Ken Loach’s The Wind That Shakes the Barley is the story of the nascent Irish Republican Army and its struggle against British occupation in the early 1920s.
“If they bring their savagery over here, we will meet it with savagery of our own!” the group’s leader calls to his guerilla troops after a successful ambush of British forces on a remote country lane. He angrily declares that their actions will send a message “that will echo and reverberate throughout the world.”
Thus develops a seemingly endless cycle of escalating violence that does in fact reverberate throughout Ireland, Britain and eventually the world, and indeed finds echoes of late in America’s exploits in the Middle East. Loach and screenwriter Paul Laverty do an excellent job of capturing the essence of the conflict from multiple vantage points: from that of the die-hards, who believe in the nobility of the cause; from the contingent of pragmatists that eventually accepts a compromise with the British; and from the long view, in which the eye-for-an-eye violence and retribution becomes a weary demonstration of futility and human frailty. In this film nothing is black or white or good or evil; politics and motivations are all as gray as the fog-shrouded landscape.
The Wind That Shakes the Barley won the Palme d’Or at the Cannes Film Festival in 2006, as well as a number of other European awards, and it is not difficult to understand why. Almost everything about the film is well done; it is beautifully photographed, features strong performances by compelling actors, and it is directed and edited with competence and grace. Quiet scenes are handled with restraint, while the more dramatic and violent episodes are forceful without ever being excessively graphic or gratuitous.
However, the film has one significant flaw which threatens to undermine its artistry and impact. Loach and Laverty have unfortunately fallen prey to one of the more tedious and ham-fisted of devices: In order to amplify the already clear theme of brother pitted against brother, they have found it necessary to dramatize the conflict all too literally, with two familial brothers finding themselves divided over the issue of the compromise treaty.
It’s a bit insulting. Do we need the story reduced to melodrama in order to comprehend the enormity of it all? Did the filmmakers not trust the audience to grasp the tragedy of the conflict? Or was it merely a clumsy attempt to elevate the tale to Biblical proportions, with Cain rising up to slay Abel in service to the twin causes of acquiescence and moderation?
It’s a structural flaw, and thus it infects the entire production. But if you can get past that and accept the contrivance, Loach and Laverty and a talented cast manage to bring the story to life in spite of it.
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