Cast: Brendan Gleeson, Jon Voight, Adrian Dunbar, Maria Doyle Kennedy, Angeline Ball, Sean McGinley, Eamonn Owens
Director: John Boorman
Producer: John Boorman
Screenplay: John Boorman based on the novel by Paul Williams
Cinematography: Seamus Deasy
Music: Richie Buckley
U.S. Distributor: Sony Pictures Classics
Gangster movies generally come in two flavors: those that portray mob personalities as vicious figures (Goodfellas) and those that dwell on the charismatic, family-oriented side of such men (The Godfather). The General, a black-and-white, cinematic biography of the recently-assassinated Irish criminal, Martin Cahill (Brendan Gleeson), falls into the latter category. Veteran director John Boorman weaves together real-life incidents and fictional anecdotes to create a fascinating portrait of a man who was both more human and more humane than the legends about him indicate.
The real Martin Cahill was at the pinnacle of Dublin's organized crime structure during the late-'80s and early '90s. Cahill was reputed to have been heavily involved in the drug trade (an assertion that Boorman's film disputes) and was known for nailing men's hands to a pool table when they wouldn't talk. By all accounts, he was also a lively, fun-loving man who could charm with a smile. Unlike American gangsters, Cahill did not leave a trail of bodies in his wake - his criminal activities were more in the line of burglary and theft than murder. (In real life, Boorman's house was once supposedly robbed by Cahill's gang.) Eventually, perhaps for selling rare artwork to members of the Ulster Volunteer Force, Cahill ran afoul of the IRA, and, in 1994, they assassinated him. That event bookends The General; the movie begins and ends with it.
The film is not about Cahill's death, but about his life. 90% of The General focuses on Cahill as an adult, showing him plotting various crimes, carrying them out, and feuding with the local cops. There are a few flashbacks to Cahill's youth (when he's played by Eamonn Owens, who opened eyes with his portrayal in The Butcher Boy), showing some of the events that led to his becoming the man he grew up to be. In addition to the title character, we meet his close friends and associates, Noel (Adrian Dunbar) and Gary (Sean McGinley); his wife, Frances (Maria Doyle Kennedy); his sister-in-law, Tina (Angeline Ball), with whom he is having an affair; and his chief nemesis, policeman Ned Kenny (Jon Voight, with a flawless accent).
Gleeson's portrayal of Cahill is nothing short of brilliant. The actor, who is largely unknown in North America (although he has appeared in The Butcher Boy, Michael Collins, and I Went Down), effectively displays the numerous complex facets of his character, including the cold-hearted torturer and the loving father. Cahill is depicted as being apolitical, stealing not to fund a cause, but for his own enjoyment. And he routinely shows his contempt for all forms of "the establishment," regardless of whether they're the police, the Church, or the IRA. It's fair to say that Boorman has romanticized Cahill's life, but he and Gleeson make much more out of this character than a likable rogue.
As Ned Kenny, the police officer trying to bring Cahill down, Jon Voight, who has grown comfortable in the role of the "heavy," gives one of his best-modulated performances in years. Kenny is a worthy foil for Cahill; in fact, he's so interesting that it's a shame more time wasn't spent developing his character. One of the downsides of the film being focused on Cahill is that Voight isn't given more screen exposure. The rest of the supporting players, including Adrian Dunbar (Hear My Song), Maria Doyle Kennedy (The Matchmaker), and Angeline Ball, do solid jobs.
One might readily ask where The General (which earned a best director award at the 1998 Cannes Film Festival) fits into Boorman's impressive pantheon. It's probably his best effort since 1987's Hope and Glory, and, while it is more effective and affecting than Beyond Rangoon, it doesn't come close to the level attained by his best-known feature, Deliverance. Despite occasionally dabbling in the murk of contemporary Irish politics, the director keeps the tone remarkably light, allowing moments of irreverent humor to creep into the script. (For example, when Cahill is stealing paintings from a museum, the camera pans over to a sign that reads: "Please do not touch the paintings.") By culling a career performance from Gleeson, Boorman has crafted a memorable portrait of a man who, in his homeland, was known as both a modern-day Robin Hood and a vile gangster, and who, on screen, can be seen as either.
© 1998 James Berardinelli