Out of Ireland have we come,
Great hatred, little room,
Maimed us at the start,
I carry from my mothers’ womb,
A fanatic heart.
– W.B. Yeats, ‘Remorse for Intemperate Speech’ in Collected Poems.
Though director James Marsh chooses not to take sides in his gripping, intelligent thriller Shadow Dancer, one can’t help but feel Yeats’ measured acceptance of the necessarily violent nature of the Irish struggle for independence in this tale of a young mother’s betrayal against the backdrop of The Troubles in the early 1990s.
Shadow Dancer opens in 1970s Belfast on young Collette McVeigh (Maira Laird) making the formative decision to send her brother Seán (Ben Smythe) in her stead to purchase cigarettes for their father. Soon after, Seán is fatally shot offscreen during an exchange between sectarian forces – the faroff shouts and pops of gunfire contrasted against the abrupt chaos of a bleeding Seán being rushed back inside the house are skilfully used to to establish a constant sense that underneath the film’s muted surface lurks a barely concealed violence waiting to erupt.
Leaping forward to 1993, Mr. Marsh capitalises on this early momentum with a gripping, wordless sequence following the fully adult and radicalised Collette (Andrea Riseborough) as she attempts to plant a bomb in a London tube station. Ultimately arrested by the authorities and dragged to a shrouded motel room to face MI5 agent Mac (Clive Owen), it is revealed Collette is the product of a famous Republican family, and she is warned that unless she becomes an informant she will be arrested and her young son taken into care. At first defiant, she eventually agrees to supply information on her two brothers, IRA soldiers Gerry (Aiden Gillen) and Connor (Domhnall Gleeson).
This crisp, economical opening masterfully sets the tone of a Belfast – and United Kingdom – divided. Indeed, schism is a recurring theme of the film – from the ruthless internal security of the IRA (a terrifying David Wilmot) constantly searching for traitors in his own ranks to the British intelligence agencies working against them, each of whom appears to have their own clandestine (and contradictory) agenda. “Relax,” Mac is instructed by the icy senior officer (Gillian Anderson) when he questions what’s going on behind closed doors – “We’re all in this together”. What exactly ‘this’ is – the pursuit of the ‘national interest’ or simply following the violence through to the bitter end – becomes less and less clear as the film spins a labyrinthine web of deception and confused allegiances.
Tom Bradby‘s script (adapted from his own 2001 novel) closely links the paramilitary operations of the IRA and the blood bonds of family, showing admirable patience as the extent of Collette’s divided loyalty is gradually revealed. With minimal dialogue, the film’s suspense is largely drawn from the powerhouse performance of Ms. Riseborough; cloaked in bright red against the muted palette of Belfast, her Collette is an enigma, revealing her innermost thoughts only at the last. Mr. Owen provides able support (and necessary star power), giving a complex (if at times overly morose) performance as Mac’s paternal feelings towards Collette compete with his duty to country. Ultimately, though, this is Ms. Riseborough’s film – save a few brief moments of action, including a brilliantly staged IRA funeral, the majority of the picture is a detailed, focused study of the competing demands of terrorism, family, country, and faith on one woman.
Mr. Marsh’s highly disciplined and effective direction is beautifully offset by an atmospheric score by Dickon Hinchchliffe, and with its fierce female performances, Shadow Dancer represents a hypnotic alternative to the bombast of the summer blockbuster season. It is rare to be reminded that not all terror comes from the Middle East or North Korea – rarer still to see such thoughtful, apolitical examination of its consequence.
Liked This? Try:
Higher Gossip 