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Nothing warms the heart like a murderous child--in fiction. In reality, they chill our bones. Through the collective consciousness of the media and public, evil kids are labeled as either innocents soiled by heinous misdeeds or sneering devil worshipers pulling the legs off insects. Debates rage over execution vs. rehabilitation, and a myriad of influences (abuse, movies, video games) are blamed for their crimes. We must find a reason. If we can't find a reason, then we can't find a cure, and that puts us in an uncomfortable predicament: Either we face our own past desires of blowing away our eighth-grade teachers or guilelessly wonder, "How could a baby do such a thing?" Maybe the answer is just that the world is filled with too many humans. Or in the case of Neil Jordan's newest film, The Butcher Boy, too many "bogmen with bony arses." These "bogmen" addle Francie Brady (Eamonn Owens) a smart, charming 12-year-old living in the Northern Irish town of Carn during the early '60s. Francie's father (Stephen Rea) is a drunkard trumpet player, and his mother (Aisling O'Sullivan) has just attempted to hang herself in the kitchen. Francie's best friend is Joe (Alan Boyle), and his rival is Phillip Nugent (Andrew Fullerton), a pretty rich boy who has all the comics Francie and Joe want. His arch enemy is Phillip's mother, Mrs. Nugent (Fiona Shaw), a bespectacled prude who calls Francie's family "pigs." Mrs. Nugent must be tortured and stopped, and Francie is up to the task. Really up to the task. His grisly determination leads him to a variety of correctional institutions, where he spirals into a world that is understood only by his apparition of the Virgin Mary (Sinead O'Connor), a beauty who becomes his only friend. Francie has many facets. There's the wonderfully creative Francie who dreams of mushroom clouds and pigs; the nostalgic boy who loves his ma and his best friend Joe; the survivor who stabs a molesting priest and kicks the asses of two adult thugs; the victim whose world is being destroyed by the Mrs. Nugents of the world. He simultaneously breaks and warms our hearts. Thanks to Neil Jordan. The director's superb adaptation of Patrick McCabe's brilliant novel is a potent blend of horror, comedy, pathos and mystery. A daring film unafraid of too many words, Jordan's picture is like a volume of Gerard Manley Hopkins poems illustrated by violent comics. Working from the perspective of a child who eventually kills someone with an abattoir bolt gun, cuts up the body and smears blood all over the walls, Jordan puts the viewer smack in the middle of madness and never lets go. The viewer is always in Francie's mind--a mind worth being in. As Francie, Owens displays hyper charm and intelligent timing uncharacteristic of actors his, or any, age. In any other film, Francie would be a big, obnoxious bully, the playground roughie we hate. Here, we adore him--even after he defecates on Mrs. Nugent's floor. We also are in awe of him for his capacity to kill (and enjoy it) and to survive. In Owens' hands, Francie is not an example of the unfathomable violence adults ponder; considering thworld that surrounds him, he makes sense. The magical realism his mind creates is so intense, it is no wonder he would kill. It is part of his deranged essence. Through Jordan's solid script and rhythmic procession of images, The Butcher Boy is a beautifully lurid work. Like Francie himself, it is absurd, hilarious, disturbing and full of creative horror. For those who ask "How could a baby do such a thing?" Jordan's answer is, because he can. Never underestimate the imagination of a child. |
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