The Quiet Girl (An Cailín Ciúin)

 

Director Colm Bairéad

Catherine Clinch and Andrew Bennett on the set

Producer Cleona Ní Chrualaoí, partner of the director

Irish writer Claire Keegan

THE QUIET GIRL (An Cailín Ciúin)          B                                                                                 Ireland  (95 mi)  2022  d: Colm Bairéad 

If you were mine, I’d never leave you in a house with strangers.                                            —Eibhlín (Carrie Crowley)

This is a film that is not what you expect, subdued, carefully measured, and small in scope, where the entire film is little more than a girl goes and stays with relatives, filled with everyday moments that suggest nothing out of the ordinary, yet it builds emotional complexity by creating plenty of room to breathe, allowing viewers moments of quiet reflection, something not often accessible in films of today, giving this a literary feel, where time is enlarged and expanded, very patiently developing an intrinsic relationship to Irish culture by accentuating the importance of the land and the language.  Adapted from an 85-page extended short story entitled Foster, Foster | The New Yorker (an abridged version), by Wexford author Claire Keegan, which won the Davy Byrnes Irish Writing Award in 2009, at the time the world’s richest prize for a story, now part of the school syllabus in Ireland, especially known for its warm empathy and astute observations of people, with the director, whose background is in documentaries, clearly inspired by Lynne Ramsay’s early short film GASMAN (1998), Lynne Ramsay's 1970s Christmas in Scotland YouTube (14:19), which ranks among his all-time favorites, intent on bringing his native language back to the screen.  Listed at #22 of The 50 best films of 2022 | Sight and Sound - BFI, while also among the five Oscar finalists in Best International Feature, one unique aspect of the film is its language, spoken entirely in Irish, winning seven out of ten categories at the Irish Film and Television Awards, becoming the highest-grossing Irish language film of all time, and the only one to receive an Oscar nomination.  While Gaelic refers to a group of languages, the Republic of Ireland’s official language is called Gaeilge, the name for Irish in the Irish language, yet despite being constitutionally declared the country’s official language in 1922 and a compulsory subject in Irish schools, Gaeilge’s usage has declined to the point of being declared endangered by the United Nations, estimating there are only 20,000 to 40,000 Irish speakers worldwide.  Instead, English has become the dominant spoken language of the country, a colonial legacy left behind by the British.  The history of films produced in the Irish language is disappointingly thin, Fís Éireann: Irish Language Films, where Bob Quinn’s POITÍN (1978) was the first feature film to be made entirely in Irish, and it would be thirty years before the next one, while other notable examples only utilize the language briefly, like John Sayle’s THE SECRET OF ROAN INISH (1994), Ken Loach’s The Wind That Shakes the Barley (2006), Steve McQueen’s HUNGER (2008), or John Michael McDonagh’s The Guard (2011).  For many speakers of the Irish language, this may be the first opportunity to hear that language spoken onscreen, given Ireland’s history of suppressing its own language on screens, in classrooms, and in homes in favor of English.  As a minority language, it’s only spoken in certain regions, in the west and northwest, and only occasionally in the south where this story is set.  One person who valiantly fought to hold onto that language is the director’s father, a teacher who only speaks Irish, helping set up an Irish-speaking school in Northern Dublin that included actor Brendan Gleeson as a student.  According to Bairéad in Motherland, Father Tongue - Curzon, he grew up in a bilingual household where his mother spoke English but his father spoke only Irish, claiming “He did this simply out of a deep-rooted belief in the value of language and a conviction that our own, declining native tongue was something worth saving.”

Most films shot in Ireland emphasize the lush greenery of the landscapes, like John Ford’s THE QUIET MAN (1952), David Lean’s Ryan's Daughter (1970), or Martin McDonagh’s The Banshees of Inisherin (2022), but this does not, instead we’re often stuck inside narrowly compressed rooms, the backseat of a car, or glancing out the window of a small kitchen, where an everpresent painting of Jesus Christ hangs on the wall.  The film retains the story’s 1981 setting, a time of turmoil in Ireland where jobs were few, money was scarce, and the violence and civil unrest from the Troubles dominated the lives of ordinary citizens (How the Troubles Began in Northern Ireland - HISTORY), yet those discussions are absent here, told instead from a child’s perspective, withholding adult conversations that wouldn’t have been understood, while also avoiding all sentimentality.  However, by eliminating the first-person perspective of the story, with no added narration, Bairéad instead utilizes silences, relying upon subtleties in capturing the loneliness and sadness of a melancholic, emotionally withdrawn nine-year-old Cáit (Catherine Clinch), as we find ourselves in rural Ireland, 1981, with Cáit seen at the outset hidden in the tall grasses of a field, listening to the sounds of nature, far away from the harsh reality of her dysfunctional family.  When she returns to her house, we quickly realize why she craves solitude, isolated even within her own family, living a life in fear of everything around her, unloved by her parents, neglected by her many siblings who are loud and obnoxious, while ridiculed by her school peers for being a slow student, where it’s evident that poverty has stripped this world of its humanity, with escape from reality being her only recourse, as she desperately tries to find her own way in the world.  Her father (Michael Patric) appears to have drinking and gambling problems, as he gambled away the money to pay workers to cultivate their fields, leaving the family even more destitute and financially troubled, with too many mouths to feed, while her mother (Kate Nic Chonaonaigh) is already worn out and exhausted with more children than she can handle, as an unattended baby is always heard crying in the background, with another child on the way (contraception was inaccessible at that time), while Cáit is viewed as the problem child who has a tendency to wet the bed, reducing her to shame, becoming lost in her own world of daydreams.  So her mother arranges for the troublesome Cáit to spend the summer with her older, distant cousin Eibhlín (Carrie Crowley) and her husband Seán (Andrew Bennett), dairy farmers who live three hours away in Waterford County in southern Ireland, THE QUIET GIRL / AN CAILÍN CIÚIN (2022) movie clip YouTube (2:30), where her father is in such a rush to get back home that he leaves her suitcase in the back seat of the car as he drives off.  Abandoned by her family, left with people who may as well be strangers, with nothing whatsoever that’s familiar to her, the feeling she gets is like being dropped off on a distant planet, having no inkling what to expect, reminiscent of the sad young girls in Céline Sciamma’s Petite Maman (2021).  The dialogue is minimalist, with much of the neo-realist story conveyed without words, including period television programs heard running in the background, with a tender piano and strings-infused score composed by Stephen Rennicks, who also wrote the music for Lenny Abrahamson’s 2014 Top Ten List #10 Frank and Room (2015), resulting in a deceptively simple production, where the relationships are scarcely drawn, composed of recurring moments that reflect a life of growing up on a farm, where there are animals and chores and plenty of fresh air, and seemingly miles between neighbors.    

Cáit’s parents simply have too much on their hands to figure out what’s at the root of her inward nature, painfully shy and preferring not to speak mostly, perhaps overcompensating for the lack of attention she never seems to receive in the boisterous clutter of her home life.  Eibhlín, on the other hand, shows her kindness straightaway, very attentive to her needs, tenderly bathing her, brushing her hair, and dressing her in old clothes more suitable for farm work, while Seán remains more distant and withdrawn, busily tending to the daily work around the farm.  In something of a surprise, Eibhlín provides a moral foundation by telling her, “There are no secrets in this house.  Where there’s a secret, there’s shame—and shame is something we can do without.”  Nonetheless, when Cáit accompanies Seán on some daily chores in the barn, but wanders off, he becomes inexplicably angry at her, dispelling any notion of tranquility in the air, suggesting something far deeper lies under the surface, where secrets abound in this gigantic home that is strangely empty.  Thoroughly displeased by his impulsive response, Seán gradually displays more patience, impressed by her willingness to help sweep up in the barn (she was actually searching for another broom when she wandered off earlier) or help feed a young calf, leaving behind little biscuit treats at the breakfast table, before inventing a game to see how fast she can pick up the mail each day, running to the end of a long tree-lined road and back, something she fully enjoys, finally making her feel good about herself.  When an old neighbor dies, she witnesses a funeral service, with one of the women looking after her for a while, allowing Eibhlín and Seán to help out with the guests, but as some neighbors often do, she grows nosy, curious why she’s spending the summer before blurting out shocking personal information that takes Cáit completely by surprise, opening up old wounds, reverting back to her withdrawn demeanor, which is a a noticeable setback.  Taking her aside, Seán assures her, “You don’t have to say anything.  Always remember that.  Many’s a person who missed the opportunity to say nothing and lost much because of it.”  Both mirror each other’s personalities, stoically introverted, lacking the social grace of others, but thoughtful and hard workers nonetheless.  The cinematography by Kate McCullough captures the charm of the Irish countryside, with the sunlight flickering through the trees, with Eibhlín showing her the magic of a hidden well with “secret” skin care properties, yet a moonlit walk to the sea may be the most unforgettable setting, luminous and elegiaic, expressing its own poetry, mirroring an unseen inner transformation taking place while also conveying a child’s innocent but always careful and insightful observations of the world.  On a parallel track, Seán also sings a song in Irish-Gaelic, which is heard but never seen, one of the small wonders beautifully interwoven into the film.  A gentle and restrained story of innate kindness contrasted against the stark neglect and abuse of her home life, the dramatic power is achieved through a meticulous rhythmic structure built upon daily routines, where the accumulation of small, mundane moments resembles the precision of Chantal Akerman’s Jeanne Dielman, 23, quai du Commerce,1080 Bruxelles (1976), newly listed at #1 on the BFI Sight and Sound greatest films of all time poll (Revealed: the results of the 2022 Sight and Sound Greatest ...), especially the way it leads to a cathartic emotional release at the end, with buried emotions finally rising to the surface, conveying the pervasive influence of intergenerational trauma.

Brooklyn

BROOKLYN             B+        
Ireland  Canada  Great Britain  (111 mi)  2015  d:  John Crowley                Official site

She was nobody here.  It was not just that she had no friends and family.  It was rather that she was a ghost in this room, in the streets on the way to work, on the shop floor.  Nothing meant anything.  The rooms in the house in Ireland belonged to her, she thought.  When she moved in them, she was really there.  In the town, if she walked to the shop or to the vocational school, the air, the light, the ground — it was all solid and part of her, even if she met no one familiar. Nothing here was part of her.  It was false, empty, she thought.  She closed her eyes and tried to think, as she had done so many times in her life, of something she was looking forward to.  But there was nothing, not the slightest thing.  Not even Sunday.  Nothing, maybe, except sleep. And she was not even certain she was looking forward to sleep.  In any case, she could not sleep yet since it was not yet 9 o’clock.  There was nothing she could do.  It was as though she had been locked away.

—Brooklyn, by Colm Tóibín, 2009

Despite its grand ambitions, this is a small, intimate film that places its faith on the intricacies of language, suggesting a time when words had more meaning and the world was perceived as flush with new opportunities.  Adapted by Nick Hornby from Colm Tóibín’s acclaimed 2009 Irish novel, it’s largely an old-fashioned immigrant tale from the early 50’s about decent people attempting to find their way in the new world, told in a social realist style that may hold greater appeal to an educated class, as it’s intelligent and extremely well-written, using a literary style where the exact choice of words, like “amenable,” is exquisite.  Seen through the eyes of a central character, Saoirse Ronan is Eilis Lacey, a young girl just out of high school growing up in a suffocatingly barren town of Enniscorthy in Wexford County on the southeastern coast of Ireland, a town described by James Joyce in Ulysses as “the finest place in the world,” but to Eilis, living with her more likeable and employed sister Rose (Fiona Glascott) and her constantly depressed widowed mother (Jane Brennan), nothing ever seems to happen there, where it has come to represent the sheer ordinariness of provincial life, where just about the only thing to do is go swimming on Sunday afternoons at the beach just over the nearby cliff.  It is also the town where author Colm Tóibín comes from, while Ronan’s parents grew up in neighboring County Carlow.  Initially Eilis is seen as a relatively unexciting character, shy and annoyingly drab, where her passivity makes her difficult to identify with, working weekends at a small shop run by a spiteful old woman Miss Kelly (Bríd Brennan) that hoards every penny she makes, treating her customers like herded cattle, reproaching them when lines develop that they could have shopped earlier in the week.  It’s a dreary and dismal existence, with no real hopes for the future until Rose arranges for Eilis to travel to America, where a job and a place to stay have already been found through an Irish priest in Brooklyn, Father Flood (Jim Broadbent).  Leave it to Miss Kelly to make Eilis feel guilty about leaving, suggesting Rose will be forced to care for their mother for the rest of her life.  Like a bird forced to leave the nest, Eilis is totally unprepared for her worldly adventure, finding herself seasick for most of the voyage on the ship, literally rescued by a fellow traveler (Eva Birthistle) who teaches her how to survive a transatlantic crossing intact, even offering tips for navigating her way through customs.

The story is about a persistent longing, where coming to America is “not” the most natural thing in the world, but a huge obstacle to overcome, particularly when the struggle is made alone.  While working as a sales girl in an upscale department store, Eilis does not exhibit a flair for the job, where making small talk with the customers does not come easy for her, as she’s literally overcome by loneliness and being homesick, where letters from Rose leave her sobbing in tears for what she’s left behind, where she can’t help but dream of the days she spent back home with her family.  She lives in an Irish boarding house run by the acid-tongued Mrs. Kehoe (Julie Walters), a strict and opinionated lady who is always quick to point out certain topics are inappropriate for the dinner table, shared with a group of frivolous young girls who spend their days either working or gossiping about their new housemate who is viewed as overly naïve and even saintly, especially as she’s willing to help out Father Flood at the Catholic mission feeding the smelly, destitute old men Christmas dinner, where he informs her these are the men who have literally built the roads and bridges and most of the buildings in Brooklyn.  There’s an especially poignant moment when one of them sings an anguished Irish lament in Gaelic about the misfortunes of love, “Casadh An tSúgáin” (A Twist of the Rope), Casadh an tSugain - Micheal 0'Domhnaill and Bothy Band 1979 YouTube (4:55).  The benevolence of Father Flood reaches unprecedented heights, seen as an antidote for Spotlight (2015), where Jim Broadbent’s Catholic priest is one of the most positive uses of a priest in recent memory, informing Eilis that the church would pay tuition for evening classes in bookkeeping, which will lead to a better paying position.  One does not often think of the Catholic Church as having engaged in career counseling, but they are in fact a transatlantic employment agency for an entire network of new Irish immigrants, where the church is the common denominator on both shores.   It’s fitting, then, that Eilis meets her love interest at a weekend Irish dance with no alcohol served sponsored by the church, where Tony, Emory Cohen from Beneath the Harvest Sky (2013), is an Italian plumber who can’t take his eyes off her, establishing a pattern of regular dates, picking her up after school and walking her home, where it all seems innocent enough, apparently modeled after On the Waterfront (1954) where Marlon Brando’s barely literate dockworker develops a crush on the more properly educated Eva Marie Saint.  While she’s slow to reciprocate affection, it’s easy to tell the remarkable influence he has on her life, as she soon oozes confidence and a newfound maturity. 

It’s interesting that when the idea of intermarriage comes up, it’s not about black and white, but Italian and Irish.  Eilis gets a refresher course from her roommates on how to properly eat pasta without splashing the sauce, so when she finally meets Tony’s family for dinner, the event is dominated by Tony’s wisecracking younger 8-year old brother Frankie (James DiGiacomo) who hilariously mouths off to their polite guest about how much the Italians hate the Irish, which immediately endears him to the audience.  Much like Miss Kelly and Mrs. Kehoe, these bristling comments from secondary characters are like a breath of fresh air, adding caustic humor and a certain charm to the language heard throughout, elevating the material through powerfully understated performances.  When a visit from Father Flood informs Eilis that her sister Rose has mysteriously died from an undisclosed heart ailment, Eilis breaks from the mold of most Irish immigrants and actually returns to Ireland, already transformed by her personal experiences, where she’s become someone to envy and admire, as guys that previously ignored her are now noticeably interested.  She’s a bit baffled by her newly discovered popularity, as people want to hear about her experiences in America, but mostly urge her to stay in Ireland, where she’s even offered Rose’s old job.  While she intended the trip to be short, she couldn’t possibly anticipate the hold that Ireland would have on her, where she’s pursued by Jim Farrell (Domhnall Gleeson), a sensitive, traditional-minded guy who stands to inherit his family’s fortune, a guy that notices things about her that Tony doesn’t see, where she grows comfortable with the idea of this being her real home.  While Tony’s letters go unanswered, Eilis is utterly bewildered by it all, where she’s somehow become the center of attention, where the open expanse of the beach never looked more beautiful, without all the clutter and crowded humanity of Coney Island.  She could conceivably lead a perfectly happy life here after all, where she could look after her mother, or she could build a new life in America, where the seeds of promise have been planted, but have yet to take root.  Either way, she has to let something go, where the heartache and growing pains expressed are unmistakably real, where Ronan’s subtle and particularly nuanced performance draws the audience into her internal conflict, where what initially seemed so drab and starkly empty when she left has suddenly evolved into new possibilities.  What’s unique is watching Eilis blossom from a child into an extraordinary woman right before our eyes, delving into submerged emotions, where the beauty is getting caught up in the lives of multiple characters onscreen, where the emotional devastation is felt across the board throughout both countries, ultimately becoming a heartbreaking experience, an intriguing coming-of-age story on an international scale filled with romantic implications.  And while it’s distinctly Irish with Catholic undertones, plagued by feelings of loneliness and guilt, in a bigger sense it’s about the ideas of rebirth and resurrection, where all who pass through Ellis Island chase a dream of making something out of nothing, where there’s no turning back.  It’s an extraordinary portrait of exile, shown with deliberate restraint, revealing how the effects of leaving home and establishing a new life are never easy, where you’re literally torn between two worlds, as a part of you must end in order to advance to the next phase, like leaving your childhood behind to discover a young adult.