The Automatik

Although the main characters in Ken Loach’s The Wind That Shakes The Barley may be fictional, the story of the bloody conflict between British soldiers and the Irish Republican Army in the 1920s is not. Those who’ve seen Neil Jordan’s Michael Collins will find the theme of Loach’s film familiar: brothers pitted against each other as they find themselves on different sides of the Irish struggle for independence

But while Michael Collins utilized Hollywood conventions like big-name actors and high production values, Barley was produced for a modest budget of £6.5 million. Less capital is not the only thing that makes Barley special and different, however.

Cillian Murphy and Pádraic Delaney

With Barley, Loach has been accused of creating everything from distorted half-truths to outright propaganda, but let’s pend that particular discussion for now. The important thing is that Loach and his impeccable cast have gifted us with an undeniably moving and heartbreaking film that transcends such arguments.

The story centres on young doctor Damien O’Donovan (Cillian Murphy) and his brother Teddy (Pádriac Delaney), but this is a true ensemble. Most of the cast are relative unknowns or newcomers. But instead of feeling like an amateur production, this gives a deep sense of immediacy and believability to the film. There are a few lines that seem as if they may have been flubbed, which in the overly polished world of blockbusters, is surprising and refreshing.

Unlike many movies about war or political strife, in Barley melodramatic speeches and clichés are mostly non-existent. The most glaring exception is when Damien argues with an angry British soldier, and gives a brief, expository history of why the IRA came into existence. Yet Murphy’s delivery, full of passionate, righteous indignation, marks a pivotal change in Damien’s character. After the capture of his fellow republicans and the torture of his brother, he fully realizes and verbally defends, his sincere stake in the war they are waging.

Damien’s transformation is both inspiring and painful to watch. As a doctor, he has a gentle and caring nature. His sensitivity to the suffering of others enables him to offer them comfort and aid. It is this nature that is cruelly tested when he is instructed to kill young Chris Reilly, a fellow IRA member. Here is where Loach’s direction proves to be subtly masterful. Rather than saturating the scene with maudlin music and intense close-ups of Murphy’s face, the camera pulls back to a long shot of him stumbling away from the centre of the frame, nearly lost in the landscape, a powerful metaphor for Damien’s emotional and mental state.

Furthermore, it is precisely Damien’s sensitive nature that catalyzes his transformation from an idealistic boy into a realistic man. Towards the beginning of the film, he is shown as the peacemaker. By the time he is forced to confront Teddy (in the very cell where he had once been willing to change places with him), it is his tenderness that, ironically, gives him strength in the ultimate test of his beliefs. “I shot Chris Reilly in the heart…I will not sell out,” he states with an almost frightening conviction. Significantly, Damien dies without a blindfold just as Teddy’s vision seems to have faltered. Although this is not a star vehicle for Murphy, his portrayal of Damien is tremendous and affecting – he is the emotional core in a world of bloodshed and horror.

Loach’s restrained touch allows all the actors to portray their roles through nuances of expression, subtleties of body language, and inflections of voice, three things that define the acting profession, but which mainstream cinema has shoved aside in favor of flashy edits and heavy-handed musical accompaniments contrived to direct the viewer into feeling emotions. When Damien, Teddy, and the others watch helplessly as Sinead (Orla Fitzgerald) is scalped and her family home is firebombed, the only sounds we hear are diegetic. There is no shot-reverse-shot between Damien and Teddy to force an atmosphere of tension. The scene feels claustrophobic and unbearable because of the tragic circumstances, not because of choices made in post-production.

Another choice Loach has made – emphasizing the seemingly unending fortitude of the women in the film – prevents Barley from being just a boys club. From holding positions of power in the republican courtroom to holding together a family torn apart by violence, these women are not relegated to being damsels in distress, though protecting them is of utmost importance to the male characters in the movie.

When Damien stands up to the priest during mass, Sinead does so too, and when he finalizes his separation from Teddy and what he sees as his terrible compromise, she stands next to him, not behind him. It is because of her courage that Teddy’s arrival to bring Damien’s letter and medal to her is that much more devastating. And it is because of Fitzgerald’s talents that we care so much. The camera holds its medium shot of the two characters while the full realization of what has happened fills Sinead’s face. She is bereft and without moorings as she falls to her knees crying. There is no epilogue; when Damien’s life ends, so does the film.

In this regard, one could argue that Damien is not an individual but an archetype that Loach uses merely to get his point across. But this is not dialectical montage and Loach is not Eisenstein. If anything, Barley paints a more realistic version of the cost of war in its unflinching portrayal of the humanity (and brutality) of the characters. To those critics who complain that Loach has forsaken historical accuracy for sensationalist filmmaking, one only has to watch Teddy weeping at his brother’s death to realize that there were no easy choices in this situation and that these people were in an untenable position. The heroes have become villains and nothing will ever be the same.