“‘71” Takes On Northern Ireland’s Troubles

Here’s an old joke about Northern Ireland: A Jewish man stopped on the street in Belfast is asked whether he is a Protestant or a Catholic. When he responds that he is Jewish, the rejoinder comes: ​“Aye, but are you a Catholic Jew or a Protestant Jew?”

In other words: Are you with us or against us?

‘71, the feature film debut of Yann Demange — playing at the Criterion on Temple Street — tells the story of an English soldier trapped in Catholic West Belfast at the height of the Troubles, the 30-year period between 1968 and 1998 that saw the most vicious conflict between Protestants and Catholics in Northern Ireland. The film is a portrait of a city in chaos: a visceral depiction of the adrenaline, anger, and conviction that sustain a war, but also the death, confusion, and compromises that dilute any claims to victory. It is also an exploration of identity — the way we define ourselves and are defined by others — and subjectivity, the ability to perceive, act, and think autonomously.

Gary Hook (Jack O’Connell) is a working-class kid from Derbyshire who’s been deployed to Belfast to help keep the peace — and provide cover for loyalist forces as they raid Catholic houses, looking for hidden guns and beating anyone who stands in their way. Hook has been trained to endure difficult conditions, and to respond with physical force. But he is not callous, merciless, or even passionate about the fight. He is a soldier because it is a stable job with boundaries, rules, and limits, even though, in 1971 West Belfast, the only thing the two warring sides seem to agree about is that violence shall be mutual and perpetual.

When Hook enters West Belfast and witnesses the viciousness with which his allies treat the locals, and the absolute hatred the locals have for the soldiers, he’s surprised. And scared. He smiles as his regiment is greeted by jeering children and water balloons filled with piss. But this is not mere disrespect for authority, a cheekiness that Hook can identify with even if he wears a soldier’s uniform. It’s a deep-seated longing to repel an invading force, to humiliate and expel everyone on the other side.

The tension mounts as protesting locals bang trashcan lids on the sidewalks to warn their compatriots and disorient the recently arrived soldiers. Angry men and women materialize out of nowhere on the barren and war-torn streets, shouting at the soldiers, spitting in their faces, hurling chunks of asphalt. The soundtrack builds to a sonorous cacophony of pulsing guitars and incoherent shouts as the camera jumps from one ominous image to the next: Loyalists beating civilians, a crowd unwilling to relent, warning shots that come dangerously close to open fire on civilians. When a child steals a soldier’s gun and sprints toward a safehouse, Hook is told to pursue, only to find himself behind enemy lines, stranded by his regiment, and running for his life.

The rest of the film chronicles Hook’s attempt to survive the night, spending just as much time developing the characters and motivations of his pursuers, Protestant and Catholic alike, who desperately need to find the solder before their adversaries do. If Hook is trapped behind enemy lines, these men are trapped at home, in identities that force them to be ruthlessly militant, uncompromising in long-term goals, and mercilessly strategic in achieving short-term gains. They have just enough wiggle room to make it to the next step, but never enough to reflect upon the futility and carnage of their actions.

Hook, however, has no vested interest in the politics of Northern Ireland, other than a vague impulse to follow directions and establish order. He doesn’t even know if he’s Catholic or Protestant. ​“You don’t know? Now I’ve fucking heard everything,” exclaims a disbelieving Protestant boy, who acts as Hook’s temporary guide through the rubble-strewn labyrinth of Belfast at night.

Hook’s ambiguous identity, however, allows all parties to fantasize about using him for whatever purpose might advance their immediate agendas. The Catholics see him as prey, a defeated symbol of a vulnerable adversary. The Protestants see him as a bargaining chip to maintain good faith with the British. The army wants his safe return to mask official incompetence, and to use him as another foot soldier in the mission of imperial order. As a former army medic stitches up Hook’s battered side in the Catholic stronghold of the Divis Flats, he warns him of what everyone truly sees when they look at Hook: ​“Just a piece of meat.”

But ​‘71 does not leave Hook empty and unresolved, an absence at the center of a mystery populated by other characters. Much like Stephen Rea’s IRA apostate in The Crying Game, another film about the identity crises that have emerged from the sectarian conflict in Northern Ireland, Hook chooses to reject all parties. At the very moment when he is told that he is nothing but ​“a piece of meat,” he begins to take responsibility for his own person — and escapes the trap his situation has set for him. ​‘71 proves itself to be more than just an anti-war film. It is a meditation on how best to protect and understand yourself in a world that desperately tries to identify you with one side or another.