In the Name of the Father
Starring Daniel Day-Lewis (Gerry Conlon), Pete Postlethwaite (Giuseppe Conlon), Emma Thompson (Gareth Peirce) Directed by Jim Sheridan Written by Terry George and Jim Sheridan, based on PROVED INNOCENT by Gerry Conlon
A film review by Chris Loar
One of the ironies of the late 20th century -- when the news of the world is only a click of the remote away and politics is in our living room every night -- is that all that information threatens to drown us. The news can come to seem meaningless, and the political events that affect the lives of millions of people often seem frighteningly abstract. One function art can serve -- even in such a pop art form as film -- is to humanize those events for us, to make them real, to restore our ability to care about them.
That's what IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER does for us, beginning with its opening sequence -- the explosion in a Guildford pub that sets the story in motion. The camera shows us some young men and women entering the pub, chuckling and laughing. We linger on this happy scene for a heartbeat -- and then, just as the explosion tears the place apart, the camera cuts to a shot of a young woman's purse. An ordinary object in the midst of extraordinary events, that purse humanizes the explosion and sets the tone for the entire film.
The film then skips ahead fifteen years to Gareth Peirce (Emma Thompson, in a small but important role), an attorney handling an appeal for the Irish convicted of that bombing. We begin to get the story as told to her by Gerry Conlon (Daniel Day-Lewis), who has already served fifteen years of a life sentence. Gerry's story is told to us in flashback, beginning with his late adolescence in Belfast, circa 1974. The political climate is hot in the city, with tanks in the streets and soldiers everywhere. Gerry is just a kid (looking a little old for his age -- makeup and fine acting can only go so far) who, exposed to more bad influences than any rebellious youth could resist, has turned to petty crime, stealing scrap metal, trying to dodge both the British Army and IRA militias. After Gerry inadvertently provokes a minor riot and seriously irritates the IRA, his father, Giuseppe (Pete Postlethwaite), decides it's time to send the boy away -- to London, away from the horrific scene that is Belfast. Gerry isn't troubled by this -- it's a chance to score some dope, meet some hippies, and hang out.
Gerry is definitely in the wrong place at the wrong time, however. London is turning into a hot zone in its own right, and it's Gerry's misfortune to leave London to return to England shortly after the Guildford bomb explodes -- which, to the British, makes him the obvious suspect. He, his associates, and his family are arrested and convicted of the bombing -- despite their protests that they are "not political." Gerry takes up residence in a maximum security cell with his father.
It's this time dwelling in prison that takes up most of the film and that packs the real emotional and narrative muscle. Day-Lewis and Postlethwaite both deliver phenomenal performances and generate some extraordinary screen chemistry. Of course, they have a good scenario and script to work with; for what makes this film unusual is its willingness to step back from the political heat that places these two in prison and take a serious look at their relationship, which is complex, as father-son relations often are. Gerry loves his father and yet hates him for his frailty; Giuseppe loves his son but is angered and disappointed by his rebelliousness and immaturity. What makes this film distinctive is that it is not really a political or legal thriller, although it has the makings of either, or both. Instead, director Jim Sheridan (who also co-adapted the screenplay) puts the emphasis on Gerry's development from a hippie teenager into a full-grown man.
It's rare to see real character development in a film, and a lesser actor than Day-Lewis might not have been able to pull it off. Lewis went to extraordinary lengths for the role, (as he always does); he starved himself and had himself interrogated by a real police officer to prepare. How much these antics really help I'm not sure, but I do know that Day-Lewis is one of the finest craftsman-actors going; rather than allowing his presence and charisma to carry him through (and he has plenty of both), he manipulates his face, his voice, and his posture to show us what it's like for a young Irish thief to be forcibly politicized and aged. Postlethwaite's role is somewhat less demanding, but is handled with equal skill; with his portrayal of Giuseppe he shows us a man who claims his dignity in spite of his weakness, and makes us ask legitimately what it means to be a coward, and what it means to be a hero.
And yet, the film never forgets its politics. In fact, the very human drama in the cell could be taken as an endorsement of a certain kind of political rebellion; of righteous anger tempered by reason and the rule of law. But thanks to the skill of the directors and the cast, that sort of metaphor is swamped by the human-scale story at the center of the film. It's a fine piece of work; don't miss it.
(C) 1998 Chris Loar
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