Worth: $15.00
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Cast:
Cosmo Jarvis, Barry Keoghan, Niamh Algar, Roisin O’Neill, Kiljan Moroney
Intro:
…sombre and affecting…
Violence. The use of physical force, as defined by the dictionary. A societal machine, as framed by David Cronenberg in A History Of Violence. A universal language, as described by Lil’ Fame of M.O.P. And as narrated by Arm, an Irish ex-boxer turned criminal enforcer played by Cosmo Jarvis, it’s “just the way a fella makes sense of the world”.
That connection, between violence and masculinity, lies at the heart of this debut feature from Irish director Nick Rowland. It shows Arm as being torn between two families: his criminal family, made up of men who value loyalty above all else, and his paternal family, made up of his ex Ursula (Niamh Algar) and his autistic son Jack (Kiljan Moroney). This dichotomy is a core component of a lot of crime dramas, contrasting humdrum home life with the chaotic ways of maintaining it, but this shows a harsher grit than most.
Calm with Horses is remarkable salient about how violence plays into understandings (largely misunderstandings) of masculinity, portraying certain boys’ club-isms to show how men push each other further into these situations, fuelling themselves as much with illicit goods as with rhetoric of how they ‘should’ be acting. It also highlights how that way of thinking only serves to perpetuate itself, exacting blood for the sake of blood.
As Arm finds himself unable to carry out his duties, he internally questions whether that is a cycle he wants to continue. Whether he should succumb to the primal urges and urgings of his collaborators, in particular the chavish Dymphna (Barry Keoghan), or set a better example for his son and, in turn, prove to Ursula that he is worth keeping around.
The only thing that manages to sink in deeper than the existential crisis that Arm goes through, is seeing him interact with Jack. As a depiction of autism, it feels rather confronting in how un-dressed-up it is, and while it loses some points in how it plays into the carer-only mindset that populates a lot of the conversation on this side of the screen, it shows enough genuine empathy to make that perspective work. It also helps that the patronising attitude about parents supposedly being at fault for their kid having autism gets put in its place for the appalling void of empathy that it is.
And it’s that empathy, the need for it, that makes the film ring true. Whether it’s making the audience question where they stand on the moment Arm stood down, how the cycle of violence turns women into possessions and unknowing victims, or how loyalty ends up masquerading for unquestioning servitude in the wrong hands, the depiction we get of the human pattern of violence makes for sombre and affecting viewing. And unlike a lot of other examinations of violence, it doesn’t make the mistake of wallowing in its own bloodshed; it questions the emotional detachment towards violence, and makes sure the audience doesn’t make the same mistake.
