Rated R for pervasive language, some violence, drug material and sexual content
Cast: Brendan Gleeson, Don Cheadle, Rory Keenan, Liam Cunningham, David Wilmot
Director: John Michael McDonagh
"I can't tell if you're really motherfuckin' dumb or really motherfuckin' smart," the straight-laced FBI agent says to the grizzled, eccentric Irish guard. Neither do we, although the fact that he takes it as a compliment says something about his character.
There are other things, too. Sergeant Gerry Boyle (Brendan Gleeson) has remained in the employment of the Garda Siochana in the sleepy province of Conemarra for too long. It's one of those western Ireland hideaways immune to the effects of political correctness. ("I thought only black fellas were drug-dealers," Boyle wonders aloud during a multi-agency briefing.) He is not above swiping narcotics from an accident scene involving reckless teens and is compelled to treat himself to prostitute-involved threesomes for his birthday. His only moments of quiet reflection come in the presence of his terminally-ill yet plucky mother (Fionnula Flanagan). Boyle is a seemingly venal enough character for a post like this, as the surrounding jurisdictions are rife with corruption. When a fastidious and principled African-American FBI agent named Wendell Everett (Don Cheadle) arrives in Conemarra in pursuit of three bumbling smugglers and Boyle's partner mysteriously vanishes without a trace, the guard finds himself drawn into the investigation.
This isn't a buddy comedy per se. Boyle and Everett don't really team up on the case; they're more like pinballs who ricochet off each other as they pursue their own answers. The story is crafted a bit like a Western, with east and west Ireland serving as the cinematic frontier, and Gleeson as the dispassionate lawman who finds redemption only after his hand has been forced.
The writer/director is John Michael McDonagh, whose older brother directed Gleeson in the stellar "In Bruges." The younger McDonagh shares his brother's penchant for sharp, off-beat dialogue that serves as the conduit to Boyle's politically incorrect viewpoints. Everett's race doesn't prevent the guard from asking things like "so, you grew up in the projects then?" and verbally pondering queries that include "I thought black men couldn't swim. Or is that ski?" Boyle's sharp tongue offers no quarter for the FBI ("I reckon they haven't had this much fun since they killed all 'em kids in Waco,") and especially for any inhabitants of the flaming pits of Dublin; he'd love nothing more than to ferry their bodies back down the Acheron--err, I mean, the Liffey River. Boyle can't be in a room with an easterner without a fistfight ultimately breaking out.
Gleeson and Cheadle share an unforced chemistry, playing two men unwilling to spare the other's self-respect. (After confessing that he didn't realize inhabitants of western Ireland spoke mostly Gaelic, Boyle smugly responds with "they didn't teach you that at Langley?" "No, they didn't teach me that at Langley..." Everett replies, then adds "Langley is the CIA. Not the FBI, you idiot." "Oh," says Boyle. "You didn't know they spoke Gaelic in western Ireland and I'm the idiot.") Both men are intelligent. Both are resourceful, and both are uncompromising in their demands for respect. They have no choice but to eventually take cognizance of one another's best traits.
The three vile but impolitic villains are drawn with just enough character gradation to make them distinguishable. They include Liam Cunningham as the designated ringleader for being slightly less bumbling than the others, Mark Strong as the silent type who would rather his gunfighting abilities do his talking for him, and David Wilmot as an intellectually-stunted oddball who can't quite decide if he's a psychopath or a sociopath. Adding texture to the casting mix are Laurence Kinlan as Conemarra's only employed photographer and Michael Og Lane as a precocious young lad forever perched atop his pink bicycle who houses an unbridled admiration toward to the self-willed lawman. And Fionnula Flanagan is a welcome presence as the movie's heart. (Yes, even a film like this can have soft spots.) As death nears, she tells her son "you never once gave me grief." Boyle takes her hand, says "you know that's not true." "Let's pretend that it is," she counters. Her understated delivery makes the scene more tender than you might expect.
"The Guard" is an engagingly trenchant cinematic yarn about a wayward lawman who finds redemption while never losing his self-defining turpitude. When one of the villains, trapped on a burning boat, hisses to the guard "I will not beg you to spare my life!" Boyle holsters his sidearm, smiles, says "all right then... I'm proud of you, lad." He turns and leaves the man to be burned alive. Although I'm sure he really was proud of him.
* * * out of * * * * stars
There are other things, too. Sergeant Gerry Boyle (Brendan Gleeson) has remained in the employment of the Garda Siochana in the sleepy province of Conemarra for too long. It's one of those western Ireland hideaways immune to the effects of political correctness. ("I thought only black fellas were drug-dealers," Boyle wonders aloud during a multi-agency briefing.) He is not above swiping narcotics from an accident scene involving reckless teens and is compelled to treat himself to prostitute-involved threesomes for his birthday. His only moments of quiet reflection come in the presence of his terminally-ill yet plucky mother (Fionnula Flanagan). Boyle is a seemingly venal enough character for a post like this, as the surrounding jurisdictions are rife with corruption. When a fastidious and principled African-American FBI agent named Wendell Everett (Don Cheadle) arrives in Conemarra in pursuit of three bumbling smugglers and Boyle's partner mysteriously vanishes without a trace, the guard finds himself drawn into the investigation.
This isn't a buddy comedy per se. Boyle and Everett don't really team up on the case; they're more like pinballs who ricochet off each other as they pursue their own answers. The story is crafted a bit like a Western, with east and west Ireland serving as the cinematic frontier, and Gleeson as the dispassionate lawman who finds redemption only after his hand has been forced.
The writer/director is John Michael McDonagh, whose older brother directed Gleeson in the stellar "In Bruges." The younger McDonagh shares his brother's penchant for sharp, off-beat dialogue that serves as the conduit to Boyle's politically incorrect viewpoints. Everett's race doesn't prevent the guard from asking things like "so, you grew up in the projects then?" and verbally pondering queries that include "I thought black men couldn't swim. Or is that ski?" Boyle's sharp tongue offers no quarter for the FBI ("I reckon they haven't had this much fun since they killed all 'em kids in Waco,") and especially for any inhabitants of the flaming pits of Dublin; he'd love nothing more than to ferry their bodies back down the Acheron--err, I mean, the Liffey River. Boyle can't be in a room with an easterner without a fistfight ultimately breaking out.
Gleeson and Cheadle share an unforced chemistry, playing two men unwilling to spare the other's self-respect. (After confessing that he didn't realize inhabitants of western Ireland spoke mostly Gaelic, Boyle smugly responds with "they didn't teach you that at Langley?" "No, they didn't teach me that at Langley..." Everett replies, then adds "Langley is the CIA. Not the FBI, you idiot." "Oh," says Boyle. "You didn't know they spoke Gaelic in western Ireland and I'm the idiot.") Both men are intelligent. Both are resourceful, and both are uncompromising in their demands for respect. They have no choice but to eventually take cognizance of one another's best traits.
The three vile but impolitic villains are drawn with just enough character gradation to make them distinguishable. They include Liam Cunningham as the designated ringleader for being slightly less bumbling than the others, Mark Strong as the silent type who would rather his gunfighting abilities do his talking for him, and David Wilmot as an intellectually-stunted oddball who can't quite decide if he's a psychopath or a sociopath. Adding texture to the casting mix are Laurence Kinlan as Conemarra's only employed photographer and Michael Og Lane as a precocious young lad forever perched atop his pink bicycle who houses an unbridled admiration toward to the self-willed lawman. And Fionnula Flanagan is a welcome presence as the movie's heart. (Yes, even a film like this can have soft spots.) As death nears, she tells her son "you never once gave me grief." Boyle takes her hand, says "you know that's not true." "Let's pretend that it is," she counters. Her understated delivery makes the scene more tender than you might expect.
"The Guard" is an engagingly trenchant cinematic yarn about a wayward lawman who finds redemption while never losing his self-defining turpitude. When one of the villains, trapped on a burning boat, hisses to the guard "I will not beg you to spare my life!" Boyle holsters his sidearm, smiles, says "all right then... I'm proud of you, lad." He turns and leaves the man to be burned alive. Although I'm sure he really was proud of him.
* * * out of * * * * stars
