Both the book by Patrick McCabe and film, co-adapted by McCabe with Neil Jordan, are brilliant. Francis Brady could have been a Holden Caulfield, but he was much, much more insidious: a study in everyday psychopathy.
Francis Brady, portrayed with equal parts cheek and horror by the wonderful Eamonn Owens is the titular character. Something in him is broken; his mother has been sent to a mental institution,his father’s an alcoholic. He’s pretty much had it, and he’s only thirteen. As it’s set in the early sixties in rural Ireland, the whole issue of family dysfunction is a societal taboo, and the duty of care is negligible. Brady retreats into a fantasy world of cinema, comics and television, as the real world implodes. Essentially, it’s a Fairytale with no happy ending.
The cream of Irish talent is here: Fiona Shaw; Stephen Rea, Milo O’ Shea, Brendan Gleeson and, in an inspired bit of casting, a superb Sinead O’Connor as a foul-mouthed Virgin Mary. And it’s every bit as quotable as Father Ted: “Ahh, you’re a demon for the custard creams”; “Francie Brady, winner of the Not A Bad Bastard Anymore Award”, etc.
It breaks your heart, because the issues haven’t chamged one iota since the sixties: child abuse in the Catholic church; crime, errant parents and a community who enables horrors by simply turning a blind eye. It’s lyrical, often hilarious and absolutely brutal.
Hit The North 