A lackadaisical stroll through Branagh’s nightmarish and hopeful youth, there is an unwavering honesty that drives this simple love letter to Belfast, often shooting itself in the foot when it begins to pull its punches.
A love letter to his childhood, Kenneth Branagh’s semi-autobiographical monochromatic daydream is an intimate affair, rife with the awed observations of a quiet child. Its rose-tinted perspective reframes a late ‘60s Ireland into something more than the sum of its riots and rebellions, a world dictated by politically-fuelled religious violence as Protestants and Catholics try to decide which abstract idea is better. Buddy, Branagh’s fictional counterpart and played by Jude Hill, voices his opinion on the Troubles early on, asking his father about the Catholic confessional system. He wonders, if you can be forgiven once you confess, why not just skip going to church entirely and confess your crime later, ultimately leading to never having to go to Sunday mass.
Glasgow is being torn apart brick by brick, but it is these moments of pure youth that define Belfast and its intricacies. The Troubles have always been described as an “irregular war”, but these inconsistencies are starkly highlighted now that the tedium of adulthood is removed from the equation. Everything just seems so silly. Buddy, once a happy lad from Belfast is now in the middle of a warzone, his friendly neighbours who used to play knights and castles in the street replaced with soldiers and locked doors, sandbags barricading the streets.
And try as he must, he struggles to understand the situation. He is hopeful and naïve, Hill’s solemn but inquisitive performance able to balance the emotional peaks of a kid who loves his family and the silent troughs of a family in debt, Buddy listening to his parents discuss problems that can ruin a boy’s faith. He is going through his own issues, school grades and crushes, leading his youthful world to often be at odds with the real one, echoing themes from Sean Baker’s The Florida Project.
Yet that comparison is a detriment to Branagh’s surreal history rather than the compliment I want it to be. Belfast is heartfelt and personal as Branagh recounts his turbulent childhood but often falls into a routine trap, rarely reaching past the middle shelf. The quippy jokes are funny but not hilarious, the black and white Belfast is beautiful but impersonal, the simple plot is entertaining but not engrossing.
At heart, it is Buddy and his family that drives the excitement, Jamie Dornan taking the lead as the loveable but flaky father. Working in England and only able to come back to Ireland every other weekend, learning about the man that Buddy idolizes unconditionally grinds up against, once again, the family’s reality. They are broke and terrified of both the taxman and the opposing forces, Caitriona Balfe as Buddy’s mother constantly trying to steer a sinking ship while the rest of the crew go off to bet on horses.
As riots burn their way into Buddy’s life, there is the unmistakable absence of a spark
Surprisingly, it is Dame Judi Dench’s Granny that sticks out like an English thumb amidst an all-Irish cast. While her accent is certainly passable (and believable) there are a handful of missteps as it begins to feel Britishly diluted, especially when loveably bickering with Buddy’s grandfather (Ciarán Hinds). Yet her performance is, as always, a highlight that can’t be ruined by a few minor blemishes.
But there is still something missing. As riots burn their way into Buddy’s life, there is the unmistakable absence of a spark. Belfast wants to contrast Buddy’s cracking youth with a proud nation about to self-implode, yet the juxtaposition tends to fall flat as the few flashes of action require more than a quick leap of the imagination. They aren’t over the top, but in this benignly aggressive world Branagh is reminiscing, the final confrontations feel uncharacteristic.
Yet, earlier in the film, as Buddy and his family go to the pictures to watch Chitty Chitty Bang Bang, I couldn’t help but feel jaded. They are so immersed in the film, moving around in their seats as they mimic the car’s unrealistic and alien movements, and I thought back to when I first watched the Dick Van Dyke classic. I remember watching the same exact scene, my heart plummeting as Chitty extended its wings and flew off. It was magical, and Branagh clearly wants to recreate that wonder on a more human level, a connection I did not feel. Or maybe Branagh is right: I’m just too jaded.