It seems every successful filmmaker eventually reaches a point where they decide to tell their own story. Some get it out of the way early, like Francois Truffault, Martin Scorsese, George Lucas, Greta Gerwig and Lee Isaac Chung. Others wait until the autumn of their careers to tackle such personal material, like Pedro Almodovar, Joanna Hogg, Terrence Malick, and of course, Fellini. Even Spielberg is now doing it, a movie largely based in his own childhood is due to come out next year. And Kenneth Branagh has added his name to that list with Belfast, an unadulterated love letter to the city of his childhood before the Troubles forced his family to relocate to England.
And when I refer to it as his own story, I really mean it. Belfast is about as autobiographical as a film like this can get without actually using the names of Branagh’s family. It’s the story of a boy living in a very specific neighbourhood of Belfast that becomes a centre of the August 1969 riots, where Protestant militias tried to forcefully evict Catholics from the block and cause general mayhem. This is portrayed early in the film in the stark suddenness of a world being turned on its’ head -the tranquility of young Buddy’s (Jude Hill) life forever disrupted. It’s not done with much grace, but it does impart that theme of danger at a moments’ notice that will permeate the film as Buddy goes about his day-to-day life and his family contemplate drastic new changes.
Branagh’s clearest model, among all those others he is treading in the footsteps of, is Alfonso Cuarón’s Roma, from which he borrows its’ black and white photography, its’ title simply derived from the name of the central place, and even some of its’ aesthetics: tangible most in the marketing and posters: a bright gold title over a colourless image. Cuarón’s film of course is not so much about himself as the housekeeper who raised him, but it similarly deals in the experience of living in a major city through a time of violent strife. And while Branagh’s film is undoubtedly inferior it does incorporate that in a fascinating way. Though the initial attack is as chaotic and disorienting as you might expect (the pan around Hill’s head going on a bit too long), the depiction of life afterwards is where Branagh leaves a greater impact.
A barricade is erected at the end of the block and an officer placed there to check people in and out of neighbourhood –imagery that feels very close to our reality of COVI-19 hazards and proof of vaccination mandates. Initially, it’s a bit heated, Buddy’s Pa (Jamie Dornan), who periodically works abroad in England, has trouble getting through due to suspicion of being affiliated with the attackers –but eventually it becomes normalized that Buddy has to pass through it on his way to school, exchanging greetings with the now familiar security officer. Gradually, playing in the streets starts to happen less, the preacher at Buddy’s church begins spewing rhetoric, and it all becomes a mere fact of life that violence could erupt at any time.
And I think it was the right move from Branagh in light of this not to make the film dour. Much of the story still concerns ordinary childhood staples: a crush on a girl in class, opening hot new toys on Christmas, going on family outings to the movies –these and a theatre production of A Christmas Carol (in which the late John Sessions makes a final film appearance) being the only moments of colour in the film (charming, if less inspired than in The French Dispatch). Even the choice of Buddy’s parents to move away and the emotional ramifications of that don’t feel as motivated by the strife as just the facts of life for the financially struggling working class family.
Of course there is an adverse effect of this in that it risks diminishing the conflict the film is set against, something that is already painted broadly due to the point-of-view character being a child. A few news reports throughout allude to the trouble in the city but the politics of the situation isn’t often addressed. The sectarian loyalists are represented almost entirely in the avatar of a thuggish neighbour played by Colin Morgan, continuously pressuring and threatening Pa into joining the fight against the Catholics. On some level the film is guilty of simplifying things into being a war of religious denominations. There are also some choices that Branagh makes that subvert moments of drama or intensity for the sake of basking in his own nostalgia. The movie is filled with needle-drops, too much so, and while some are nicely appropriate to a beat or theme, others are just there because its’ the 60s and they likely have some personal connection to Branagh. There’s also the way he uses television, which again is coated with nostalgia –Buddy’s brother Will (Lewis McAskie) watching Star Trek on their small sitting room TV while Ma (CaitrÃona Balfe) and Granny (Judi Dench) converse a few feet away. Often, TV acts as a thematic mirror: a scene from The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance of Jimmy Stewart breaking up a fight between John Wayne and Lee Marvin plays out as tensions heat up in Belfast. Two scenes from High Noon are shown, one between Gary Cooper and Grace Kelly that echoes Buddy’s parents; another of Cooper marching to his stand-off. This latter one is openly referenced in a climactic confrontation between Pa and Morgan’s character, right down to the music, and it just about kills all investment in the moment –one not helped by the already silly manner in which it is resolved.
At any time, choices like these and even a staleness to Branagh’s script threaten the films’ effectiveness and integrity. They certainly lessen both those things, but Belfast retains a particular charm nonetheless. It’s a well acted movie -Balfe and Dornan give a couple strong performances, the former especially inhabiting that unique anxiety of being afraid in your own home but deeply rooted to it all the same. Dench, on her fourth consecutive film with Branagh, is excellent as ever, while Ciarán Hinds proves enormously likable as her husband. And Hill himself is cute and precocious enough, though Lara McDonnell as his peer-pressuring older cousin may be more worth keeping an eye on.
There is an ardent heart to Belfast that I’m sure attributed to its’ success at places like TIFF. It’s so personal and earnest and Branagh has been doing this long enough that he can impart that successfully on some level, especially where he leans towards sentiment. Kenneth Branagh is an extremely inconsistent director –Belfast follows perhaps the worst movie of his career, Artemis Fowl, which in turn followed one of his most quietly exceptional, All is True. This film sits between those two, but leans more towards the better end of his filmography outside of Shakespeare adaptations. Like All is True, the reflective, poignant nature of it seems telling. In all, I don’t know that I would call it more than a modestly good if bittersweet recreation of a no-doubt tantamount experience, but I’m glad Branagh made it.
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