For our Saturday film feature this week, I thought we'd mark both St Patrick's Day and the instant disappearance, at least in my part of the world, of Liam Neeson's latest thriller (The Commuter - or Non-Stop, his plane film, on a train). At any rate, before he hit the big time killing large numbers of Albanians in the Taken franchise, Liam Neeson hit the medium time killing small numbers of Englishmen and Irishmen in the 1996 biopic Michael Collins. Collins was the original IRA's director of intelligence and one of the Irish negotiators at the Treaty talks in London in 1921. (My great-uncle was lawyer to the leader of the delegation, Arthur Griffith.) Putting his name to the agreement on Dominion status for a new Irish Free State, Collins remarked, "I have signed my own death warrant." Eight months later he was killed in the Irish Civil War.
If the preceding three sentences are way more shamrock-hued history than you're in the mood for when there's another seventeen choruses of "Macnamara's Band" to be sung, well, you've come to the right picture: Michael Collins is the thinking man's Die Hard – Dail Hard maybe, given the protagonists' habit of convening every so often in their make-believe republican parliament. These brief interruptions aside, however, the film has as many explosions and killings and thrilling escapes as any caper this side of Neeson's Albanian corpsefests. It is not especially anti-English: indeed, the English may rather enjoy it, since, unlike most republican propagandists, the director Neil Jordan doesn't attempt to justify the violence by boring on about ancient injustices, real or imagined, or by dredging up Yeats' "terrible beauty" and the usual highfalutin guff. It comes out shooting, goes out shooting, and in between is a blarney-free zone; its answer to the Irish Question is "Hasta la vista, muthaf**ker!"
On those rare occasions when the film stops firing and starts talking, it descends amiably into specious but harmless rubbish. Returning from London in 1921, having secured the Free State Treaty, Collins tells his pals, "The position of the North will be reviewed, but at the moment remains part of the British Empire" – a sentence which never passed Collins' lips, for the somewhat obvious reason that, under the Treaty, the Irish Free State itself remained part of the Empire; the North remained part of the United Kingdom.
If the film seems peppered with curiously lumpy, formal references to "the British Empire", that's because passing Irish nationalism off as a colonial struggle rather than a secessionist movement is supposedly a canny move in America: anti-imperialism is instantly sympathetic, whereas secession, under US law, is assumed to be (at least since America's Civil War) illegal. Collins' contribution to Ireland, we're told in the closing caption, was that he'd "overseen its transition to democracy". But Ireland under the British was a democracy – although, then as now, the island was riven by one giant, fundamental difference of opinion as to which particular democracy it was a part of. The English generally take an indulgent view of these rhetorical flourishes – as they do of, say, the law passed in New York State in the 1990s requiring the Irish Potato Famine to be taught in school as a deliberate act of British aggression and to be included in mandatory courses "devoted to the study of genocide, slavery and the Holocaust".
But, captions aside and Imperial asides aside, the English can relax. In Jordan's film, they're virtually invisible – literally so: in their one big scene, an ill-advised concoction of the director's, an armored car bursts onto a Gaelic football pitch and mows down the teams and the crowd. Anonymous, faceless tyranny, geddit? Yet the Irish are oddly invisible, too: Jordan makes little attempt to connect Collins and his small band of volunteers with any broad populist cause. Instead, the first half of this film is a brilliant rationale for terrorism – which is presumably why, back in 1996, Sinn Féin and the IRA were so appreciative of it. If you watch it dispassionately, you see a small band of amoral killers destabilizing the rule of law and intentionally provoking the state into reciprocal atrocities upon its own people. Seen in this light, even the Black and Tans get a fair ride from Jordan.
But, of course, we don't watch it dispassionately. Liam Neeson is a big movie star and the film press-gangs even the most insignificant reaction shot into the service of his luster and loveability. He doesn't look like Collins: I always enjoyed the historian George Dangerfield's description of Michael's "full cheeks and bee-stung lips", but that's not Neeson. So, in this film, the part of the cheeks and bee-stung lips is played by Julia Roberts as Kitty Kiernan, one-third of a lame Hollywood love triangle with Neeson and Aidan Quinn (as Harry Boland). In films like The Crying Game, Danny Boy and even Interview With The Vampire, Jordan has effortlessly conjured the sexual allure of violence, but here he can't seem to find a way to connect up the romance and the terrorism – perhaps because, for this director, the real romance is the terrorism. His most desperate effort comes when he intercuts Bloody Sunday – the assassination of 19 government agents – with scenes of Collins and Kitty in their hotel room. By all accounts, the real Collins scattered his seed as liberally as his gunfire. But the almost chaste tenderness of this scene ennobles and dignifies the surrounding mayhem. And even the off-the-peg movie-romance banality of the relationship adds to the legend; the bottom line is: you can be a cold-blooded killer, and still get your leg over Julia Roberts.
As to the central event in Collins' life – his trip to London for the Treaty negotiations – the film skips it entirely: no Lloyd George, no Churchill, just Miss Roberts reading a letter about them. As a result, the second half of the movie is completely mystifying if you're not already up on who's who and what's what. In the idiot shorthand of motion pictures, all the guys in uniforms with guns have up to this point in the picture been Brits – and, therefore, the baddies. Suddenly, Collins himself is in a uniform – but he's running around fighting other Irishmen. Likewise, five minutes earlier, he'd been a man of war; now, he's supposedly a man of peace. The film shows nothing that could account for this transformation. But by this stage Jordan's lack of interest in the traditional motivations and propulsions of drama is highly appropriate. Collins had returned from London with a form of independence that fell just short of a republic. As in Canada (on whose constitution the Irish Free State's was modeled), and today in Belize and Papua New Guinea, it required only a nominal allegiance to the Crown - and, as Collins shrewdly foresaw, so nominal it could be rendered daily ever more nominal through mere indifference. No sane man – even a film director – could give a plausible account of why the Free State constitution should plunge a country into civil war. So Jordan doesn't even try. Consequently, as a counterweight to the first half, the second half of Michael Collins is a brilliant if accidental representation of the sheer bloody pointlessness of Irish republican purism, even in 1922.
Collins was 31 when he died. He fits easily into the contours of movie heroics, although he is inevitably diminished by them. The more interesting biopic would have been of the ascetic, opaque, bemused and bespectacled de Valera (wonderfully played by Alan Rickman) – but that would have taken Jordan into modern, post-romantic Irish politics. Michael Collins is best enjoyed as an accumulation of images, particularly one ravishing, wistfully evocative scene on a half-empty dance floor in Kingstown. It seems only fitting that, when the hero dies in an ambush, we should see it from his young assassin's point of view: having glamorized Collins, the film cannot resist glamorizing his unknown assassin, too. That last, brilliant image – the relish on that young face – foretells and distills the next 75 years.
~If you disagree with Steyn's movie columns and you're a member of The Mark Steyn Club, then feel free to re-enact the Irish Civil War in the comments section. Club membership isn't for everybody, but it helps keep all our content out there for everybody, in print, audio, video, on everything from civilizational collapse to our Saturday movie dates. And we're proud to say that this site now offers more free content than ever before.
What is The Mark Steyn Club? Well, it's a discussion group of lively people on the great questions of our time - we'll be hosting our latest live around the planet this Tuesday. It's also an Audio Book of the Month Club, and a video poetry circle, and a live music club. We don't (yet) have a clubhouse, but we do have many other benefits. And, if you've got some kith or kin who might like the sound of all that and more, we do have a special Gift Membership that makes a great birthday present. More details here.
Comment on this item (members only)
Submission of reader comments is restricted to Mark Steyn Club members only. If you are not yet a member, please click here to join. If you are already a member, please log in here:
Member Login
15 Member Comments
Agreed, Alan Rickman did the best de Valera in the film. The theme song from the film is one of my favorites: "She Moved Through the Fair." But the best understanding I can gain from Ireland's complicated history is from the film "The Wind That Shakes the Barley." And I always hoped that Mark's clan was from my area in the north, but I don't wish him my clan's motto "hurtful or obstructive." It's okay, I'm proud!
Mark certainly has a far more impressive and distinguished Hibernian connection to the events of that period than most! "The Wind That Shakes the Barley" is an excellent film, despite the comparatively pedestrian— and no doubt romanticised, even biased (according to some)— perspective, circa 1920s. Cillian Murphy is superb.
(Superficial comment alert: I only realised the significance of Mark's choice of tie when guest-hosting for TC. The particular green-on-blue combination was very sharp.... great colours!)
Mark replies:
Thanks, Kate. The tie was a bit last-minute. I wandered open-necked into the studio first thing for "Fox & Friends" and found Steve and Pete in green ties and Ainsley in a green dress, with soda bread (very Irish) and green bagels (perhaps not quite so) in the, er, green room. And in the midst of my first cup of coffee I realized that, because St Pat's fell on Saturday, we were all meant to be doing the Wearing of the Green a day early. So, by the time I returned for Tucker, I'd put on my green tie and had my shilelagh stapled on.
Well, it's a great tie but also an excellent combination; a vaguely similar green (on white) worn by the politician you interviewed didn't work at all. (Speaking of which, "green-on-blue", roughly speaking — of the aforementioned "Barley" variety— represents the sort of secessionist sentiment of 2 generations ago in my case. It's interesting that the border has renewed significance in Brexit, a century later.)
Great guest interviews with Douglas Murray and VDH in particular, by the way. (The smug immigration lawyer disgraced himself.) Great viewing— thanks!
I might be the only one in the world but I really thought Wind that Shakes the Barley was a terrible movie. I felt they never properly developed any of the characters - I just didn't care about any of them and certainly couldn't tell any of the gang apart. It suffered from a lack of a real leader in the gang too - nominally it's Cillian's brother, but often Cillian or someone else was all of a sudden being framed as the leader of some aspect of their doings. There also never felt like any real tension between the sides. I found it so boring and hard to follow because it was just scene after scene of "generic Irish guy indistinguishable from the other Irish guys complaining about the Brits and sometimes getting violent".
When I read afterwards that it was so highly revered by critics because it was also commentary on the US/Iraq "occupation", I disliked it even more.
It's a long time since I've seen it, but my impression was that it was as much about Irishmen killing fellow Irishmen (exemplified by the two brothers on opposing sides in the civil war), with Cillian Murphy's character— in summarily executing the illiterate farm boy he'd known his entire life— more barbaric than the worst Black and Tan. Any analogy with Iraq seems tenuous (Paddington Bear was apparently about refugees, according to the press). The irritating mischaracterisation of the anti-Treaty republicans as socialist revolutionaries seemed to be a case of the director being unable to resist superimposing his favoured ideological narrative; he's a big Corbyn supporter, amongst other things.
Kate and Rick, it is not the easiest movie to sit through. Even if Loach portrayed the IRA as favoring the creation of a workers' republic in Ireland, not ruled by the national bourgeoisie --- well, someone would rule it. And, yes, Mark is the expert on the history and sums it up: "The two main Irish political parties of the next nine decades were the direct descendants of the opposing sides of the Civil War." (When Irish Eyes are Dailing, 3/23/14). That helps me understand the evolution so far.
Deborah, it's one thing for historical drama to exaggerate the use of brute force by the Black and Tans during the Anglo-Irish War (there is some evidence to support this), but quite another to suggest anti-Treaty republicans were aspiring communists, which was a theme that ran throughout the film (the Sunday church scene with Cillian Murphy comes to mind), and one which historians roundly criticised.
Thanks for the reference.... must have missed this. Another great piece, and what's particularly interesting to me is the detail of the legal career of Mark's great-uncle.
I wonder who they will send over to Brussels..
Perhaps they will just continue bombing the English, as the Provisional EuRA.
Wellington was a Giant amongst pygmies.
Fascinating detail about your great-uncle, Mark. I remember passing a museum in Dublin with window displays telling about Michael Collins, which was the first time I learned about this period of history, and I was drawn toward it, as it connected me to my own past. It's a neat detail for me personally to think that my ancestors, from Cork, probably didn't live too far from yours!
Sort of on topic. I was driving home after my visit to the only English pub in San Francisco, I passed a car with a vanity plate that read "GPO 1916". This was in 2014. Some people just can't get over history.
so....us irish should "get over" history that's just over a hundred years old????
i think you might look around and find several groups that are still complaining about WAY OLDER grievances than that.....
besides which, the irish were mistreated for centuries BEFORE 1916, as any educated person should know.....
and yes, i AM still waiting for my reparations from the sassenach, for enslaving my ancestors......just not holding my breath...... :)
'a vanity plate that read "GPO 1916". '
I think it's cool that someone would think of that and cool that you recognized the point.
I've been to an English pub in San Francisco a few times, although I had no idea that there was only one. Spouse and I were drinking Boddington's there on one occasion, it used to be a favourite of mine. Ah, fond memories. There's nothing like a cold Boddy!
Ireland was never of any value to the English, except for one unfortunate factor. The prevailing wind blows from the West, which put Ireland uphill from the British mainland in the days of wind powered ships. Ireland therefore had to be occupied to prevent the French or Spanish from using it as a base for attacks on Britain and British shipping.
British politicians were happy to the leave the Irish to do their own thing, as long as they accepted the presence of a British garrison. The "centuries of mistreatment" stemmed from futile attempts to drive out the Brits with French help.
"uphill from the British mainland" in the days of sailing ships. What an interesting observation. Just been reading about weather influence on D-day landing and the disaster of Dunkirk.