Silent Characters in The Field and Into the West
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As it is with any country, it is difficult to conjure up a single or unified view of Ireland. On the one hand, for example, you have the idyllic, poster-card version of Ireland with its thatched houses, rolling green hills, and quaint pubs. And then, on the other, you may have the version informed by colonialism, resistance, and civil war. In this version, there are bombs exploding in cars and stores, periods of peace and negotiation followed by periods of war, and acts of heroism and atrocity committed on all sides. Reality, of course, is a messy affair, and so the truth is large enough to encompass both the rolling hills of Western Ireland as well as the car bomb exploding in front of a Belfast police station. It seems, moreover, that reality is a very large affair, and so understanding often involves one of emphasis and negation — that is, we can only emphasize a certain number of views or perceptions in a moment of time and we must, of necessity, leave out a great number of other views and perceptions. This problem with identity makes it difficult to achieve a single view of Ireland. Werner Sollors plays with this idea in her introductory remarks in "Ethnicity":
It makes no sense to define "ethnicity-as-such," since it refers not to a thing-in-itself but to a relationship: ethnicity is typically based on a contrast. If all human beings belonged to one and the same ethnic group we would not need
such terms as "ethnicity," though we might then stress other ways of differentiating ourselves such as age, sex,
class, place of birth, or sign of the zodiac. Ethnic, racial, or national identifications rest on antitheses, on
negativity, or on what the ethnopsychoanalyst George Devereux has termed their "dissociative" character. (Sollors
288)
If one looks at the variety of Irish-Themed films one gets a very good idea of this emphasis and negation and the multi-faceted and many-layered reality that is the Irish experience. Jim Sheridan's The Field, for example, sets its gaze on issues of land, ownership, and filial responsibility in Western Ireland. Mike Newell's Into the West, on the other hand, focuses on the two worlds of the "settled community" and the Travellers' community and one man's torn allegiances between the two. In both of these films meaning is often created by the inclusion of characters that are generally silent or the inclusion of certain scenes where a character is generally silent. The lack of dialogue creates meaning in terms of the specific plot at hand, but it also prompts us to move outside the confines of the movie and offers us an insight or understanding about the Irish nation or Irish people within the larger context of Ireland's history.
In the opening scenes of Sheridan's The Field (1990), Bull McCabe helps his son Tadgh put a basket of seaweed on Tadgh's back. The scene sets up the relationship between the father and son quite nicely in that it is the father who needs to help his son with this particular act of labor rather than the youthful son helping the older father. The next scene shows the two men walking and we never see Bull put his basket on his back, although we assume he did it himself without any help from his son. This scene frames each man: Bull is the dominant father who is sure of himself and used to using his hands, and Tadgh is the weak son who finds it difficult to even hoist a basket of seaweed over his shoulder. The relationship and character of both men is further fleshed out as they begin to walk home. Tadgh is awkward, following his father, and stumbling on the uneven terrain, all of which suggests that Tadgh is not "at home" and that he is out of his element. In other words, it is clear that his father's way of life is most definitely not his way of life and this fact is brought out in a somewhat comical fashion as the son tries to keep up with his father, tripping over himself while his father walks firmly and steadily, often calmly admiring the open countryside. For Tadgh, the ordeal is exhausting. At one point, he is breathing heavy and sits down against a wall.
The conflict of the story is introduced when Bull learns that the widow intends to auction off the field. Bull is outraged that the field may end up in someone else's hands and he storms into Flanagan's Pub with his son to confront Flanagan and to confirm the story he has heard from Bird, the village simpleton and gossiper. The framing is important in this scene as it foregrounds Bull and places Tadgh in the background. This particular frame construction will repeat itself in much of the movie, echoing the opening scenes where Tadgh is following his father and is clearly uncomfortable. In the pub it is Bull who does all the talking while Tadgh simply looks on in silence; he does not say a word in defense or in opposition to his father. It is obvious that the field means a great deal to Bull, and so Tadgh's silence is telling. The fact that he walks into the pub with his father does not suggest that he is in agreement with his father and supports him, but rather that he is simply following his domineering father much like a puppy would follow its owner. Again, this interpretation is reinforced by the opening scenes that likewise show Tadgh in a subordinate position. An alternate scene might involve Tadgh rallying support for his father and vocally condemning the widow or the outsiders that may be bidding on the field. His silence reinforces the notion that he is opposed to or apathetic to his father's position. His silence, however, also makes it impossible to tell what he thinks at this point. After Bull's stirring and contentious remarks, for example, Bird gets excited and starts waving his hands in the air in anticipation for a good showdown. Tadgh is next to Bird and seems to like the energy being displayed by Bird. He seems to get a bit excited himself and he smiles at Bird. The effect is to make Tadgh appear, like Bird, dull-witted or of limited intelligence, interested not in the field in any way but rather the excitement of the confrontation which Bull is about to embark on.
Likewise, when the Tinkers confront Bull about their donkey, Tadgh says nothing; it is Bull who does all of the talking and Tadgh is shown as a minor figure in the background while Bull is shot with a low angle ascending his horse-drawn cart, reinforcing his powerful status in the community. Later, Bull speaks to Tadgh about the donkey and it is here we learn that it was Tadgh who killed the donkey: "What you did to that donkey was wrong. Never harm an animal. Never." Even here, however, Tadgh is silent. There is no engagement with his father about what he did that would indicate what he thinks of the incident. Previous incidents in the film suggest two different trajectories. This first trajectory is to view Tadgh's silence as obedient submission to his overbearing and dominant father. The second trajectory, however, is to view this silence as a quiet subversion of his father's will, characteristic of a little boy who knows he has done wrong and fully intends to do it again, but sits quietly as his father reprimands him. It is interesting, for example, to read Tadgh's character at this point as someone who is immature and simply likes to engage in sophomoric activities. In the pub, for example, he laughs with Bird as his father finishes his stirring remarks. Earlier in the film, moreover, Bird and Tadgh harass the widow by blocking her chimney which forces her outside, at which point they make howling sounds with their voices. At various points in the movie Tadgh does not verbalize what he is thinking in order to explain or justify his position. We wonder if he even has an opinion or if he is unable to formulate or decide on one. At times he acts sheepishly when he does something wrong in his father's eyes and simply runs away. Later on in the movie, for example, Tadgh will run away from the dance floor when it becomes apparent that he has possibly hurt the woman he was dancing with. When his father confronts him about terrorizing the widow, again he says nothing and runs away. Roger Ebert, in his unfavorable review of The Field, goes so far as to claim that Tadgh is mentally retarded: "The time is the 1920s, but it could be the 1820s for all that life has changed in this soggy and overcast backwater, where the miserable McCabe and his retarded son, Tad, haul wicker baskets full of seaweed…" (Ebert 1991).
At any rate, the point at which we begin to see Tadgh in a more complicated way is on the anniversary of his brother's death. Here we have a close-up of his face and it is clear that his brother's suicide is a source of anguish for him. In the close-up we see a Tadgh that is deeply affected and reflective. The scene ends with Bird asking Tadgh, "What made Sheamie do it?" Tadgh does not respond but his silence works differently now. It is clear from Tadgh's countenance and silence that he has thought a lot about his brother's suicide and, therefore, his silence in response to Bird's question is indicative not of submission or immaturity here, but of pain and mental anguish; his brother's suicide is the source of much of Tadgh's silence and his character is very much framed within the context of his brother's suicide.
At the wake Tadgh is about to dance with the Tinker's daughter and the camera focuses on his facial expression once and then again as he is about to speak up and say that he wishes to dance with her. His father, however, assumes control at this very point and it is he who begins to dance with her. It seems as though Tadgh is very much taken with the fiery independence, spunk, spirit, and insolence of the Tinker's daughter. We are invited to speculate that she represents an alternative outlook on life that is attractive to Tadgh, especially given the somewhat limited and confined existence he seems to inhabit under his father.
After the wake the film turns its attention to the auction. It is as the auction that Tadgh speaks his mind for the first time in the movie when, after his father bids seventy pounds, Tadgh informs him quite emphatically and almost angrily that they do not have seventy pounds to bid. This is the first time in the movie where we actually hear Tadgh speaking from a position of authority or conviction or interest. In other words, this is the first time in the movie when we hear in Tadgh's voice that he actually gives a damn about something. Why it is that Sheridan decided to have Tadgh give a damn about the fact that his father did not have seventy pounds to bid escapes me. It seems to me that Tadgh's conviction would have been better placed on something more substantive given the general silence and apathy he has displayed so far in the movie. This particular auction scene, however, does occur after Tadgh's encounter with the Tinker's daughter. It is possible to make the case that Tadgh's newfound interest in family matters is prompted by the strong emotions that are rattling inside of him resulting from his encounter with the Tinker's daughter.
In a subsequent scene we find the Tinker's daughter talking to Tadgh outside of his home. She mentions the American but Tadgh does not say anything. When she asks him "Are ya still following your father like a calf," Tadgh angrily waves a piece of wood in the air and tells her "I'll use this across your back." In the next scene Tadgh and his father are in Flanagan's Pub and his father has just put down 100 pounds thinking it will secure the field for him which, of course, it will not. Tadgh then turns to his father and says, "Let me fix the Yank. With a stick." This reference to the stick, juxtaposed with the previous scene where Tadgh informs the Tinker's daughter that he will use a stick across her back, highlights the notion that Tadgh is more comfortable with resolving conflict through violence rather than words. More significantly, however, Tadgh's silence, in combination with his propensity toward violence, indicate something is troubling and disturbing him. His inability to talk about it presents itself or channels its way through violence. To understand the source of this agitation we need to go back to the point in the movie where Tadgh's countenance suggested the greatest degree of seriousness and reflection, and this is the anniversary of his brother's death by suicide.
Tadgh broaches the subject of his deceased brother while he is walking with his father to meet the American: "Why don't you and ma talk." He goes on to ask what age he was when Sheamie died. It is here that Tadgh begins the process of confronting his family's past and attempting to understand it by the process of communicating verbally as opposed to internalizing it and keeping silent. These questions he asks of his father represent the most he has spoken throughout the movie; he is actually carrying on a conversation. Music starts and gives the scene a dreamlike, reflective, and serious mood. The conversation, however, is relatively short and one-sided. It is clear that Bull does not want to give more than cursory and somewhat evasive answers to his son's questions. What is significant, however, are the questions and not necessarily the answers his father gives. The nature of the questions combined with the sentimental music convey the fact that Tadgh is more than a sophomoric dullard and, at his core, he is a pained young man trying to understand his place in the family and society at large and within the controlling memory of his brother's suicide.
The movie does not give easy answers, however, and Tadgh remains, ultimately, an enigmatic and complex figure throughout the movie who seems to progress forward in terms of maturity but then regress at times as well. Toward the end of the movie, for example, when Bull and Tadgh meet the American in order for Tadgh to rough him up, Tadgh is a somewhat reluctant participant, and Bull has to urge his son to begin fighting. Earlier, however, it is Tadgh who eagerly suggests to his father, "Let me fix the Yank. With a stick." This shift in Tadgh's character suggests he is moving away from violence in response to the inner turmoil he is experiencing. At the same time, however, he lies to the Tinker woman by claiming that he killed the American. When the Tinker woman asks if he would kill again, he responds by telling her that he would kill her father if her father beat her again. So, he seems to be enjoying and playing up this Clint Eastwood-type persona. At the same time, he is willing to stand up to his father as evidenced by his pursuit of the Tinker woman. The way he speaks to her, and the fact he told her about the murder at all, indicate that he is proud to tell her that he killed someone. In this sense, his character reverts back to the childish immaturity he exhibited when, for example, he climbed up on the widow's roof and blocked her chimney. And then, in the scene where he fights the American, Tadgh seems again unable to break free from his father's dominance. After the American tells them they are breaking the law, Bull looks at his large walking cane and announces to the American that his cane is the law. Bull laughs when he says this and Tadgh laughs only after he hears his father laughing, reinforcing the idea that Tadgh is not yet his own man capable of laughing or not laughing as he feels appropriate but rather that he must wait for his father to give him permission to laugh or to "instruct" him to laugh. Finally, and to complicate matters more, Bull at this point in the movie has murdered the American and lost all touch with reality. In a pathetic yet comical scene, he insists the American is not dead and holds him up as if they were hugging each other in a friendly embrace. Tadgh now seems to be the one in control and he screams to his father that the American is dead and that "The sun is coming up. We'll have to hide him." The frame, moreover, contains Tadgh without his father, emphasizing Tadgh's growing independence from his father and his ability to break free from his silence and to use his words to control his environment. And, in fact, Tadgh now takes a more prominent role in the story as indicated, in part, from the framing. In a subsequent scene after the murder of the American, Tadgh is eating at home and it is Tadgh's body, without his father's, that takes up the entire frame.
The character of Tadgh, then, has clearly changed by this point and the climactic scene occurs when Tadgh, in front of the Tinker woman and his parents, informs his father that if he continues to call the Tinker woman a whore he will kill him. The conversation then turns to the field and this is where Tadgh asserts his independence from the family and the land by claiming loudly and vehemently that he never cared about the land. Tadgh then proceeds to make his way out of the house. His father stops him and asks, in a soft and humble voice, not to go. Tadgh responds by saying, "What do you want me to do? Stay here and hang meself like me brother Sheamie?" Bull is clearly crushed by this and stares fixedly into space, unable to say anything. In a particularly poignant and revealing scene, Tadgh, without any physical contact, simply says goodbye to his mother and father and walks out.
Another character in the movie, more silent than even Tadgh, is Tadgh's mom, Maggie. Tadgh is a relatively silent but nonetheless dynamic and engaging character. Tadgh's mother appears less frequently in the film than Tadgh and so plays a lesser role to a large degree. Through key scenes as well as key conversations between Bull and Tadgh, we get the impression that she has not spoken since the death of her son Sheamie. There is one scene, for example, where the McCabe family is eating and no one is speaking. The camera establishes Maggie looking at a photo on the wall and then cuts to a close-up of the photo which depicts her and her two sons. This scene establishes the grief that the loss of Sheamie has on her and also, by the very silence of the meal, puts in relief the suggestion that Sheamie's suicide is the source of her desire not to speak. Ruth Barton suggests that the source of Maggie's silence is her son's suicide as well when she writes that "the cottage [is] home to a family tainted by suicide, where husband and wife no longer speak to each other" (Barton 75). Michael Gillespie, however, reads a bit further into the source of her silence when he writes that Bull "lives in chilly silence with his wife, Maggie(Brenda Fricker), who blames Bull for the suicide of their older son, Sheamie, years ago" (Gillespie 125). Gillespie, however, does not offer direct evidence for his contention that Maggie blames Bull for Sheamie's death. At any rate, it is clear that Sheamie's suicide has affected this family greatly and it is that one event and its aftermath which envelops and informs their lives, contributing greatly to the silence that consumes them.
When Maggie finally does speak, it is to tell Bull "Don't Break." If we were under the impression that Maggie is a neutral and not overbearing presence in Tadgh's life, we are quickly set straight with what she says next. While Bull is recovering from the shock of hearing her speak, she informs him that he can not break since Tadgh is not ready to look after the field yet, and Bull needs to hang on so that he can teach Tadgh how to look after it. It is now obvious that, like Bull, she is set on keeping the field in the family, and it is in this scene that we learn that Sheamie most likely killed himself in response to the guilt he felt of knowing that he would inherit the field and that his younger brother Sheamie would have to emigrate as a result. In a particularly disturbing line, she further tells Bull that Sheamie will have died for nothing if he breaks, effectively implicating her as well as Bull in the pressure and mental anguish suffered by Tadgh.
On one level, The Field is very much about the pressures put on succeeding generations to perform certain rituals or take up certain traditions or responsibilities, especially during a period of significant social, cultural, and political upheaval when these traditions or responsibilities are in flux or in danger of becoming irrelevant. It is this "burden of the past" which prompts Sheamie to commit suicide and confines Tadgh, through much of the movie, to struggle with his dual desires of yearning to break free from tradition, or obediently obey his overbearing parents. In this respect, his silence signifies a paralysis whereby he puts off endorsing either side. Bull McCabe represents this burden of the past and the movie is very much about the ill-effects such a burden can have. The movie does not end well; The American dies, Bull loses Tadgh and, in effect, the field, which sends him off into a crazed rage, and Tadgh, in an effort to save the cattle his father is driving over the cliff, gets trampled and killed.
The construction of Tadgh as a silent character serves to emphasize the fact that the movie is not solely about the burden of the past but also of the "burden of the future," if you will, and the uncertainty, confusion, and paralysis it can cause, all of which seems to be happening in Tadgh's psyche and presenting chiefly as silence and occasional outbursts of anger and violence. In this respect the movie is sheds light on the great political and cultural upheavals that occurred in Ireland in the 19th century — including the Great Hunger in which a million died and millions more emigrated, war with Britain, the 1921 treaty, and finally the civil war. It is this period after the civil war that Richard Killeen refers to as "The Big Sleep" in which "the Irish Free State got down to business" (Killeen 95). This is a period of relative quiet lasting until the 1960s and the onset of the Troubles. It is interesting to note that The Field takes place during the 1930s, within the time frame of "The Big Sleep" in Ireland's history. Far from being a sleep, however, as the Troubles attest to, it was a period of great inner turmoil in which the country at large was trying to process how its history was playing out and where the country was going. It is here we see most clearly how Tadgh's silence and condition reflects Ireland's quiet of The Big Sleep in which the country was very much struggling for its identity in the face of innumerable competing ideologies, traditions, and political organizations. Like Tadgh, the country at large was questioning where it came from and what its responsibilities to the past were and at the same time looking ahead to what could be and tallying up the costs of any course of action. The figure of Bull represents the Ireland of the past that modernity is transforming. In his essay "Nation and Narration: Rewriting The Field," Dermot Cavanagh notes that "These struggles of visual and narrative design in Sheridan's version of The Field are also expressive of an insistent concept of nationhood. The film reshapes Bull's identity to make his experience symbolic of collective dilemmas and national struggles" (Cavanagh 96). Similar to the effect on Tadgh, the weight of these "dilemmas and struggles" had a deceptively calming effect on the country that hid a tempestuous underbelly.
In this vein, lastly, it is interesting to note how The Field is interspersed with shots of the community where no one ever speaks; they are simply bystanders or viewers and, like the early Tadgh, don't seem ever to have an opinion. When Father Chris Doran delivers his speech none of the parishioners speak out for or against what he has just said. They simply do nothing. Likewise, when Bull enters Flanagan's Pub to confirm the news that the widow will be auctioning the field, the patrons simply hear him out and say nothing. It is not enough simply to say that the parishioners and the citizens are quiet out of deference to the priest and their fear of Bull. Moving outside the confines of the movie, we must say that characters such as Bull and Father Doran represent the larger cultural, religious, and political forces at play.
Mike Newell's Into the West (1992) also offers us a relatively quiet character in the name of Papa Reilly. The film immediately sets up the juxtaposition of two worlds — the world of the Travellers and the world of the "settled people," which in this case refers to the people living in the high-rise slums of Dublin. Put another way, the film "vindicate[s] the authentic experience of the west at the expense of the alienating character of the city" (McLoone 20). Both scenarios point to the negative and unauthentic experience of Dublin city life. Papa Reilly is a former Traveller now living in one of these high-rise slums and we encounter him conversing with his father, who is a Traveller. Papa Reilly tries to settle the white horse that has followed the grandfather from the ocean but he is unable to do so. The grandfather watches his son attempting in vain to settle the horse and looks at his son and asks rhetorically, "Lost your gift, eh, Papa?" The low-angle camera shot of Papa looking down at his son from his carriage as he says this suggests a superiority of the Travellers' way of life as opposed to the settled way of life, and this suggestion is further emphasized by the apparent fact that Papa has lost a skill he once had while he was a Traveller. Thus, the ideas of loss and identity are very central to this story.
Papa Reilly's son Ossie, on the other hand, appears to have the "gift" and is able to settle the horse. In a comic turn of events, the horse and Ossie become inseparable and the horse, whose name is Tir Nan Og, winds up living in the apartment with Papa Reilly and his two sons, Ossie and Tito. Eventually the Department of Health comes to take Tir Nan Og away but Papa Reilly is unable to leave his bed and seems paralyzed and unable to do anything. Ossie pleads with his father to stop the Department of Health from taking the horse away from them but Papa Reilly does not say anything to Ossie or to the Department of Health. His facial expression, however, indicates that he is deeply troubled by what is going on and suggests that he wants to help but, for some reason, can not or will not. On a practical level, it may be that Papa Reilly knew that it was only a matter of time before the horse would have to go. In this sense, his silence indicates the fact that he knows the horse can not stay with them. But Papa Reilly is more than silent; his facial expressions indicate pain, frustration. His silence illustrates his dismay that Ossie is going to lose Tir Nan Og, but the pained countenance he exhibits combined with the gloomy mise-en-scène suggest the grave concern he has of bringing his children up in an impersonal high-rise Dublin slum that is so far removed from the Traveller community he once cherished.
An interesting contrast to this silence is the verbosity of Ossie, whom we find constantly talking and asking questions. At one point in the movie, for example, he is telling Tir Nan Og the story of how the Tinkers got their name. Later on, he recounts to Tir Nan Og the events of the day in which he and Tito skipped school, how he said a prayer and then saw Tir Nan Og on TV, and how the police are now after them. Finally, Ossie asks Tir Nan Og what he thinks they should do now, as if Tir Nan Og would suddenly start talking and offer his opinion. Ossie, moreover, often asks his brother Tito questions about their mother, who died giving birth to Ossie. Tito answers them to a point. It is clear that he is uncomfortable talking about their mother, and it is safe to assume that he wants to shield Ossie from much of what he knows. Ossie is a lovable, kind, and endearing character, suggesting the healthy benefits of communication and opposed to the detrimental effects of silence that we witness in Papa Reilly.
It seems clear that Papa Reilly's wife died giving birth to Ossie, but it is not clear if this could have been avoided somehow. When Papa Reilly is released from being questioned by the police, it is clear that he is under a lot of stress and he confronts his father. He claims his father is filling his sons with stupid stories.(The reference is to the several days prior when the grandfather was telling a group of children, including the boys, a story involving a horse and a man that would not grow old unless the person got off of the horse. Eventually the man gets off the horse, at which point he quickly grows old.) Papa Reilly angrily announces to his father, "Bloody stupid superstitious stories. That's what killed your daughter. That's what killed Mary." It is not made clear, however, exactly why Papa Reilly believes that his father's stories caused Mary's death.
The next scene depicts Papa Reilly commencing his journey to find his sons. He begins his quest by going to the Travellers' community in an attempt to elicit the aid of a "tracker." It is clear that Papa Reilly misses his wife and the Travellers' community in general and this accounts for much of the silence and troubled countenance that his character presents with. His reception in his old residence is mixed, however. It is obvious that some members of the community resent him deeply for leaving while others welcome his warmly. It is during his visit to the Travellers' site that we are shown an especially romanticized version of their lifestyle. People are dancing, talking, smiling, laughing, and a bonfire is blazing. The mise-en-scène captivates, intoxicates, and suggests an idyllic lifestyle characteristic of an indefinite vacation or even road trip with your best friends. Maeve Connolly also argues that the Traveller figure in Irish and international cinema "provides a conduit to the recovery of the past, a recovery coded as therapeutic. My analysis highlights a recurrent romantic investment in the spiritual, familial, and communal values that these white others are thought to possess — values that are no longer located in post-Celtic Ireland" (Connolly 311).
Her comments are well-taken and the fact that Papa Reilly feels he must go to the Travellers to obtain the help of a tracker confirm Connolly's contention that the figure of the Traveller is coded as therapeutic. Thus, the film explores the tension and dichotomy between the Travellers and the settled people and, by contrasting elements such as Papa Reilly's continued quiet brooding and the high-rise slums with the jovial camp atmosphere of the Travellers and the secret knowledge or powers of the trackers, it makes clear that the Travellers' lifestyle is superior and to be preferred. By casting Papa Reilly as a hard-drinking, self-loathing, silent presence who once was a Traveller, the film suggests that removal from the Traveller community leads to spiritual degradation and solitude; going back to the Travellers will be, to use Connolly's term, therapeutic for Papa Reilly. Ultimately, then, Into the West is about the Traveller community and offers an attractive and romanticized view of it. The relative silence of Papa Reilly reinforces the idea and attractiveness of it, since it illustrates his longing to be back with the Travellers. It is his wife's death(the circumstances of her death remain unclear throughout the movie) that serves as the catalyst for his entering the settled community and his subsequent deterioration among the settled people in the high-rise slums of Dublin.
However unpleasant and irresponsible his character may be, it is clear that Papa Reilly loves and wants what is best for his children. When the Social Welfare Office comes to the apartment and tells him his sons have not been in school, he responds by removing the TV so they can concentrate on their reading, which they do, along with the help of Papa Reilly. His general lack of communication with them, however, does set up a barrier between them. Ossie, for example, never inquires about his mother to him — it is always Tito that he asks. Further, when the boys have gone into the West Ossie asks Tito what he thinks their father is doing about now and Tito responds by saying that he is probably drinking. Ossie agrees with a simple "Yeah." This scene, however, is juxtaposed with the very next scene in which we see that the father is not drinking but actually in the Traveller community where he has gone to get aid in looking for them.
In one of the more sincere moments in the film, Papa Reilly asks Kathleen, "Why do you keep traveling Kathleen?" The question, given Papa Reilly's circumstances, is also intended for him. That is, the question is also, "Why am I not traveling?" and further emphasizes the fact that he is troubled and unsure of what he should do. Kathleen's response is "Out there you're alone. You're part of nothing." Interjecting some levity in the scene, at the moment Kathleen responds, Barreller(the other tracker) rolls over in his sleep and snuggles up to Papa Reilly. Kathleen and Papa Reilly look at each other and smile, and Kathleen tells Papa Reilly that it is good to see him smile. And, indeed, it is for the viewer as well, who has patiently endured his gloomy presence for much of the film. Kathleen's response does resonate with him, however, and the viewer is prompted to imagine again the impersonal high-rise tenements, each with its countless separate apartment buildings, effectively blocking off communication with the neighbors. This scene, of course, contrasts sharply with the image of the Travellers congregating around the fire and talking, dancing, and laughing.
Near the end of the movie we have a climactic scene by the ocean where the "big businessman" is hovering about in his helicopter, police are on the beach trying to constrain Papa Reilly and Barreller, and Papa Reilly manages to escape and save Ossie from drowning after Ossie falls off of Tir Na Og, who has rushed into and then disappeared into the ocean. Papa Reilly is now reunited with his boys and Tito asks his father "Are the Travellers cowboys or Indians, Papa?" Papa Reilly responds by saying "There's a bit of a Traveller in everybody, Tito. Very few of us know where we're going." It is unclear if Papa Reilly intends to rejoin the Traveller community or not, but his answer to Tito does universalize, legitimize, and romanticize the Traveller culture by identifying the essence of the Traveller culture(Very few of us know where we're going) within most people as well. This existentialist, post-modern twist jogs our memory to the scene where Tito tells Ossie there is a reward for their capture. This is very appealing to Ossie and he claims that now they are real cowboys. At the same time, however, he hoots and hollers like the Indians he has seen in the movies. The question of whether they are cowboys or Indians seems to be irrelevant — they are both cowboys and Indians at the same time. Just as there is a bit of a Traveller in everyone, so too there is a little bit of a cowboy and a little bit of Indian in everyone, all of which suggests that identity is never comprised of a fixed identity such as "cowboy" or "Indian" or even "Traveller." In this context, Papa Reilly may believe that he is still a Traveller and so therefore he need not rejoin the Traveller community.
Ultimately, Into the West is a film about identity, about how one might construct an identity in post-Celtic Ireland with all of its attendant and competing strata and classes of society. The silent and often brooding Papa Reilly may be seen as representing in microcosm Ireland's contemplative and painful search for identity in the wake of colonialism, the war for independence, the civil war and the ever-present danger of it reigniting, and finally, the modern-day economic boom. Papa Reilly's response that "There's a bit of a Traveller in everybody," suggests an elegiac framework in that he begins his journey in mourning for the loss of his identity through separation from the Traveller community, but ends his journey in the higher understanding that the essence of being a Traveller was always within him and, indeed, is always with everyone. It is noteworthy, moreover, that the Traveler's are regarded as the most marginalized group in Ireland. Barton remarks that "The so-called Travellers have formed the most marginalized grouping in Irish history since before Independence. Descendants of Famine dispossessed, they have pursued an itinerant existence around Ireland for many generations, stopping at official 'halting sites', on roadsides and, nowadays, in those spaces that are still open to them" (Barton 185). The film urges all of Ireland to recognize and tolerate all ways and walks of life contained with it, including the lowliest Travellers, thus advocating for a national identity that is able to encompass all of the diverse entities that comprise Ireland.
WORKS CITED
Barton, Ruth. Irish National Cinema. Abingdon, Oxon: Routledge, 2004. Print.
Cavanagh, Dermot. "Nation and Narration: Rewriting "The Field."." Literature Film Quarterly
31.1 (2003): 93-98. EBSCO. Web. 8 Aug. 2010.
Connolly, Maeve. ""A Bit of a Traveller in Everybody": Traveller Identities in Irish and American Culture." The Irish in
Us: Irishness, Performativity, and Popular Culture. Ed. Diane Negra. Durham: Duke UP, 2006. Print.
Ebert, Roger. "The Field." rogerebert.com. Mar. 1991. Web. 8 Aug. 2010.
<http://rogerebert.suntimes.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/19910301/REVIEWS/103010302/1023>.
Gillespie, Michael P. The Myth of an Irish Cinema: Approaching Irish-Themed Films.
Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2008. Print.
Killeen, Richard. A Short History of Modern Ireland. Dublin: Gill & Macmillan Ltd, 2003.
Print.
McLoone, Martin. Irish Film: The Emergence of a Contemporary Cinema. 2nd ed. London: British Film Institute, 2006.
Print.
Newell, Mike, dir. Into the West. 1992. CD-ROM.
Sheridan, Jim, dir. The Field. 1990. CD-ROM.
Sollors, Werners. "Ethnicity." Critical Terms for Literary Study. Ed. Frank Lentricchia and
Thomas McLaughlin. Chicago: University of Chicago, 1995. 288-305. Print.
It makes no sense to define "ethnicity-as-such," since it refers not to a thing-in-itself but to a relationship: ethnicity is typically based on a contrast. If all human beings belonged to one and the same ethnic group we would not need
such terms as "ethnicity," though we might then stress other ways of differentiating ourselves such as age, sex,
class, place of birth, or sign of the zodiac. Ethnic, racial, or national identifications rest on antitheses, on
negativity, or on what the ethnopsychoanalyst George Devereux has termed their "dissociative" character. (Sollors
288)
If one looks at the variety of Irish-Themed films one gets a very good idea of this emphasis and negation and the multi-faceted and many-layered reality that is the Irish experience. Jim Sheridan's The Field, for example, sets its gaze on issues of land, ownership, and filial responsibility in Western Ireland. Mike Newell's Into the West, on the other hand, focuses on the two worlds of the "settled community" and the Travellers' community and one man's torn allegiances between the two. In both of these films meaning is often created by the inclusion of characters that are generally silent or the inclusion of certain scenes where a character is generally silent. The lack of dialogue creates meaning in terms of the specific plot at hand, but it also prompts us to move outside the confines of the movie and offers us an insight or understanding about the Irish nation or Irish people within the larger context of Ireland's history.
In the opening scenes of Sheridan's The Field (1990), Bull McCabe helps his son Tadgh put a basket of seaweed on Tadgh's back. The scene sets up the relationship between the father and son quite nicely in that it is the father who needs to help his son with this particular act of labor rather than the youthful son helping the older father. The next scene shows the two men walking and we never see Bull put his basket on his back, although we assume he did it himself without any help from his son. This scene frames each man: Bull is the dominant father who is sure of himself and used to using his hands, and Tadgh is the weak son who finds it difficult to even hoist a basket of seaweed over his shoulder. The relationship and character of both men is further fleshed out as they begin to walk home. Tadgh is awkward, following his father, and stumbling on the uneven terrain, all of which suggests that Tadgh is not "at home" and that he is out of his element. In other words, it is clear that his father's way of life is most definitely not his way of life and this fact is brought out in a somewhat comical fashion as the son tries to keep up with his father, tripping over himself while his father walks firmly and steadily, often calmly admiring the open countryside. For Tadgh, the ordeal is exhausting. At one point, he is breathing heavy and sits down against a wall.
The conflict of the story is introduced when Bull learns that the widow intends to auction off the field. Bull is outraged that the field may end up in someone else's hands and he storms into Flanagan's Pub with his son to confront Flanagan and to confirm the story he has heard from Bird, the village simpleton and gossiper. The framing is important in this scene as it foregrounds Bull and places Tadgh in the background. This particular frame construction will repeat itself in much of the movie, echoing the opening scenes where Tadgh is following his father and is clearly uncomfortable. In the pub it is Bull who does all the talking while Tadgh simply looks on in silence; he does not say a word in defense or in opposition to his father. It is obvious that the field means a great deal to Bull, and so Tadgh's silence is telling. The fact that he walks into the pub with his father does not suggest that he is in agreement with his father and supports him, but rather that he is simply following his domineering father much like a puppy would follow its owner. Again, this interpretation is reinforced by the opening scenes that likewise show Tadgh in a subordinate position. An alternate scene might involve Tadgh rallying support for his father and vocally condemning the widow or the outsiders that may be bidding on the field. His silence reinforces the notion that he is opposed to or apathetic to his father's position. His silence, however, also makes it impossible to tell what he thinks at this point. After Bull's stirring and contentious remarks, for example, Bird gets excited and starts waving his hands in the air in anticipation for a good showdown. Tadgh is next to Bird and seems to like the energy being displayed by Bird. He seems to get a bit excited himself and he smiles at Bird. The effect is to make Tadgh appear, like Bird, dull-witted or of limited intelligence, interested not in the field in any way but rather the excitement of the confrontation which Bull is about to embark on.
Likewise, when the Tinkers confront Bull about their donkey, Tadgh says nothing; it is Bull who does all of the talking and Tadgh is shown as a minor figure in the background while Bull is shot with a low angle ascending his horse-drawn cart, reinforcing his powerful status in the community. Later, Bull speaks to Tadgh about the donkey and it is here we learn that it was Tadgh who killed the donkey: "What you did to that donkey was wrong. Never harm an animal. Never." Even here, however, Tadgh is silent. There is no engagement with his father about what he did that would indicate what he thinks of the incident. Previous incidents in the film suggest two different trajectories. This first trajectory is to view Tadgh's silence as obedient submission to his overbearing and dominant father. The second trajectory, however, is to view this silence as a quiet subversion of his father's will, characteristic of a little boy who knows he has done wrong and fully intends to do it again, but sits quietly as his father reprimands him. It is interesting, for example, to read Tadgh's character at this point as someone who is immature and simply likes to engage in sophomoric activities. In the pub, for example, he laughs with Bird as his father finishes his stirring remarks. Earlier in the film, moreover, Bird and Tadgh harass the widow by blocking her chimney which forces her outside, at which point they make howling sounds with their voices. At various points in the movie Tadgh does not verbalize what he is thinking in order to explain or justify his position. We wonder if he even has an opinion or if he is unable to formulate or decide on one. At times he acts sheepishly when he does something wrong in his father's eyes and simply runs away. Later on in the movie, for example, Tadgh will run away from the dance floor when it becomes apparent that he has possibly hurt the woman he was dancing with. When his father confronts him about terrorizing the widow, again he says nothing and runs away. Roger Ebert, in his unfavorable review of The Field, goes so far as to claim that Tadgh is mentally retarded: "The time is the 1920s, but it could be the 1820s for all that life has changed in this soggy and overcast backwater, where the miserable McCabe and his retarded son, Tad, haul wicker baskets full of seaweed…" (Ebert 1991).
At any rate, the point at which we begin to see Tadgh in a more complicated way is on the anniversary of his brother's death. Here we have a close-up of his face and it is clear that his brother's suicide is a source of anguish for him. In the close-up we see a Tadgh that is deeply affected and reflective. The scene ends with Bird asking Tadgh, "What made Sheamie do it?" Tadgh does not respond but his silence works differently now. It is clear from Tadgh's countenance and silence that he has thought a lot about his brother's suicide and, therefore, his silence in response to Bird's question is indicative not of submission or immaturity here, but of pain and mental anguish; his brother's suicide is the source of much of Tadgh's silence and his character is very much framed within the context of his brother's suicide.
At the wake Tadgh is about to dance with the Tinker's daughter and the camera focuses on his facial expression once and then again as he is about to speak up and say that he wishes to dance with her. His father, however, assumes control at this very point and it is he who begins to dance with her. It seems as though Tadgh is very much taken with the fiery independence, spunk, spirit, and insolence of the Tinker's daughter. We are invited to speculate that she represents an alternative outlook on life that is attractive to Tadgh, especially given the somewhat limited and confined existence he seems to inhabit under his father.
After the wake the film turns its attention to the auction. It is as the auction that Tadgh speaks his mind for the first time in the movie when, after his father bids seventy pounds, Tadgh informs him quite emphatically and almost angrily that they do not have seventy pounds to bid. This is the first time in the movie where we actually hear Tadgh speaking from a position of authority or conviction or interest. In other words, this is the first time in the movie when we hear in Tadgh's voice that he actually gives a damn about something. Why it is that Sheridan decided to have Tadgh give a damn about the fact that his father did not have seventy pounds to bid escapes me. It seems to me that Tadgh's conviction would have been better placed on something more substantive given the general silence and apathy he has displayed so far in the movie. This particular auction scene, however, does occur after Tadgh's encounter with the Tinker's daughter. It is possible to make the case that Tadgh's newfound interest in family matters is prompted by the strong emotions that are rattling inside of him resulting from his encounter with the Tinker's daughter.
In a subsequent scene we find the Tinker's daughter talking to Tadgh outside of his home. She mentions the American but Tadgh does not say anything. When she asks him "Are ya still following your father like a calf," Tadgh angrily waves a piece of wood in the air and tells her "I'll use this across your back." In the next scene Tadgh and his father are in Flanagan's Pub and his father has just put down 100 pounds thinking it will secure the field for him which, of course, it will not. Tadgh then turns to his father and says, "Let me fix the Yank. With a stick." This reference to the stick, juxtaposed with the previous scene where Tadgh informs the Tinker's daughter that he will use a stick across her back, highlights the notion that Tadgh is more comfortable with resolving conflict through violence rather than words. More significantly, however, Tadgh's silence, in combination with his propensity toward violence, indicate something is troubling and disturbing him. His inability to talk about it presents itself or channels its way through violence. To understand the source of this agitation we need to go back to the point in the movie where Tadgh's countenance suggested the greatest degree of seriousness and reflection, and this is the anniversary of his brother's death by suicide.
Tadgh broaches the subject of his deceased brother while he is walking with his father to meet the American: "Why don't you and ma talk." He goes on to ask what age he was when Sheamie died. It is here that Tadgh begins the process of confronting his family's past and attempting to understand it by the process of communicating verbally as opposed to internalizing it and keeping silent. These questions he asks of his father represent the most he has spoken throughout the movie; he is actually carrying on a conversation. Music starts and gives the scene a dreamlike, reflective, and serious mood. The conversation, however, is relatively short and one-sided. It is clear that Bull does not want to give more than cursory and somewhat evasive answers to his son's questions. What is significant, however, are the questions and not necessarily the answers his father gives. The nature of the questions combined with the sentimental music convey the fact that Tadgh is more than a sophomoric dullard and, at his core, he is a pained young man trying to understand his place in the family and society at large and within the controlling memory of his brother's suicide.
The movie does not give easy answers, however, and Tadgh remains, ultimately, an enigmatic and complex figure throughout the movie who seems to progress forward in terms of maturity but then regress at times as well. Toward the end of the movie, for example, when Bull and Tadgh meet the American in order for Tadgh to rough him up, Tadgh is a somewhat reluctant participant, and Bull has to urge his son to begin fighting. Earlier, however, it is Tadgh who eagerly suggests to his father, "Let me fix the Yank. With a stick." This shift in Tadgh's character suggests he is moving away from violence in response to the inner turmoil he is experiencing. At the same time, however, he lies to the Tinker woman by claiming that he killed the American. When the Tinker woman asks if he would kill again, he responds by telling her that he would kill her father if her father beat her again. So, he seems to be enjoying and playing up this Clint Eastwood-type persona. At the same time, he is willing to stand up to his father as evidenced by his pursuit of the Tinker woman. The way he speaks to her, and the fact he told her about the murder at all, indicate that he is proud to tell her that he killed someone. In this sense, his character reverts back to the childish immaturity he exhibited when, for example, he climbed up on the widow's roof and blocked her chimney. And then, in the scene where he fights the American, Tadgh seems again unable to break free from his father's dominance. After the American tells them they are breaking the law, Bull looks at his large walking cane and announces to the American that his cane is the law. Bull laughs when he says this and Tadgh laughs only after he hears his father laughing, reinforcing the idea that Tadgh is not yet his own man capable of laughing or not laughing as he feels appropriate but rather that he must wait for his father to give him permission to laugh or to "instruct" him to laugh. Finally, and to complicate matters more, Bull at this point in the movie has murdered the American and lost all touch with reality. In a pathetic yet comical scene, he insists the American is not dead and holds him up as if they were hugging each other in a friendly embrace. Tadgh now seems to be the one in control and he screams to his father that the American is dead and that "The sun is coming up. We'll have to hide him." The frame, moreover, contains Tadgh without his father, emphasizing Tadgh's growing independence from his father and his ability to break free from his silence and to use his words to control his environment. And, in fact, Tadgh now takes a more prominent role in the story as indicated, in part, from the framing. In a subsequent scene after the murder of the American, Tadgh is eating at home and it is Tadgh's body, without his father's, that takes up the entire frame.
The character of Tadgh, then, has clearly changed by this point and the climactic scene occurs when Tadgh, in front of the Tinker woman and his parents, informs his father that if he continues to call the Tinker woman a whore he will kill him. The conversation then turns to the field and this is where Tadgh asserts his independence from the family and the land by claiming loudly and vehemently that he never cared about the land. Tadgh then proceeds to make his way out of the house. His father stops him and asks, in a soft and humble voice, not to go. Tadgh responds by saying, "What do you want me to do? Stay here and hang meself like me brother Sheamie?" Bull is clearly crushed by this and stares fixedly into space, unable to say anything. In a particularly poignant and revealing scene, Tadgh, without any physical contact, simply says goodbye to his mother and father and walks out.
Another character in the movie, more silent than even Tadgh, is Tadgh's mom, Maggie. Tadgh is a relatively silent but nonetheless dynamic and engaging character. Tadgh's mother appears less frequently in the film than Tadgh and so plays a lesser role to a large degree. Through key scenes as well as key conversations between Bull and Tadgh, we get the impression that she has not spoken since the death of her son Sheamie. There is one scene, for example, where the McCabe family is eating and no one is speaking. The camera establishes Maggie looking at a photo on the wall and then cuts to a close-up of the photo which depicts her and her two sons. This scene establishes the grief that the loss of Sheamie has on her and also, by the very silence of the meal, puts in relief the suggestion that Sheamie's suicide is the source of her desire not to speak. Ruth Barton suggests that the source of Maggie's silence is her son's suicide as well when she writes that "the cottage [is] home to a family tainted by suicide, where husband and wife no longer speak to each other" (Barton 75). Michael Gillespie, however, reads a bit further into the source of her silence when he writes that Bull "lives in chilly silence with his wife, Maggie(Brenda Fricker), who blames Bull for the suicide of their older son, Sheamie, years ago" (Gillespie 125). Gillespie, however, does not offer direct evidence for his contention that Maggie blames Bull for Sheamie's death. At any rate, it is clear that Sheamie's suicide has affected this family greatly and it is that one event and its aftermath which envelops and informs their lives, contributing greatly to the silence that consumes them.
When Maggie finally does speak, it is to tell Bull "Don't Break." If we were under the impression that Maggie is a neutral and not overbearing presence in Tadgh's life, we are quickly set straight with what she says next. While Bull is recovering from the shock of hearing her speak, she informs him that he can not break since Tadgh is not ready to look after the field yet, and Bull needs to hang on so that he can teach Tadgh how to look after it. It is now obvious that, like Bull, she is set on keeping the field in the family, and it is in this scene that we learn that Sheamie most likely killed himself in response to the guilt he felt of knowing that he would inherit the field and that his younger brother Sheamie would have to emigrate as a result. In a particularly disturbing line, she further tells Bull that Sheamie will have died for nothing if he breaks, effectively implicating her as well as Bull in the pressure and mental anguish suffered by Tadgh.
On one level, The Field is very much about the pressures put on succeeding generations to perform certain rituals or take up certain traditions or responsibilities, especially during a period of significant social, cultural, and political upheaval when these traditions or responsibilities are in flux or in danger of becoming irrelevant. It is this "burden of the past" which prompts Sheamie to commit suicide and confines Tadgh, through much of the movie, to struggle with his dual desires of yearning to break free from tradition, or obediently obey his overbearing parents. In this respect, his silence signifies a paralysis whereby he puts off endorsing either side. Bull McCabe represents this burden of the past and the movie is very much about the ill-effects such a burden can have. The movie does not end well; The American dies, Bull loses Tadgh and, in effect, the field, which sends him off into a crazed rage, and Tadgh, in an effort to save the cattle his father is driving over the cliff, gets trampled and killed.
The construction of Tadgh as a silent character serves to emphasize the fact that the movie is not solely about the burden of the past but also of the "burden of the future," if you will, and the uncertainty, confusion, and paralysis it can cause, all of which seems to be happening in Tadgh's psyche and presenting chiefly as silence and occasional outbursts of anger and violence. In this respect the movie is sheds light on the great political and cultural upheavals that occurred in Ireland in the 19th century — including the Great Hunger in which a million died and millions more emigrated, war with Britain, the 1921 treaty, and finally the civil war. It is this period after the civil war that Richard Killeen refers to as "The Big Sleep" in which "the Irish Free State got down to business" (Killeen 95). This is a period of relative quiet lasting until the 1960s and the onset of the Troubles. It is interesting to note that The Field takes place during the 1930s, within the time frame of "The Big Sleep" in Ireland's history. Far from being a sleep, however, as the Troubles attest to, it was a period of great inner turmoil in which the country at large was trying to process how its history was playing out and where the country was going. It is here we see most clearly how Tadgh's silence and condition reflects Ireland's quiet of The Big Sleep in which the country was very much struggling for its identity in the face of innumerable competing ideologies, traditions, and political organizations. Like Tadgh, the country at large was questioning where it came from and what its responsibilities to the past were and at the same time looking ahead to what could be and tallying up the costs of any course of action. The figure of Bull represents the Ireland of the past that modernity is transforming. In his essay "Nation and Narration: Rewriting The Field," Dermot Cavanagh notes that "These struggles of visual and narrative design in Sheridan's version of The Field are also expressive of an insistent concept of nationhood. The film reshapes Bull's identity to make his experience symbolic of collective dilemmas and national struggles" (Cavanagh 96). Similar to the effect on Tadgh, the weight of these "dilemmas and struggles" had a deceptively calming effect on the country that hid a tempestuous underbelly.
In this vein, lastly, it is interesting to note how The Field is interspersed with shots of the community where no one ever speaks; they are simply bystanders or viewers and, like the early Tadgh, don't seem ever to have an opinion. When Father Chris Doran delivers his speech none of the parishioners speak out for or against what he has just said. They simply do nothing. Likewise, when Bull enters Flanagan's Pub to confirm the news that the widow will be auctioning the field, the patrons simply hear him out and say nothing. It is not enough simply to say that the parishioners and the citizens are quiet out of deference to the priest and their fear of Bull. Moving outside the confines of the movie, we must say that characters such as Bull and Father Doran represent the larger cultural, religious, and political forces at play.
Mike Newell's Into the West (1992) also offers us a relatively quiet character in the name of Papa Reilly. The film immediately sets up the juxtaposition of two worlds — the world of the Travellers and the world of the "settled people," which in this case refers to the people living in the high-rise slums of Dublin. Put another way, the film "vindicate[s] the authentic experience of the west at the expense of the alienating character of the city" (McLoone 20). Both scenarios point to the negative and unauthentic experience of Dublin city life. Papa Reilly is a former Traveller now living in one of these high-rise slums and we encounter him conversing with his father, who is a Traveller. Papa Reilly tries to settle the white horse that has followed the grandfather from the ocean but he is unable to do so. The grandfather watches his son attempting in vain to settle the horse and looks at his son and asks rhetorically, "Lost your gift, eh, Papa?" The low-angle camera shot of Papa looking down at his son from his carriage as he says this suggests a superiority of the Travellers' way of life as opposed to the settled way of life, and this suggestion is further emphasized by the apparent fact that Papa has lost a skill he once had while he was a Traveller. Thus, the ideas of loss and identity are very central to this story.
Papa Reilly's son Ossie, on the other hand, appears to have the "gift" and is able to settle the horse. In a comic turn of events, the horse and Ossie become inseparable and the horse, whose name is Tir Nan Og, winds up living in the apartment with Papa Reilly and his two sons, Ossie and Tito. Eventually the Department of Health comes to take Tir Nan Og away but Papa Reilly is unable to leave his bed and seems paralyzed and unable to do anything. Ossie pleads with his father to stop the Department of Health from taking the horse away from them but Papa Reilly does not say anything to Ossie or to the Department of Health. His facial expression, however, indicates that he is deeply troubled by what is going on and suggests that he wants to help but, for some reason, can not or will not. On a practical level, it may be that Papa Reilly knew that it was only a matter of time before the horse would have to go. In this sense, his silence indicates the fact that he knows the horse can not stay with them. But Papa Reilly is more than silent; his facial expressions indicate pain, frustration. His silence illustrates his dismay that Ossie is going to lose Tir Nan Og, but the pained countenance he exhibits combined with the gloomy mise-en-scène suggest the grave concern he has of bringing his children up in an impersonal high-rise Dublin slum that is so far removed from the Traveller community he once cherished.
An interesting contrast to this silence is the verbosity of Ossie, whom we find constantly talking and asking questions. At one point in the movie, for example, he is telling Tir Nan Og the story of how the Tinkers got their name. Later on, he recounts to Tir Nan Og the events of the day in which he and Tito skipped school, how he said a prayer and then saw Tir Nan Og on TV, and how the police are now after them. Finally, Ossie asks Tir Nan Og what he thinks they should do now, as if Tir Nan Og would suddenly start talking and offer his opinion. Ossie, moreover, often asks his brother Tito questions about their mother, who died giving birth to Ossie. Tito answers them to a point. It is clear that he is uncomfortable talking about their mother, and it is safe to assume that he wants to shield Ossie from much of what he knows. Ossie is a lovable, kind, and endearing character, suggesting the healthy benefits of communication and opposed to the detrimental effects of silence that we witness in Papa Reilly.
It seems clear that Papa Reilly's wife died giving birth to Ossie, but it is not clear if this could have been avoided somehow. When Papa Reilly is released from being questioned by the police, it is clear that he is under a lot of stress and he confronts his father. He claims his father is filling his sons with stupid stories.(The reference is to the several days prior when the grandfather was telling a group of children, including the boys, a story involving a horse and a man that would not grow old unless the person got off of the horse. Eventually the man gets off the horse, at which point he quickly grows old.) Papa Reilly angrily announces to his father, "Bloody stupid superstitious stories. That's what killed your daughter. That's what killed Mary." It is not made clear, however, exactly why Papa Reilly believes that his father's stories caused Mary's death.
The next scene depicts Papa Reilly commencing his journey to find his sons. He begins his quest by going to the Travellers' community in an attempt to elicit the aid of a "tracker." It is clear that Papa Reilly misses his wife and the Travellers' community in general and this accounts for much of the silence and troubled countenance that his character presents with. His reception in his old residence is mixed, however. It is obvious that some members of the community resent him deeply for leaving while others welcome his warmly. It is during his visit to the Travellers' site that we are shown an especially romanticized version of their lifestyle. People are dancing, talking, smiling, laughing, and a bonfire is blazing. The mise-en-scène captivates, intoxicates, and suggests an idyllic lifestyle characteristic of an indefinite vacation or even road trip with your best friends. Maeve Connolly also argues that the Traveller figure in Irish and international cinema "provides a conduit to the recovery of the past, a recovery coded as therapeutic. My analysis highlights a recurrent romantic investment in the spiritual, familial, and communal values that these white others are thought to possess — values that are no longer located in post-Celtic Ireland" (Connolly 311).
Her comments are well-taken and the fact that Papa Reilly feels he must go to the Travellers to obtain the help of a tracker confirm Connolly's contention that the figure of the Traveller is coded as therapeutic. Thus, the film explores the tension and dichotomy between the Travellers and the settled people and, by contrasting elements such as Papa Reilly's continued quiet brooding and the high-rise slums with the jovial camp atmosphere of the Travellers and the secret knowledge or powers of the trackers, it makes clear that the Travellers' lifestyle is superior and to be preferred. By casting Papa Reilly as a hard-drinking, self-loathing, silent presence who once was a Traveller, the film suggests that removal from the Traveller community leads to spiritual degradation and solitude; going back to the Travellers will be, to use Connolly's term, therapeutic for Papa Reilly. Ultimately, then, Into the West is about the Traveller community and offers an attractive and romanticized view of it. The relative silence of Papa Reilly reinforces the idea and attractiveness of it, since it illustrates his longing to be back with the Travellers. It is his wife's death(the circumstances of her death remain unclear throughout the movie) that serves as the catalyst for his entering the settled community and his subsequent deterioration among the settled people in the high-rise slums of Dublin.
However unpleasant and irresponsible his character may be, it is clear that Papa Reilly loves and wants what is best for his children. When the Social Welfare Office comes to the apartment and tells him his sons have not been in school, he responds by removing the TV so they can concentrate on their reading, which they do, along with the help of Papa Reilly. His general lack of communication with them, however, does set up a barrier between them. Ossie, for example, never inquires about his mother to him — it is always Tito that he asks. Further, when the boys have gone into the West Ossie asks Tito what he thinks their father is doing about now and Tito responds by saying that he is probably drinking. Ossie agrees with a simple "Yeah." This scene, however, is juxtaposed with the very next scene in which we see that the father is not drinking but actually in the Traveller community where he has gone to get aid in looking for them.
In one of the more sincere moments in the film, Papa Reilly asks Kathleen, "Why do you keep traveling Kathleen?" The question, given Papa Reilly's circumstances, is also intended for him. That is, the question is also, "Why am I not traveling?" and further emphasizes the fact that he is troubled and unsure of what he should do. Kathleen's response is "Out there you're alone. You're part of nothing." Interjecting some levity in the scene, at the moment Kathleen responds, Barreller(the other tracker) rolls over in his sleep and snuggles up to Papa Reilly. Kathleen and Papa Reilly look at each other and smile, and Kathleen tells Papa Reilly that it is good to see him smile. And, indeed, it is for the viewer as well, who has patiently endured his gloomy presence for much of the film. Kathleen's response does resonate with him, however, and the viewer is prompted to imagine again the impersonal high-rise tenements, each with its countless separate apartment buildings, effectively blocking off communication with the neighbors. This scene, of course, contrasts sharply with the image of the Travellers congregating around the fire and talking, dancing, and laughing.
Near the end of the movie we have a climactic scene by the ocean where the "big businessman" is hovering about in his helicopter, police are on the beach trying to constrain Papa Reilly and Barreller, and Papa Reilly manages to escape and save Ossie from drowning after Ossie falls off of Tir Na Og, who has rushed into and then disappeared into the ocean. Papa Reilly is now reunited with his boys and Tito asks his father "Are the Travellers cowboys or Indians, Papa?" Papa Reilly responds by saying "There's a bit of a Traveller in everybody, Tito. Very few of us know where we're going." It is unclear if Papa Reilly intends to rejoin the Traveller community or not, but his answer to Tito does universalize, legitimize, and romanticize the Traveller culture by identifying the essence of the Traveller culture(Very few of us know where we're going) within most people as well. This existentialist, post-modern twist jogs our memory to the scene where Tito tells Ossie there is a reward for their capture. This is very appealing to Ossie and he claims that now they are real cowboys. At the same time, however, he hoots and hollers like the Indians he has seen in the movies. The question of whether they are cowboys or Indians seems to be irrelevant — they are both cowboys and Indians at the same time. Just as there is a bit of a Traveller in everyone, so too there is a little bit of a cowboy and a little bit of Indian in everyone, all of which suggests that identity is never comprised of a fixed identity such as "cowboy" or "Indian" or even "Traveller." In this context, Papa Reilly may believe that he is still a Traveller and so therefore he need not rejoin the Traveller community.
Ultimately, Into the West is a film about identity, about how one might construct an identity in post-Celtic Ireland with all of its attendant and competing strata and classes of society. The silent and often brooding Papa Reilly may be seen as representing in microcosm Ireland's contemplative and painful search for identity in the wake of colonialism, the war for independence, the civil war and the ever-present danger of it reigniting, and finally, the modern-day economic boom. Papa Reilly's response that "There's a bit of a Traveller in everybody," suggests an elegiac framework in that he begins his journey in mourning for the loss of his identity through separation from the Traveller community, but ends his journey in the higher understanding that the essence of being a Traveller was always within him and, indeed, is always with everyone. It is noteworthy, moreover, that the Traveler's are regarded as the most marginalized group in Ireland. Barton remarks that "The so-called Travellers have formed the most marginalized grouping in Irish history since before Independence. Descendants of Famine dispossessed, they have pursued an itinerant existence around Ireland for many generations, stopping at official 'halting sites', on roadsides and, nowadays, in those spaces that are still open to them" (Barton 185). The film urges all of Ireland to recognize and tolerate all ways and walks of life contained with it, including the lowliest Travellers, thus advocating for a national identity that is able to encompass all of the diverse entities that comprise Ireland.
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