By Anna Merlan
By Lee Escobedo
By Alice Laussade
By Scott Reitz
By Claire Lawton
By Kiernan Maletsky
By Anna Merlan
Listen up, retards: Killing time is over. Melt down your weapons, now, forever.
Wouldn't it be nice if that sentiment echoed around the world? Well, certainly it does, every day, but weapons have a nasty tendency of drowning out sensible words. For this reason--now more than ever--it's greatly inspirational to welcome the resonant release of Bloody Sunday from director Paul Greengrass (The Theory of Flight). Although modern battlefields aren't new to motion pictures--the two grew up together, often feeding off each other--Greengrass deftly navigates the titular skirmish while avoiding the biases and sensationalism associated with most war movies.
From dawn to dusk, we spend the 30th of January 1972 in Derry, Northern Ireland. The day is tense. After seven centuries of conflict between Ireland and Great Britain, a noble attempt is being made, in the form of a peaceful demonstration, to reclaim local rights and ease the terrible pressure between Irish Catholics and Protestants. (Tellingly, John Schlesinger's Sunday Bloody Sunday is on at the local cinema, dealing with sexual taboos, which religious people have been rumored to cultivate.) Heading the march will be charismatic local civil rights leader Ivan Cooper (James Nesbitt), a Protestant among Catholics who fully embraces the nonviolent methods of social change practiced by Gandhi and King. Cooper's a brave man, considering the unjust deserts garnered by his philosophical forebears.
As the movie leaps about in appropriate fits and starts, we experience the day via three other primary perspectives. Representing innocent civilians, there's young Gerry Donaghy (Declan Duddy, whose uncle, Jackie Duddy, died in the real Bloody Sunday, also at age 17). Gerry's a Catholic set to marry his Protestant girlfriend but naïve regarding clashing ideologies. More polarized for continued U.K. rule are British Major General Ford (Tim Pigott-Smith, The Four Feathers) and Brigadier Patrick MacLellan (Nicholas Farrell, a survivor of Pearl Harbor). Though quite human, we see that these men are significantly blinded by their allegiance to the queen.
And then there are the men in uniform, including the local Derry police who have their hands full, but moreover the British Paratroop Regiment, comprising thousands of troops stationed, heavily armed, throughout the city, particularly along the route of the proposed peace march. Our time spent with these men is probably the most disturbing, as many in the film are played by British soldiers formerly stationed in Northern Ireland. They fall so naturally into their volatile roles that it's literally scary, especially when local "yobbos" (hooligans, also presumably playing themselves) shower them with rocks, prompting the cocking, and then firing, of many guns.
The beauty of Bloody Sunday--and it is a beautiful film in its ugly, gritty but ultimately humane way--is that Greengrass, working from Don Mullan's book of the same name as well as numerous eyewitness accounts, sets up the conflict to be observed rather than manipulated. This is a vital distinction, as one's skepticism quickly fades at the harrowing, realistic restaging, and the feeling of being caught in the action takes over, not unlike in Gillo Pontecorvo's 1965 Battle of Algiers or even recent crap like Black Hawk Down. In the wrong hands (see the latter, or better, don't), this could equal insidious propaganda, but Greengrass delivers a well-balanced account.
While there are a few small technical complaints--running with a camera doesn't look like running; it's just a headache--Greengrass' instincts for matching the material with the medium are mostly spot-on. At first, the constant fades-to-black between brief segments may annoy, but they're also vital in preventing total narrative chaos. Unlike in a conventional drama, there's also a risk of some of the characters remaining vague, but otherwise the action is gripping from start to finish.
Amazingly, almost every note of every performance in Bloody Sunday rings true (right down to the inevitable U2 song, tastefully employed). There are a couple of emotional clinkers from Kathy Keira Clarke as Cooper's girlfriend, Frances, and Farrell too often seems to be acting when those around him are being, but by and large, everyone, including the citizenry of Derry--who make up a complex character in their own right--commands the screen with impressive realism. When the violence escalates and the horrors begin, their work becomes all the more astounding.
As our world lists once again toward ghastly violence at the hands of idiots, there is much to be gained from Bloody Sunday. The film exudes a universality that may apply to any conflict, especially any that provokes people to become killing machines in the name of nationalism. Please, this project sincerely suggests, let us not reap a whirlwind.
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