Suzanne Harrington: Three months after my dad died, the little donkey in The Banshees of Inisherin has me undone
"Rivers leak from my eyes in the plush darkness. That little donkey. Even typing the words now are making my eyes fill up again. What a film."
Three months ago when my dad died, all I felt was relief. Great waves of it, that he was no longer living in a dying body, where the very act of being alive was killing him. To watch someone suffering is unbearable, especially when there is no magic pill for dying slowly from old age. So when he died, all I felt was relief that he was free of his body. I exhaled. We all did.
Three months later, at the cinema, the little donkey in The Banshees of Inisherin has me undone. Rivers leak from my eyes in the plush darkness. That little donkey. Even typing the words now are making my eyes fill up again. What a film. Forget the soured severance between Colin Farrell and Brendan Gleeson – it’s the love between Farrell and his animals that reduces me to rubble. The straightforward, uncomplicated love.
