I am generally drawn to all things Irish, so when I first heard of The Secret of Kells
during the build-up to the 2010 Academy Awards, I was intrigued. I
finally got around to seeing it the other night when I noticed that it
is available on Netflix Instant Viewing, and now I understand why it
received a nomination for Best Animated Film.
The Secret of Kells
was written by Tomm Moore and Fabrice Ziolkowski and directed by Moore
and Nora Twomey. The heavily stylized movie, which is only about 75
minutes in length, tells the story of the creation of the famed Book of
Kells, an ancient Irish illuminated manuscript of the Gospel
painstakingly transcribed by monks. I saw the book myself when I was in
Dublin, and it’s quite the masterwork. The film has fanciful elements
that feel very fitting for the realm of Irish legend, but it is rooted
in historical events.
The story takes place around the eighth
century AD, where young Brendan (Evan McGuire) lives peacefully in a
community of monks that includes his uncle. A red-headed scamp, he is
energetic and fascinated by tales of the Book of Iona, a magnificent
manuscript that his older friends insist makes their own transcribing
efforts pale in comparison. Even so, the monks believe that they are
engaged in sacred work in the Scriptorium, and it annoys them that their
abbot – Brendan’s uncle – is so insistent upon devoting most of the
abbey’s resources to building fortifications against the savage Norsemen
he fears will come calling before long. When famed Illuminator Brother
Aidan (Mick Lally) of Iona shows up with the legendary book in tow,
concentrating on the wall becomes even more difficult, especially for
Brendan.
While everyone in the Irish voice cast is a joy to listen to, the only actor I recognized was Brendan Gleeson,
who lends his distinctive voice to the role of austere Abbot Cellach.
Tall, soft-spoken and severe, he seems to have a scowl etched on his
face throughout most of the movie. Like Mad-Eye Moody, the eccentric
Auror Gleeson portrays in the Harry Potter films, Cellach comes across
as a bit paranoid, and it’s clear that the rest of his community
suspects that his fixation on the Vikings is unfounded. In part because
of my familiarity with Gleeson, whose performance is understated but
compelling, I found myself particularly interested in what happened with
Cellach.
I didn’t recognize Lally’s name or voice, but a look
at IMDb informs me that I have seen him before as well, most notably as
incomprehensible farmer Louis in the last season of the Irish dramedy Ballykissangel.
His character seems like he should be a very serious fellow, but the
elderly artisan is anything but. From the moment this monk who looks
like an animated version of Willie Nelson arrives at Kells in the
company of his inquisitive white cat Pangur Ban, who has one green eye
and one blue eye, he displays a self-effacing joie de vivre that makes
him even more appealing to Brendan.
Brendan really is the main
character in the movie. A sweet but restless lad who is tired of being
cooped up behind abbey walls, he apprentices himself to Aidan, defying
his uncle’s orders to venture out into the forest in search of berries
to be used for ink for the book. It is in the woods that he meets the
enchanting Aisling, a sprightly creature who appears in the forms of
both a silvery blond girl and a white wolf and claims that the forest
belongs to her.
With her musical voice and enigmatic nature, she
reminded me quite a bit of Evanna Lynch’s Luna, the delightful oddball
in the Harry Potter series. The voice belongs to young Christen Mooney,
who has only this film to her credit, and it is Aisling’s veiled face
that graces the cover art. She is also the only character who sings, and
her haunting lullaby is likely to ring in the ears for days afterward.
This gentle sprite who helps Brendan in his quest and befriends him is
representative of ancient Irish mythology, and in her relationship with
the young monk in training, we get a taste of the ways in which the two
very different worldviews have worked in tandem throughout much of
Ireland’s history.
The film’s animation style is striking. The flat look reminds me of retro cartoons such as Powerpuff Girls, while the film’s most heavily stylized segments make me think of Watership Down
and the ways in which legends and stories were depicted in that iconic
movie about rabbits attempting to escape the encroaching city and find a
new, safer home. One scene in that film is particularly traumatic, and
that’s true here as well. The movie makes very effective use of color.
It mostly sticks to browns, greens and whites, giving the abbey and
forest a refreshing, pristine look enhanced by Bruno Coulais' mystical
score, but the Vikings always are shown in a haze of black and red, and
their voices are terrifying and cyborg-like. The battle scenes involving
them are minimalistic, but this only seems to increase the horror.
Because
of these couple of very dark scenes, I’d encourage caution in showing
the movie to very young children, who might also have difficulty in
understanding some of the eloquent dialogue, especially Aisling’s
whispery words. On the other hand, this movie serves as an excellent,
enchanting introduction to a chapter of Irish history and a truly
wondrous artifact. I will never begrudge the masterful Up its Oscar win, but I’m glad that the Academy Awards helped to let this Secret out.
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