Banshees of Inisherin is what you get when you stop saying the little lies that act as both lubricant and glue. It is the latest from a genre that says on one hand, come to Ireland for its greeny fields, hand knit sweaters, handsome witty men and women, casual day drinking, while complaining in beautiful cinematography or literate prose, that Ireland is claustrophobic, toxic, depressing, violent, and gossipy, full of people you can’t get away from because you’re on a small island.
Which is to say Ireland is a metaphor for the whole fecking world.