Angeline Ball | Through the Shattered Lens

First released in 1991 and based on a novel by Roddy Doyle, The Commitments is the story of a manager with a dream and a band with a chip on its collective shoulder.

Living in working class Dublin, Jimmy Rabbitte (Robert Arkins) dreams of managing a band. He’s a fan of old school soul and rock and roll music, the type that was played by black artists in the American South. Jimmy feels that the Irish have a special connection to that music because, as he explains it, “the Irish are the blacks of Europe.” (I think one could argue that the black people living in Europe are the blacks of Europe but we’ll go with it. I understand Jimmy’s argument, even if it is the sort of thing that would send social media into a tizzy if it were made today.) Jimmy puts an ad in the paper and discovers that there are a lot of aspiring musicians in Ireland and very few of them know much about soul music. Even Jimmy’s father (a delightful Colm Meaney) seems to believe that he could be a part of the band. In the end, Jimmy puts together the band himself, recruiting an unlikely collection of friends and barely know acquaintances. He finds a lead singer in the talented but unruly Deco Cuffe (Andrew Strong), a pianist in the religious Steven (Michael Aherne), a saxophonist in Dean Fay (Felim Gormley), a guitarist in Outspan Foster (Glen Hansard), and three back-up singers in Bernie (Bronagh Gallagher), Imelda (Angeline Ball), and Natalie (Maria Doyle). He also finds a mentor in trumpeter Joey “The Lips” Fagan (Johnny Murphy), an American who claims to have played with everyone who is anyone and who names the band The Commitments. They’re a working class band and one that doesn’t always mix well with each other. Deco’s gets on everyone’s nerves from the start but, as Dean puts it at the unemployment office, he’s much happier being a saxophonist on the dole than a plumber’s assistant on the dole.

There’s a raw energy to The Commitments, as both a film and a band. Both the film’s comedy and its music comes from a very real pain. No one in the film is rich. No one has been given much of a chance by British society. Deco may be obnoxious but he also epitomizes the wild spirt of someone who refuses to be tamed by society. Jimmy Rabbitte may occasionally be a bit in over his head but it’s hard not to admire his refusal to surrender. From the minute the band comes together, it’s obvious that they’re not going to last. Nearly every gig ends in disaster and Joey, despite his knowledge of soul, is a bit rigid in his demands of the band. When Dean improvises, Joey acts as if it’s the end of the world that Dean would rather play jazz than soul. Joey sees jazz as being elitist. Dean sees it as being a way to express his own artistic vision. The wonderful thing about The Commitments is that they’re both allowed to be right.

The band might not last but the film leaves you happy that they still had their moment. The Commitments is a film that feels alive, not just with artistic desire but with the anger of people who have been pushed to the side by the establishment. For a while, the band gives them a chance to express that anger and, afterwards, it’s gratifying to see that the majority of the members still carry the legacy of The Commitments with them, with some members continuing to pursue music and others returning to their everyday lives in Dublin. It’s a good film, one that celebrates both music and humanity.

Though the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences claim that the Oscars honor the best of the year, we all know that there are always worthy films and performances that end up getting overlooked. Sometimes, it’s because the competition too fierce. Sometimes, it’s because the film itself was too controversial. Often, it’s just a case of a film’s quality not being fully recognized until years after its initial released. This series of reviews takes a look at the films and performances that should have been nominated but were, for whatever reason, overlooked. These are the Unnominated.

Directed by John Boorman, 1998’s The General tells the story of Martin Cahill.

Martin Cahill (Brendan Gleeson) was a Dublin-based crime lord, a thief by trade who never made any apologies for his profession. The film opens with the end of Martin Cahill’s life. Leaving his suburban home, he’s sitting behind the steering wheel of his car when a young man runs up and shoots him in the face. Cahill’s car rolls forward while his wife (Maria Doyle Kennedy) screams for help. Cahill has been assassinated in front of his family and the reaction of the local police is to celebrate until Cahill’s oldest nemesis, Inspector Ned Kenney (Jon Voight), announces that they have nothing to cheer about. The film leaves it somewhat ambiguous as to who shot Cahill, though it heavily suggests that he was shot by the IRA, both because of their mistaken belief that he was moving drugs into the neighborhood but also because of his refusal to share his profits with them.

The film flashes back and we watch as Martin Cahill, a rebellious young man who stole to impress girls and to get a shot back at the establishment, grows up to become Martin Cahill, the crime lord that the papers nickname The General. Cahill is a professional thief and he’s fairly honest about it. When his government-controlled flat is torn down, Cahill camps out on the site in a tent, refusing to leave because the location of the new building is to close to the police station. He says he’d rather be moved to a richer part of town. It’s better for his work. As portrayed by Brendan Gleeson, Cahill is a fascinating and complex character, a ruthless criminal who is also devoted to his pigeons, his children and both his wife and his girlfriend (Angeline Bail). (Fortunately, for Martin, his wife and his girlfriend know about each other and are good friends.) He’s the type of crime lord who will test a man’s loyalty by nailing him to a pool table and then take him to the hospital afterwards. “Sorry, Martin,” another associate says after Martin shoots him in the leg to make a fake break-in look authentic. It’s hard not to like the film’s version of Martin Cahill, an intelligent and ultimately honest man who understands the importance of allowing his enemies to believe him to be a buffoon. He may be a criminal but he considers it to be an honest living, unlike the government officials who force unwanted laws and exorbitant taxation on the citizenry Director John Boorman certainly seems to like Cahill, which is interesting as Boorman was actually the victim of one of Cahill’s robberies. (Boorman recreates the robbery in the film.)

The film went unnominated at the Oscars, which were dominated that year by Shakespeare in Love and Saving Private Ryan. Brendan Gleeson definitely deserved a nomination for his charismatic performance as Martin Cahill. Equally worthy of a nomination was Seamus Deasy’s black-and-white cinematography, which gives the film the dream-like feel of a half-remembered legend. (The version of the film that’s on Tubi features desaturated color. It’s actually an effective look for the film’s story but I still prefer the black-and-white original.) Neither was nominated and, indeed, Brendan Gleeson would have to wait until 2023 to finally receive his first Oscar nominations for The Banshees of Inisherin.