I missed this film’s “limited” theatrical release in the USA this summer, but now it’s out on DVD (internationally—the American disc arrives in January) so I was able to rectify that oversight. The Guard is very slightly oversold as a “buddy comedy” pairing Brendan Gleeson as a burly Irish garda and Don Cheadle as a buttoned-up FBI agent: it’s Gleeson’s film all the way, although Cheadle is fine in support (but clearly, in support).
Director John Michael McDonagh “inherited” Brendan Gleeson from his brother Martin McDonagh; though there aren’t any concrete similarities between The Guard and In Bruges, the films share a certain…attitude or sensibility. Both aren’t exactly what one would call outright comedies (The Guard comes much closer), but there is a lot of humour and humanity in each, along with crime-genre elements common to both.
Sgt. Gerry Boyle is a middle-aged garda (policeman) in Connemara, Ireland. A stranger is found murdered in the village, Boyle discovers he has a newly-arrived assistant, he also learns his ill mother has only a short time to live, and then he’s summoned to a briefing supervised by FBI agent Wendell Everett, who believes a shipload of drugs is due to arrive there soon. Boyle’s sarcastic remarks and independent manner don’t endear him to Wendell or his own superiors, but when he identifies the murder victim as one of the suspected drug runners, the garda and the American are forced to cooperate in the investigation…although not on Boyle’s day off (since he’s scheduled a romp with two call girls from the city, though he doesn’t share than information with Wendell). However, Boyle’s flippant attitude doesn’t mean he’s derelict in his duty, particularly when the drug smugglers murder his assistant and attempt to kill him.
The script for The Guard is just short of superb, with frequently hilarious dialogue, and sharply-realised characters. Its main weakness is the somewhat negligible plot and an over-reliance on coincidences. Essentially, the “story” is just there to provide a skeletal structure upon which the characters, dialogue, and situations can be hung—in a lesser film this might prove fatal, but the individual components of The Guard are so entertaining that its sketchy foundation is hardly noticeable.
Early in their acquaintance, agent Wendell tells Boyle, “I can’t tell if you’re really [bleep]ing dumb or really [bleep]ing smart.” Sgt. Boyle is indeed the puzzling centre of the film. A dim-witted, clumsy, bigoted small-town cop or a crafty, competent, pragmatic law enforcer? Vulgar, profane, burly, known to take a drink, unmarried, kind to his mother and gallant to other women (even whores), a former Olympic swimmer (so he says), connossieur of jazz and an aficionado of arcade “shooter” games, the dumb-like-a-fox garda reveals a different facet of his personality in almost every scene, yet remains recognisably human and (mostly) likeable, even when he makes a racial slur then excuses it by saying “I’m Irish: racism is part of my culture.” Gleeson’s performance is excellent, shaded and multi-dimensional so that he never becomes a caricature, but then again, he is—as noted above—working with a script that gives literally every actor in the film something to chew on, some bit of distinctive dialogue or “business” that makes them stand out.
Cheadle’s FBI agent isn’t as subtly shaded as Gleeson’s Sgt. Boyle, but he’s fine as the natty, stone-faced Wendell, who plays the generic, strait-laced G-man (everyone he meets seems disappointed he isn’t a member of the “Behavioural Analysis Unit,” of TV and film fame) to Boyle’s boisterious local yokel (seemingly). The sequence in which Wendell attempts to canvass the small Irish village without Boyle’s help (the garda refusing to give up his scheduled day off) is splendidly funny.
The Guard also gives us Eugene, a wise little kid who’s never without his pink girl’s bicycle and a woolly dog on a leash; three hilariously erudite drug smugglers (the pragmatic Irish boss, an acerbic Brit, and a wild-eyed sociopath); an IRA envoy in a cowboy hat (who admits the IRA had to admit a few gay lads to membership, since “it was the only way we could infiltrate MI-5”); a Croatian mail-order bride;, two jolly hookers; Boyle’s sardonic mum; and a freelance crime-scene photographer, among others. It’s difficult to describe—without going into excessive detail and quoting too much dialogue—the smart, profanity-laden, witty nature of The Guard. It’s intelligently funny. The best parts are excellent, and the weaker sections aren’t bad at all (they just don’t sparkle as brightly). Not to give away the conclusion, but the final sequence almost breaks the fourth wall, as various characters debate a variety of alternative, mostly unrealistic, endings to the movie.
Some comedy films toss in mawkish bits of sentimentality, as if to balance out the humour or to justify the raucous nature of the rest of the picture. The Guard doesn’t do that: the serious stuff is integral to the overall scheme of things. The scenes between Boyle and his dying mother reveal their emotional attachment to one another in a trying period of their lives, but are still scathingly funny. We can see where Boyle got his sense of humour and rapier-sharp tongue, and neither he nor his mum succumbs to self-pity at her approaching demise. Boyle’s already a lone wolf (who visited Disneyworld by himself and had his photo taken with Goofy), and the passing of his mother leaves him even more alone, which perhaps contributes to his ultimate actions in the film. So he’s not merely a cartoony Irish version of the stereotypical small-town cop, he’s a complexly-constructed character, a human being who faces life with an outwardly-plodding, even ingenuous manner that conceals his true nature.
Perfect? Of course not. But The Guard is legitimately one of those films that could stand a second viewing, to savour the good stuff once again. And there is plenty of good stuff.
