THE BANSHEES OF INISHERIN would make a good double-bill with The Power Of The Dog—if you’re contemplating suicide and want a nudge. Then they could stream Raging Bull at your unattended funeral. The sort of movie critics adore less for its decided craft than its dedicated opacity, then snookered audiences walk out of slightly dazed, wondering exactly what it was they just saw. In this case a great-looking, lovingly scored, admirably acted, frustratingly obtuse bummer. With apologies to ‘Jenny’, a wonderfully cute miniature donkey; pet stores no doubt barraged under a barnful of requests.

A small island off the Irish coast, 1923. A tad on the dull side, kindly ‘Pádraic’ (Colin Farrell) lives with his sweet, considerably keener sister ‘Siobhán’ (Kerry Condon) and his pet, a gentle donkey. Out of the blue (and sheer story speciousness) his lifelong pal ‘Colm’ (Brendan Gleeson) decides he longer wants anything to do with Pádraic, and when the mystified and hurt friend prods for a reason Colm’s responses are bizarre and brutal. Nearly all of the island’s inhabitants are less than pleased—with others, with themselves, with life. They include simple-minded teenager ‘Dominic’ (Barry Keoghan) and ‘Mrs. McCormick’ (Sheila Flitton, 89), the resident baleful crone. Just when things are at a low ebb, they get even bleaker. The Quiet Man with smallpox and leprosy.

Truly odd offering, written & directed by Martin McDonagh, who nocked In Bruges, a dark-edged treat with Farrell and Gleeson. Though that black comedy ended in a bloodbath, its carnage conclusion is more uplifting than this hope destroyer. The shame of it all (say “Aye, and shorr that be the shame of t’all” in your most fist-inviting cliché St.Paddy’s Day accent) is that besides the setup, tone and payoff (in other words, the anvil-heavy story and often irritating dialogue, with characters repeating a line back at each other—this must happen 50 times) it’s in other respects done with great skill. The cinematography of the isolate, harshly beautiful locations is splendid (they found good weather?), that rich visual palette then soundtrack backed by a quietly seductive score from Carter Burwell. Farrell and Gleeson are fine, Keoghan is superb as the too-oft-wounded boy and Condon is warm and winning as easily the most likable and sensible human on the isle.

“I do worry sometimes I might just be entertaining myself while staving off the inevitable.”

“Hold your feckin’ Guinness, then” (repeat line back at least twice) for the Academy Award nominations: Best Picture, Actor (Farrell), Director, Supporting Actor (Gleeson, Keoghan), Supporting Actress (Condon), Screenplay, Film Editing, Music Score. We’ll go along with noms for Keoghan, Condon and the score, and wonder why the cinematography was left out; otherwise, feckin’ nay. Cost: $20,000,000. Box-office: $50,300,000.

With Gary Lydon (the awful copper), Pat Shortt (pub owner), Brid Ni Neachtain (snippy postmistress), David Pearse (beleaguered priest). 114 minutes.