Calvary

You have been here many times before in movies. It's not a comfortable place, the confessional, with someone on the other side of the grill admitting to killing their wife's lover, or sleeping with their sister.

This time the focus is on Father James (Brendan Gleeson) as he listens to a man talking of being sexually abused when he was a boy by a priest ("There was a lot of blood") and how it affected the rest of his life. Now he wants revenge, not by murdering a bad priest but a good one because it would make more impact and leave a stronger statement for the Church to confront.

"I'll kill you on the beach in a week's time," he says.

As an intro to a film of exceptional quality this cuts to the quick. The week passes. Characters expose their running flaws, their intimations of depravity, wrapped in cynicism and corruption.

Father James is a recovering alcoholic. His daughter (Kelly Reilly), who lives in London, is a failed suicide. The local policeman entertains a male prostitute. The butcher's wife is a nymphomaniac. And so it goes. In Sligo, it seems, God is dead.

Writer/director John Michael McDonagh has created an environment that places one foot off centre and another in the mire. Despite faults worthy of a mountain of Hail Marys these people have their own methods of survival which is not encumbered by the duty and guilt of the Holy Roman church.

Gleeson's performance is monumental. He conveys intelligence and wisdom in equal measure and allows Father James' religious calling to lie lightly across his shoulders.

The threat remains as the weekend approaches. He acquires a gun. Is love a broken promise? Where are the angels of the enlightenment?

It is not raining on Saturday morning. The beach is empty. A man approaches, far in the distance.

Is this the end of days? Is this Gomorrah?