In preparation for St. Patrick’s Day, I’ve been loading my Netflix queue up with Irish movies. The first to arrive was The Field,
Jim Sheridan’s film adaptation of a play I read in high school. It had
been a while, so while I remembered the premise, I didn’t recall all of
the events that transpired in this tragic tale or I might have shied
away. That would have been a shame, though, because I would have missed
some gorgeous cinematography and a towering performance by the late
Richard Harris.
Harris stars as Bull McCabe, an elderly farmer
who has spent his life nurturing a rocky field and coaxing green life
out of it. The land is now lush and fruitful, and the weakening Bull
wants assurance that his son will carry on the work that he began, so he
decides the time has come to persuade its long-widowed owner (Frances
Tomelty) to sell it to him.
He succeeds, but the plan
backfires; instead of selling directly to the man who has worked the
field so long he considers it his, she announces her intention to sell
it at public auction, and a wealthy, arrogant American (Tom Berenger)
shows up to buy it. What’s worse, he wants to cover it in concrete and
turn it into part of a highway system. Is there anything this old man
can do to protect the one thing in life he is most passionate about?
Irish farmers take their land very seriously, and Bull’s obsession with
the land is all the more intense because of the family history he
divulges in one of Harris’s most wrenching moments in the film. This is a
quiet movie with little music but plenty to feast the eyes on. Jack
Conroy’s capturing of the green rolling hills makes us feel the pain
along with Bull at the thought that it could soon be paved over.
The eyes linger over the verdant grass more than they otherwise might
because there are stretches of time with no dialogue at all. When Harris
does speak, however, he makes an impact, even though you might have to
pay extra close attention to catch everything he says with that soft
voice and thick brogue. His piercing eyes peer out of a face wreathed in
white hair, and when the dormant fire within them sparks into life,
it’s an intimidating spectacle.
While Harris is the focal
point here, other strong performances bolster his. Sean Bean is surly
and near-silent as Tadgh, Bull’s cowed son with a violent streak. With
few words, he emphatically demonstrates the depth of the gulf that lies
between father and son, as well as the tragic traits that tie them
together. As village idiot Bird O’Donnell, John Hurt adds some levity as
he disappears into a truly eccentric role, while Sean McGinley’s mostly
low-key performance as a stern parish priest deepens the eventual
outburst showing the conflict between the clergy and public opinion.
This is an unsettling film that compels us to sympathize with
characters while simultaneously disdaining them. Its exploration of the
conflict between a tight-knit community and encroaching modernity opens
an ethical can of worms as stubbornness and madness lead the key
characters in dismal directions. It’s not an uplifting film, to be sure,
and it’s a bit on the long side, its lagging pace seeming more
egregious as it becomes clearer that the conclusion will hardly be a
tranquil one. Nonetheless, this dark drama provides a fine example of
Harris’s dramatic heft and of the gorgeous land whose all but inevitable
loss drives him to the depths of insanity.
No comments:
Post a Comment