Number 2300: Season Three Marks the End of an Era in Ballykissangel

Last month, Netflix alerted me to a series that struck me as a perfect find for St. Patrick's Day. While I'd already ordered up a Jakers! DVD, prepared to immerse myself in the playful antics of the computer-animated residents of an idealized 50s-era Irish town, the discovery that Instant Viewing could bring me an hour-long, adult drama evoking the same atmosphere was exhilarating. Ballykissangel, created and, for the first three seasons, largely written by Kieran Prendiville, quickly proved to be exactly the sort of show I was looking for. It drew me in to an extent that few shows have, and so it seems fitting that I should mark my next Epi-milestone with a review of its most pivotal season. This is number 2300, a number which calls to mind the 23rd Psalm, so appropriate for a show in which verdant fields spattered with sheep are ever in the background; a show steeped in Catholic traditions and focusing on the efforts of one very conscientious "shepherd"; a season in which the comfort this famous Biblical passage offers is often so sorely needed.

Although I made an effort to avoid spoilers, I made the mistake of looking over IMDb after I watched the first season; it's common practice for me as I check the names of characters and actors, but it's a dangerous proposition when one is partway through a television series and the cast list itself becomes a landmine of unwanted info about character arrivals and departures. I knew well ahead of time that one way or another, the central conflict of the series would be resolved by the end of the third season and my favorite character would be out of the picture. This left me to imagine all sorts of scenarios that might evolve over the course of 20 more episodes (eight in the second season, twelve in this third). I ran through many possibilities, but the season finale still caught me off-guard.

Ballykissangel begins with the arrival of Father Peter Clifford (Stephen Tompkinson), a Catholic priest from Manchester, England, in the tiny titular Irish village. We get to know all of the quirky residents through the eyes of this compassionate, self-effacing man of the cloth. He has a special gift for connecting with the common folk and assuaging the souls of the suffering, and he is quick to forgive others for their missteps. Going easy on himself is another matter, however, and from the day of his arrival in town, he fights against forbidden feelings that would undermine his vocation. Fiercely agnostic Assumpta Fitzgerald (Dirvla Kirwan), the kind but feisty owner of the locals' favorite watering hole, seems somewhat ill-suited for close friendship with anyone as devout as Peter, but there is an undeniable magnetism between them. As the mutual attraction increases, the viewer has to wonder what type of outcome for these two characters would constitute a happy ending.

My mom, always the romantic, was most invested in Peter and Assumpta's relationship. She was determined to see them wind up married, while I wasn't entirely keen on it, particularly if Assumpta's spiritual outlook remained unchanged. Though a season two conversation reveals that she does not consider herself an atheist, she seems almost incapable of discussing Catholicism without contempt. My primary concern was that Peter not lose his faith, a worry that seemed especially valid after this season's second episode, in which the hoopla over an apparently sweating statue inside St. John's, coupled with Assumpta's acidic critique of Christianity as a whole, causes the curate to question the validity of his beliefs.

Early on, I'd embraced Father Clifford as an inspiration, my favorite fictional clergyman since M*A*S*H's Father Mulcahy. Here was a man who had truly been called to a life of religious service, and he was such an exceptional priest, I despaired at the thought of him abandoning the ministry, though I thought a change in denomination could potentially serve as a suitable compromise. Neither of us wanted to see Ballykissangel turn into The Thorn Birds, with Peter remaining a priest while carrying on a long-term illicit affair with Assumpta. Ultimately, while certain turning points in the main plotline left each of us satisfied - and Tompkinson and Kirwan, who were engaged to each other for much of their run on the show, give electrifying performances in one another's presence - we both had conclusions in mind that we would have preferred to the one we received.

Season three contains twice as many episodes as the first, which allows more time to develop the characters who will presumably move into the spotlight in Peter and Assumpta's absence. Chief among there are newlyweds Niamh (Tina Kellegher) and Ambrose Egan (Peter Hanly), who are ecstatic to welcome an infant into their lives but soon find that parenthood can be an exhausting enterprise, particularly when an injured Ambrose is laid up and Assumpta leaves Niamh temporarily in charge of Fitzgerald's pub. Ambrose's mother Imelda (Doreen Keogh) becomes a prominent supporting character as the Egans are obliged to endure her meddlesome nature in exchange for the convenience of a live-in babysitter. Meanwhile, Niamh's father, Brian Quigley (Tony Doyle), finds himself in severe financial trouble after a much-anticipated business deal goes sour.

Among the rest of the townsfolk, Brian's luckless lackeys Liam and Donal (Joe Savino and Frankie McCafferty) continue to wreak havoc wherever they go; most of the catastrophes are unintentional, though in one instance they take their shenanigans a shade too far. They also have some moments of solemnity, as Brian's foul fortunes have a very direct effect upon them. Veterinarian Siobahn (Deirdre Donnelly), aspiring lawyer Padraig (Peter Caffrey), schoolteacher Brendan (Gary Whelan) and stern Father MacAnally (Niall Toibin) all receive life-altering news on the personal front, and each deals with the revelation in a unique and illuminating manner.

I found Father Mac's trajectory especially compelling; he becomes more human this season, and he also has the occasion to deliver a most excellent sermon that defies audience expectations. His most devoted parishioner, persnickety shopkeeper Kathleen (Aine Ni Mhuiri), becomes more sympathetic, if only momentarily, when a 50s-style dance and an unlikely suitor - the gentle farmer Eamon (Birdy Sweeney), whose deep affection for his livestock endears him to me even as his indistinct dialogue tempts me to reach for the "subtitles" button - transports her back to her girlhood. Assumpta's old flame Leo (James Nesbitt), a sophisticated journalist previously seen only once in season one, returns for several episodes in a surprising capacity.

As for Assumpta and Peter, both are missing for about a third of the season as Assumpta decides to get a taste of big city life in Dublin while Peter goes on a Father Mac-recommended retreat to deal with his conflicted feelings and later returns to Manchester for a family crisis. The good news is that while their absence is felt in those episodes, the other characters' stories are sufficiently interesting to make me think the show is probably still pretty good without its original stars. Nonetheless, part of the beauty of those episodes is the way they heighten the anticipation for the main duo's return. Without that as an anchor, will the fourth season be as engrossing?

Like so many television stars before them, Tompkinson and Kirwan evidently grew weary of their regular gig, necessitating that the series' most prominent storyline come to an end. Going back to the number 23, I'm reminded of LOST's Mr. Eko, a Catholic priest from Nigeria whose first centric episode was entitled The 23rd Psalm. After only a season, Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje wanted off the show, leading the writers to dispose of his character in a manner both shocking and, to many, distressing. I can't help but wonder in both cases whether the writers' initial intentions were completely different from what was necessitated by the actors' availability.

On the other hand, M*A*S*H is an example of a show that worked through dramatic character changes and actually became stronger for it; in my opinion, most of the best episodes in that series come when Potter, Winchester and Hunnicut have replaced Blake, Burns and Trapper. But how would the show have managed if Alan Alda had been the one who requested an exit? Could it have flourished after losing its central character? These are questions I consider as I contemplate delving into the fourth season, and I'm not sure I like the answers. I suspect the last three seasons will seem more like a sequel than a continuation; without my beloved Father Clifford on board to keep me riveted, I hope I won't feel inclined to kiss Ballykissangel goodbye.