There’s a decent transported western trying to shoot its way out of Robert Lorenz’s handsome Donegal-draped thriller. Who wouldn’t want to listen to older gunslingers Liam Neeson and Ciarán Hinds chat about Dostoevsky in a one-horse town? Who wouldn’t want to see a classic saloon shoot-out?
Sadly, real-world intrusions clash with the film’s mythical aspirations. Set in 1974, at the height of the Northern Ireland conflict, In the Land of Saints and Sinners opens in Belfast, where Doireann McCann (Kerry Condon) and several fellow operatives set off a car bomb that kills two children and their mother. She and her co-conspirators, including ne’er-do-well brother, Curtis, find a hideout in the coastal idyll of Glencolumbkille, where her sister-in-law lives.
Coincidentally, war veteran and occasional hitman Finbar Murphy (Neeson, playing gruff and soulful hero No 356) has also found refuge in the town. Following a folksy encounter with a victim, he decides to hang up his guns and live a nice, quiet life. “I could plant a garden,” he says, unconvincingly. The discovery that Curtis (Desmond Eastwood) has been sexually abusing a young local girl inevitably inspires another change of heart. It’s one U-turn too many in an already crowded picture.
As pleasing as it is to encounter Colm Meaney (playing a local crime boss), Niamh Cusack (Neeson’s widowed love interest) and Jack Gleeson (Neeson’s protege), they form a parade of wasted ideas and characters who needed far more screen time and development.
Begorrah is commendably averted: Mark Michael McNally and Terry Loane’s screenplay ensures that the dialogue is authentic. Condon has fun as the avenging IRA harpy, even if the script’s convoluted account of her misplaced southern accent doesn’t ring true. Elegant drone shots add indelible images to an otherwise forgettable action film.
In the Land of Saints & Sinners is available on Netflix
