – in the outer orbit, a dichotomy of authority counterbalanced by the characters of Inisherin’s policeman Peader Kearney (Gary Lydon), and Inisherin’s de facto elder Mrs McCormick (Sheila Flitton); in the inner orbit, a dichotomy of virtue tethered to those nearest Pádraic: his sister Siobhán Súilleabháin (Kerry Condon) and his friend Colm Doherty, oft referred to as ColmSonnyLarry (Brendan Gleeson).

Peader Kearney, the policeman, exhibits behavior informed by passages from Laozi chapter 18 – “when a country becomes chaotic and disordered, there are loyal officials” – and Laozi chapter 58 – “when justice has become injustice, goodness has become wicked / people have been deluded for a long time”.  Peader seeks to carry himself with a smug arrogance he believes befits his position of authority; we first see him purposefully ignoring Pádraic on the road despite Pádraic, who is nice, saying hello as they pass (“never says hello…”), but soon Peader is revealed as the corrupt official he is.

Using his position for self-benefit, Peader seeks to enact his own perceived personal grudges as though upon authority of law while maintaining an ignorance toward anything actually requiring authority.  Drinking himself to stupor every night, Peader frequently beats and sexually molests his son, Dominic Kearney (Barry Keoghan), who himself is pure of heart but thoroughly confused as his life is caught in the wake of his father’s corruption, castigated for a wickedness of which he is victim.

Mrs McCormick is a wistful elder, no stranger to the patterns of change; others often avoid Mrs McCormick on the road because they claim to find her odd, but one gets the sense that they also feel her knowing eyes upon them, like a parent watching over children lest they misbehave.  However, although she places herself near the most important intersections of life on Inisherin, she seems keen merely to observe and not direct, sharing the occasional sparse yet wise insight.

The authority for Mrs McCormick is naturally given by way of her age coupled with the lack of any observable personal agenda.  Her understanding of evolutionary patterns leads her to be particularly concerned for the immediate path of the Súilleabháin siblings.  When visiting with Siobhán at the Súilleabháin home, Mrs McCormick asks how long the parents of Siobhán and Pádraic have been deceased.  From Laozi 18: “when the six relatives are not harmonious, there is filial piety and kindness”.

In Daoist scripture, when a household loses normalcy, divergence follows and then hardship.  Mrs McCormick sees that Siobhán and Pádraic, while nice, are in ways very different people; without their parents to serve as a stabilizing factor of the household, she is concerned what sort of hardship results from their inevitable divergence, given the ongoing fracturing of Inisherin’s harmony.

Mrs McCormick sees Peader Kearney’s corruption for what it is – the veracity of her authority being fully revealed when the suicidal ideation carried out by Peader’s son Dominic is known to Mrs McCormick and not the ignorant policeman/father, Peader’s grudge against Pádraic abruptly halted as the wisened elder reveals Dominic’s end.  Sage that she is, Mrs McCormick has done two things here: she lays bare Peader Kearney’s foolishness for himself to see and by interrupting his grudge has cleared the way to allow proper resolution for Pádraic’s conflict.  The final passage of Laozi 58 informs the behavior of Mrs McCormick: “thus, those sages are righteous without being scathing, incorruptible without being harsh, straightforward without being ruthless, and brilliant without being dazzling”.

The tether binding Siobhán Súilleabháin and Colm Doherty in their dichotomy of virtue runs directly through Pádraic, the gravity of their indirect conflict threatening to tear apart the humble peace to which Pádraic is accustomed.  In this way, the three main characters of Banshees are inextricably linked until the conflict of this dichotomy is resolved.

A passage from Laozi chapter 23 offers a succinct distinction to understand the respective natures of Pádraic, Siobhán and Colm: “those who follow the Dao will be with the Dao, those who follow the De (virtue) will be with the De, those who abandon them will be abandoned.”

Pádraic Súilleabháin, who is nice, is with the Dao.  The easiest way to discern this comes via his relationship to the animals in the film; it is abundantly clear throughout that Pádraic has a kinship with animals – most notably his small donkey Jenny, but also Colm’s border collie (“the only nice thing about him”).  Embodying the sentiments of Laozi 80, Pádraic is a permanent fixture of Inisherin, rebuffing Siobhán’s plea to leave the island and join her on the mainland, preferring instead to remain home to take care of the animals.  His life is Inisherin and he has no desire to move on from its simplicity.  The conflict within him is not a question of hearth and home.

Siobhán and Colm, on the other hand, are both yearning for the outside world – albeit in separate ways.  When Siobhán is briefly introduced, wondering why Pádraic is home early and not at the pub, she is busy with the house laundry, conveying a sense of homeliness one might expect in such a setting – it’s likely Siobhán also crafted the garments she and her brother possess, as implied by Banshees’ costume designer Eimer Ní Mhaoldomhnaigh when interviewed by Abbey Bender for Filmmaker Magazine: “I can imagine Siobhán thinking, ‘Oh my God, the winter’s going to be very cold. I’m going to knit him a jumper,’ then making the little collar as a kind of personal touch” (recall Laozi 80: “...beautify their clothes”).

Despite her ostensible meekness, Siobhán is steadfast and upright when she needs to be; she is an avid reader and not quite so simple as her brother, carrying within her an intelligence she does not seek to put on display.  As the Banshees narrative concludes its first day, it seems plausible Siobhán may serve as a stabilizing force for Pádraic as he works through his conflict with Colm.  This notion, however, is symbolically shattered in the second day – Siobhán is reading a book which she tells Pádraic is a sad one, replying with a passive interjection when he suggests reading books that aren’t sad; when she asks her brother if he ever gets lonely and Pádraic leaves for the pub bemused by the question, the camera pans back to the mirror Pádraic had been using to shave, cracked in just the right place to reflect a Siobhán split twain by her own internal conflict, heart and mind segregated by the fissure.

By the end of the story’s first two days – Banshees’ first thirty minutes – the dichotomous tether connecting Siobhán and Colm has been established.  After their first direct confrontation at the pub, it is apparent they are outwardly thoroughly distinct from one another yet both are discernibly complex, perhaps too complex for Pádraic and perhaps also possessing more virtue than tenable for Inisherin.  When Colm openly presumes that she can understand his desire “for a bit of peace in me heart, like”, Siobhán is noticeably struck by his words – she may not understand Colm’s actions yet she seems to understand his motive.

As the story progresses, their dichotomy becomes increasingly taut, finally snapping at the film’s climax as Colm commits his final act of self-butchery and Siobhán leaves Inisherin for a job on the mainland.  As the cord tightens we witness a Siobhán who is objectively more learned than Colm – correcting him on the era of Mozart – and is following her virtue’s call without making any public display of it, whereas Colm deliberately exhibits his desires to put “a tune in the world” and free himself from Pádraic’s dullness.

The dichotomy of virtue enacted by Siobhán and Colm is informed by passages from Laozi chapter 38, particularly: “those with high virtues do not conduct the De, thus they have the De; those with low virtues are always concerned about their De, thus they don’t have the De … those with high benevolence conduct their actions without conducting; those with high righteousness comport their behaviors with motive.”

Siobhán may not know where her path will lead but she knows she must follow it, going about the preparation for her journey with no imposition, heartbroken to leave Pádraic behind; Colm has an agenda driven by a declared concern for his place in history, vehemently repelling Pádraic to seek achievement.  Recall Laozi 23 – “...those who follow the De (virtue) will be with the De, those who abandon them will be abandoned.”  Siobhán is following her virtue, thus, Colm’s agenda is one of abandonment.

In contrast to Siobhán’s presentable homeliness, Colm demonstrates an air of worldly sensibilities.  His home is decorated with various pieces of art hanging around and about, he owns a phonograph (probably a Gramophone), he plays and composes music for the fiddle, and his attire is set apart from the other denizens of Inisherin although not ostentatiously so, as explained by costume designer Ní Mhaoldomhnaigh in the same interview for Filmmaker Magazine: “there’s that element of, not vanity, but a knowingness of somebody who has traveled to the outside world at some point and brought back ideas of what a poet or a musician should look like.”

Further distinguishing Colm is his name, or rather how he’s referred to in the third person.  Though his full name is Colm Doherty, the folks of Inisherin often refer to him as ColmSonnyLarry – the “SonnyLarry” most likely reflecting a patronymic convention translating to “Son of Larry” – and Colm is the only character referred to in such a way.  Perhaps the patronymic reference is meant to convey a social respect established some generation before Colm’s birth, inherited through time and status. 

When Siobhán and Colm have their first confrontation, we not only have a clear distinction between them but also between Colm and Pádraic.  As Colm explains why he's ending the friendship, how the pair became good friends in the first place seems unclear; this notion is later supplemented by pub fixtures Jonjo and Gerry as they openly contemplate that very question with Pádraic.  They did seem an odd pair, everyone agrees.

As Banshees progresses, Colm's character is further beset by contradiction; each confrontation with Siobhán reveals another hypocrisy.  In their first duel, Siobhán points out that living on an island off the coast of Ireland makes Colm's desire to avoid dullness an unrealistic expectation.  In their second, when Pádraic delivers his whiskey-laden rebuke, Siobhán calls Colm out for having historical facts incorrect, effectively revealing that Colm isn't as intelligent as he portrays himself.

In their final conversation as Siobhán returns his first-cut finger, Colm’s most glaring contradiction provides a fragment for introspection into his true motivations.  His decision to cut away the fingers of his fiddle hand seems extreme when he makes the declaration, even more so as he flagrantly follows through on the promise.  In response to Siobhán pointing out the obvious – cutting off his own fingers surely won't help his musical pursuits – Colm replies "we’re gettin’ somewhere now".

Any attempt to understand Colm’s mind surely must rely upon a study of his affectations; why all this contradiction from him?  From Laozi 18: “when cleverness appears, there is great hypocrisy” – the suggestion being that affectations of hypocrisy result from and thus reveal an abounding cleverness.  Perhaps Colm’s contradictions convey clever contrivance.

Colm’s most ostensible attempt at cleverness is his notion that he’ll be remembered in the world if he composes music.  When berated by a drunken Pádraic, Colm waxes philosophically about music and its composers outlasting niceness and those who are nice.  Invoking Mozart as his prime example, Colm probably isn’t trying to suggest that he’s as talented as Mozart, but the example is terribly flawed regardless – Mozart is certainly remembered as a composer, yet being a composer alone isn’t enough to engender one’s place in history.  Mozart is remembered because his talents were put on regular display from the time he was very young, touring Europe with his family.

Unlike Mozart, Colm isn’t playing his music anywhere but Inisherin and does not mention any plans for how he expects his music to get out into the world.  Without additional effort, it’s not likely Colm’s compositions will ever leave his homeland.  Perhaps Colm never has, either – despite the worldly air about his living space and attire, Colm is often seen looking across the water to the Irish mainland with an almost woeful longing.  His attention to the ongoing civil war doesn’t seem to be any less cursory than that of the others on the island, so if he is longing for anything in these moments it may well be the outside world to which he wants to belong, thus, rather than having himself brought a sense of the world to Inisherin, through Colm’s lineage and proximity to empire the world had been brought to him.

Though the climax to Banshees occurs when their dichotomous tether breaks, the indirect conflict between Siobhán and Colm finds its pinnacle during their last meeting, which takes place as Siobhán returns Colm’s left index finger.  Directly prior to this moment, the contrast between their chosen paths is made clear – Siobhán receives a job offer from the mainland, revealing for the first time that following her virtue is not a desire but a calling, whereas Colm shears a digit to continue repelling Pádraic, revealing further his desire to control the things around him.

As Siobhán crosses the beach on the way to Colm’s, she is startled briefly by gunfire from the mainland and, by way of Kerry Condon’s subtly brilliant expressions, seems at once reminded of the danger presented by the outside world while within herself evincing any remaining fear of it.  The beach moment permeates the peak of their dichotomy: when Colm utters his introspective fragment, he follows by wondering aloud if he’s been entertaining himself to “stave off the inevitable” and, as he did in their first confrontation, suggests that Siobhán feels the same way – yet where Colm’s words once struck a kindred chord with Siobhán, at this moment they are thoroughly out of tune.

For Colm, the “inevitable” is a death into obscurity, and by admitting he’s just entertaining himself recognizes as futile his desire to be remembered, feeling unable to escape Inisherin’s grasp.  His initial promise to cut fingers comes after declaring in confessional that he’d been feeling less despair of late, perhaps confirming the Súilleabháins’ suspicion that Colm’s rejection of Pádraic is an act of depression.  His following actions, admissions and confessions all seem to indicate a person spiraling toward suicide, literally and symbolically cutting away pieces of himself until there is nothing left.

The act of deliberately eliminating his ability to play music is an effort toward removing any excuses Colm might have to stay alive and pursue his desire (also, testing his pain threshold); ending his friendship with Pádraic might actually have been an attempt to entertain himself along the way.  Colm has stated that he only likes an inebriated Pádraic who apparently becomes belligerent in such a state, and it seems that Pádraic is likely to get drunk when upset; so perhaps Colm treating Pádraic poorly and afflicting him with severed fingers would be enough to disrupt Pádraic’s “happy lad” demeanor and offer Colm a little bit of enjoyment at the end.

To be sure, Colm’s behavior cannot be completely rationalized, only at best understood.  Unavoidably for Colm, the very fear that prevents his breaking away from Inisherin also prevents him from commiting a true act of finality.  After delivering his last mutilation, resulting in the donkey Jenny’s death, Colm is afforded an opportunity to definitively end the procrastination when his house is set ablaze by Pádraic, but Colm’s fear prevails as he breaks through a window to escape the fire.

At Banshees’ end, Colm is near complete abandonment: his capacity for music gone, his possessions gone, his friendship gone.  The one thing he does have left is his dog, Sammy – surely, the best thing about him – whose presence implies Colm also has options to live on, just as Pádraic suggested before a single finger was cut.  In fact, it is Pádraic who serves as an example of the best option available to Colm: a humble embrace of Inisherin’s innate simplicity.

For Pádraic Súilleabháin, Inisherin’s effective simplicity is plentiful with wonder and amusement to satisfy him with content.  He has his sister, his friends, his animals; a nice life.  Our introduction to Pádraic, prior to the narrative’s start, exhibits a man who appears quite happy as he strolls through the main hub of Inisherin’s small town heading to his friend’s for their daily pint, blissfully unaware of how drastically the world around him is about to change.

The opening lines of Laozi 18 suggest “when the Great Dao is abandoned, there is benevolence and righteousness”, meaning that when natural harmony is lost, people talk about the importance of moralities rather than simply exhibiting them.  On Inisherin, where such harmony once existed and has been long fractured, the quality of “niceness” is held in distinct regard; this is made clear throughout the first half of Banshees, as Colm is repeatedly told that his sudden and outright rejection of Pádraic’s longstanding friendship is, quite simply, “not nice”.

Attempts to appeal to Colm’s niceness are abandoned after he removes the first of his fingers and delivers it unceremoniously to Pádraic as promised.  Prior to this moment, Pádraic drunkenly berates Colm and almost accuses him of being disingenuous about their entire friendship - “you used to be nice, or did you never used to be?  Oh God… maybe you never used to be.”

Pádraic’s supposition lends insight into his true conflict in the story of Banshees; although his severance from Colm is its driving force, what Pádraic internally endures as the narrative unfolds is perhaps allegorical to Laozi chapter 20, which offers a perspective of how one who is with the Dao recognizes being “different from others”.

While offering an explanation for ending their friendship, Colm tells Pádraic the things he says are dull and calls him “a limited man” – this triggers within Pádraic a concern that people generally find him dull, or dim.  Pádraic’s concern manifests itself into a realization that when others call him nice, or “one of life’s good guys”, sometimes it is a way to avoid calling him dull.  Laozi 20 opens by asking the question “how much difference is there between obsequiousness and flattery?”  Be it for placation or cajolery, Pádraic is getting a sense that others may not be entirely honest with him.

At dinner with Siobhán, the night after Colm first calls him dull, Pádraic queries his sister about whether others call him dull or laugh at him behind his back.  His concern at this point is informed by the third line of Laozi 20, “what people are afraid of, I cannot be unafraid” – i.e., if others are saying it then perhaps it is true.  It is instinctual for humans to trust one another, thus when many people are saying the same thing the level of trust in what they’re saying increases.

An instinct for trust is unfortunately vulnerable to clever dishonesty; perhaps ironically, Pádraic delivers a direct example of this sort of cleverness later in the film when he convinces Declan – a music student of Colm’s – that a tragedy had befallen Declan’s father, which of course it hadn’t.  Pádraic immediately appears guilty for having done this, and it seems as though he’s not accustomed to using cleverness to prey on another person – it’s not a nice thing to do.

When Pádraic asks Siobhán at dinner if she thinks him dull, she says no; however, we know that in her initial confrontation with Colm, Siobhán said of Pádraic “he’s always been dull”.  Siobhán may be obsequious when replying to her brother, which Pádraic has a slight sense of as he presses her further until Siobhán ultimately ends the discussion in a way which satisfies him, saying she doesn’t “like to judge people in those terms”.

Siobhán’s final response satisfies Pádraic because he seems to innately understand that how we think about things is a choice; in Siobhán’s case, although she calls her brother dull when confronting Colm, she later clarifies by exclaiming “you’re all feckin’ boring!”  If Siobhán really sees Pádraic as dull, he isn’t any more so than anyone else on Inisherin, at least from her perspective; but, she loves her brother very much and thus prefers not to judge him in that way, therefore thoughts of him as a dull person do not fester.

Laozi 20 illuminates the notion of choice in thought with its second line, asking the question, “how much difference is there between good and evil?”  This concept is best understood not by contemplating the notions of good and evil in and of themselves, rather the things we would distinguish as good and the things we would distinguish as evil.  Context and perspective would surely influence the distinctions, yet context and perspective are neither ubiquitous nor enduringly constant.  Pádraic again offers an example here: at the pub following Colm’s finger forecast, when Jonjo and Gerry claim him to be “one of life’s good guys”, Pádraic muses aloud, “I used to think that’d be a nice thing to be … now it sounds like the worst thing I ever heard.”

For Pádraic, being one of life’s good guys is the worst thing he’s heard because it’s being equated with the very dullness occupying his concern; Jonjo and Gerry are specifically avoiding calling him dull when they agree on the flattering idiom.  To make matters more concerning for Pádraic, up until this point only Colm had called him dull directly – in the same moment he’s called a good guy, Pádraic learns that there has, in fact, been talk behind his back about the dullness.

What bothers Pádraic more than the notion of dullness, however, is the suggestion that his mental capacity is lacking – when Colm first calls him dull, Pádraic does seem hurt by it, however when Colm calls him limited, Pádraic shows signs of being seriously offended and responds tersely when Colm accuses him of aimless chatting.  That evening is when Pádraic queries Siobhán at dinner, during which he’s more interested in finding out if others find him “dim” than he is about being called dull.  Leading up to the “good guy” comment, Jonjo and Gerry further perturb Pádraic when they claim he’s not a thinker, unlike both Colm and Siobhán.

Being considered dull is disappointing for Pádraic because it means that others don’t find excitement in the same things he does; being considered dim or limited is more frustrating because Pádraic knows this isn’t the case.  Just as it is a choice to deem a thing good or evil, what we think about and how we go about thinking of it are also choices.  Siobhán demonstrates such a choice when she decides not to judge people by their perceived dimness.

Throughout Banshees, Pádraic makes several displays of purposely dismissing (or at least attempting to dismiss) the opportunity to think about something he’d prefer not to. When Colm initially ignores Pádraic’s call at the film’s start and Pádraic returns home, he very briefly considers Siobhán’s question when she asks “have ye been rowin’?”, but dismisses any further thought with a wave of his hand – without more information, the question can’t be answered.  After witnessing Dominic steal poteen from his naked father, Pádraic is quite visibly annoyed when Dominic brings to mind Peader’s nakedness and pushes that thought away by again trying to figure out what’s going on with Colm.  Upon Jenny’s death, as Pádraic storms his way to Colm’s house, Mrs McCormick warns him against killing Colm’s dog, to which Pádraic replies “don’t be putting things in me head that weren’t there in the first feckin’ place!”

Thoughts have a way of festering, afflicted by emotion the longer they are held without resolution, and Pádraic understands this.  The issue isn’t his capacity for thought, rather what he chooses to think about isn’t of interest to others and conversely what others choose to think about are often of no particular interest to Pádraic.

When calling Pádraic “a limited man”, Colm makes reference to a two-hour discourse Pádraic had given about his pony’s droppings; interestingly, Colm mistakenly remembers Pádraic talking about Jenny the donkey, for which Pádraic – freshly insulted by the “limited man” comment – sternly corrects him and points out that Colm was clearly not paying attention.

Indeed, Pádraic’s capacity to have two hours worth of material to discuss on this subject should suggest that he has a pretty good understanding of it.  Others might not find it interesting, but Pádraic runs a farm and he cares greatly for the animals on it; thus, it is perfectly congruent for him to study their droppings as a method of tracking their health.  Pádraic’s knowledge of the matter comes up later in the film, during one of Siobhán’s many admonishments of him for Jenny being allowed inside: Siobhán suggests that Jenny’s droppings had bits of string in it, implying the donkey’s been eating fabric, but almost immediately acquiesces when Pádraic contradicts her and claims it was straw, not string.  Though he may seem dull for it, Pádraic understands shit.

As far as mental capacity is concerned, Pádraic certainly isn’t “limited” – the difference between him and others is that he doesn’t seek knowledge, at least not as others do.  Perhaps in the same way he attempts to keep unnecessary thoughts from festering, Pádraic may understand that knowledge has a way of festering into desire, which can lead to conflict.

In the story’s second day, during Colm’s more explanatory rejection, Pádraic claims that there are better things he could be doing with his time than calling upon Colm at his house at 2 o’clock but doesn’t have any examples ready, ultimately offering “reading” as an example perhaps because, since Siobhán likes to read, it was the first thing he could think of.  Colm, on the other hand, claims to have been preoccupied for a while considering better things he could do with his time than chat with Pádraic.

Colm’s preoccupation, his desire triggered by knowledge, is what creates the conflict with Pádraic, as well as the conflict within himself.  Pádraic, having not been preoccupied when chatting with Colm, did not have any desires threatening to cause any harm.  It isn’t that Pádraic can’t think of something else to do, it’s that he feels no need to, being perfectly content with what he has.

Considering Pádraic in this way sheds more light on two discussions he has with Siobhán.  Prior to heading off to the pub for his second rejection by Colm, Pádraic makes the suggestion to his sister that she not read sad books, lest she become sad too; despite her initial passive interjection, Siobhán follows by asking Pádraic if he ever gets lonely – while her path of virtue is one she must follow, in this moment her quest for knowledge is festering into a sad loneliness that is a bit bewildering to her brother.

During their dinner conversation after Colm’s second rejection, the topic of loneliness briefly arises as the donkey Jenny attempts to enter the house – Siobhán yells at Jenny to get out, but Pádraic insists “she just wants a bit of company” and rolls his eyes when Siobhán commands that animals remain outside.  His kinship with animals gives Pádraic a bit of a different perspective on loneliness, although this of course is tested as he loses his friend, then his sister and, ultimately, Jenny herself.

Jenny’s interruption of dinner happens to occur just as Pádraic says something that seems to take Siobhán by surprise; as the two are discussing Colm’s supposed depression, Pádraic – having just claimed himself to be a “happy lad” – muses that Colm should “push it down, like the rest of us”, which causes Siobhán to look up from her plate to her brother but her attention is immediately distracted by the donkey.  While Pádraic is having difficulty doing this during his row with Colm, his multiple attempts to reconcile may be an effort to effectively wave away the festering depression for both of them.

Pádraic’s bewilderment at the behaviors of both his sister and his friend, coupled with his own natural contentment, is attuned to the sentiment of Laozi 20’s fourth line: “those who are in desolation are far away; how limitless [the Dao] is!”  The desolation, in this case, being the feelings of despair, sadness and loneliness all caused originally by pursuit of knowledge taking one further away from nature, which itself is plenty bountiful – as any person who can deliver a two hour dissertation on horse shit can attest.

With those closest becoming far away, what Pádraic experiences as he works through his thoughts of dullness, dimness and Colm – from the time of Colm’s first rejection until Pádraic drunkenly berates him – is linked to the next seven lines (5-11) of Laozi 20.  On the first night, as Pádraic watches on while Colm entertains a crowd at Jonjo’s, lines 5-7 seem present, “people are gathering and excited … I am alone quietly without desires … so weary as if there is no place to return.”  Though Dominic is sitting with and talking to him, Pádraic is very much alone.

While Dominic stays at their home Sunday night, his exchanges with the Súilleabháins over supper display Pádraic’s connection to Laozi 20’s next two lines (8-9).  Having previously labeled Dominic “the dim one on the island”, Pádraic hears him use the French word touché and, realizing Dominic possesses more knowledge than previously believed, experiences the sentiment of line 8, “all people have surplus, I alone am still lacking”, and shortly after that of line 9, “indeed, I have the heart of a fool; so ignorant”, when Dominic calls Pádraic a “gom” for his worry over Colm.

By the time of his whiskey-laden rebuke, Pádraic has been called limited and dull, a non-thinker, a gom and a stuke, and – worst of all – one of life’s good guys.  As the distance culminates between himself and others, lines 10 and 11 of Laozi 20 seem to indicate his perspective: “most people are bright, I alone am simple and muddled … most people are scrutinizing, I alone am obtuse.”

That evening, although Jenny the donkey had momentarily lifted Pádraic’s spirits, as he arrives at Jonjo’s he sees that Colm is also there and is playing music with a few students, which perhaps is what incites him to drink so much whiskey; when he sees Colm sitting and drinking with Peadar the policeman, who earlier that day had sucker punched him outside O’Riordans for talking publicly about Dominic’s beatings, a now very drunk Pádraic can no longer contain himself.

Prior to this scene, there are three references to Pádraic behaving differently – i.e., not nice – when he’s drunk.  The first is during Colm’s initial rejection, when Pádraic asks if he’d said something when drunk and forgotten; the second is during the first confrontation between Colm and Siobhán, when she also asks if her brother said something while drunk (to which Colm replies “I prefer him when he’s drunk”); the third mention is as a caveat when Jonjo and Gerry tell Pádraic he’s one of life’s good guys – “apart from when you’re drunk”.

Aside from an initial insult for Colm – Pádraic calls him a “pudgy fiddle player” – what Pádraic says when drunk isn’t laden with meanness or harmful intent; what comes out is a righteous indignation, berating Colm for being out of synch with harmony and no longer being nice, choosing to drink with the corrupt, son-beating policeman rather than his “dull” friend.  After Pádraic leaves, Colm tells Siobhán, “that was the most interesting he’s ever been … I think I like him again”.  Of course he is joking, but a curiosity lingers as to what about Pádraic’s drunken behavior Colm likes so much – perhaps he hears sharp truths scathing about the refrains of righteousness.

The next day, Pádraic attempts to apologize to Colm who is having none of it, thoroughly befuddling Pádraic.  Though Pádraic’s intent was sincere, this event exacerbates their conflict, triggering Colm to cut off the first of his fingers and further festering the desire within Pádraic to find some way to reconcile.  Pádraic’s desire does create a hypocrisy for him – he’d previously claimed he had better things to do with his time than calling upon Colm, yet instead of finding and following anything else, his time and effort are still preoccupied with his former friend.  The confusion is too much for him to find clarity.

After dishonestly dispatching Declan, a discussion with Dominic delivers a dash of confidence to Pádraic as he feels inspired to try one more time with Colm with a more direct, playfully slagging approach which seems at first to have a positive effect but again makes matters worse as Pádraic is unable to maintain the facade and reverts to his natural state, having presumed a reconciliation finally underway.

Pádraic’s reversion reminds Colm of his dislike and upsets him greatly, cutting off the remaining fingers and thumb from his right hand.  Pádraic learns of this at the same moment he is told by Siobhán that she’s leaving the island; as he watches her leave the island and realizes that he’s been again rejected by Colm, Pádraic may feel as though things couldn’t possibly get worse for him yet he has no time to process this before discovering that Jenny the donkey has choked to death on one of Colm’s severed fingers.

Jenny’s death sparks a finality for Pádraic, the grave consequence rippling from Colm’s self-harm having waved away the concern Pádraic had as he watched a friend in a spiral of depression.  Pádraic recognizes Colm’s fear to conduct his own finality and, wanting to prevent further unacceptable consequences, decides to provide Colm an opportunity to find his end.  Pádraic’s decision not to kill Colm directly could be in part due to believing murder a sin (assumed, being a Catholic), but more likely Pádraic wants Colm to make the choice himself – if it’s what he really wants, he has to own it.

When Padraic delivers his ultimatum, Colm is genuinely upset to learn about Jenny and is observably shocked by Pádraic’s promise to set Colm’s house on fire.  The donkey’s death prominently affects Colm, who seems near the verge of tears as he admits his fault in confessional.  When the priest asks if Colm thinks God cares about miniature donkeys, Colm replies “I fear he doesn’t … and I fear that’s where it’s all gone wrong.”

Colm’s reply to the priest may signify an epiphany, a recognition of how deluded he has become, and may also lend some insight as to how he and Pádraic had maintained a friendship for so long – an affinity for Inisherin is at his core, one which he also sees openly from Pádraic, but his worldly desires have overtaken him, leading him to attempt to symbolically push Inisherin away by removing Pádraic from his life.  A rapport of this sort helps explain why Pádraic is so driven to reconcile, despite being told by others how different the pair are, and why Jenny’s death so completely quashes any hope Pádraic has for Colm’s return to normalcy.

After Pádraic delivers on his fiery promise, we hear a voiceover of his return letter to Siobhán in which he states that he won’t be joining her on the mainland – his life is Inisherin.  As the voiceover plays, we see Pádraic crafting a grave marker for Jenny, while also quietly keeping the animals (now all allowed inside) in order.  His happy lad demeanor isn’t back, but Pádraic has a true sense of resolve that is connected to the final three lines of Laozi 20: “it is tranquil as an ocean, the blowing of high wind seems like it’s not going to stop … people all have purposes, I alone seem stubborn and lowly … I am different from others but value the nourishing mother”.

Having recognized, accepted and embraced being “different from others”, Pádraic’s final task in Banshees is to determine the status of the conflict with Colm, who Pádraic finds on the beach outside his now charred and hollowed home, his fear having made the decision to flee his opportunity for escape.

While Colm’s dog Sammy is very happy to see Colm alive, Pádraic is disappointed, knowing that their conflict has not reached its end.  When Colm expresses his sorrow for Jenny, Pádraic replies “I don’t fuckin’ care”, and for a moment it seems the niceness within him has evaporated.  In response to Colm’s supposition that the civil war may be ending, Pádraic claims “some things there’s no moving on from … and I think that’s a good thing.”

In the immediate context, Pádraic seems to be reiterating a portion of his earlier fiery promise – “to our graves we’re taking this” – yet in the context of his analogy to Laozi 20 he may be displaying a recognition that constantly moving on has the effect of widening the rift between people and nature, sacrificing simplicity for complexity, harmony for chaos.

Pádraic’s path through Laozi 20 leads to the moral of Banshees’ Daoist allegory, which interestingly comes from the immediately preceding chapter, Laozi 19: “show plainness and embrace simplicity … reduce selfishness and decrease desires … cease learning and there will be no worry.”  

Pádraic’s ultimate resolve to remain with the Dao after being challenged by the gravitational forces of his sister Siobhán following virtue and his friend Colm following abandonment signifies that his own Dao, his harmony, while fractured has remained intact.  Though his face is fixed in a dour scowl when he looks at Colm, a brief glance at Sammy before he begins walking from the beach forces a loving smile from Pádraic before returning a glowering stare upon Colm; when Colm calls after him to thank him for looking after Sammy, Pádraic is nearly unable to contain his inherent niceness as he almost smiles when replying “anytime”.

Despite all the pressure from the outside world and being tugged in multiple directions from his sense of harmony, the person he is has not changed.

Pádraic Súilleabháin is nice.  So, too, is the Dao of Inisherin.