As long-time readers know, I like to revisit classic cinema from time to time, as there can be a wealth of material there that is too often lacking in the overpoliticized climate of today, which tends to stifle truth in favor of dogma.
Ryan’s Daughter, a 1970 film about a young Irish woman in county Kerry during WWI, caught my interest because it was described as having beautiful, dramatic cinematography. Directed by David Lean, who also directed Lawrence of Arabia, it doesn’t disappoint in that regard. The west coast of Ireland is a beautiful strip of land that has all the moods and passions of a young woman: at one moment bleak and sorrowful, and another lush and bright; one day stormy and tempestuous, the next all sun-dappled calm and tranquility.
This is why it was such a good setting for the story, which deals with the turbulent nature of a woman’s love. The movie revolves around the passions of Rosy Ryan (Sarah Miles), a publican’s daughter who is just coming of age in Kirarry, a village on the Dingle peninsula that hardly suits her worldly dreams. The Dingle peninsula is remote, but it is a starkly beautiful place overshadowed by Mt. Brandon, named after Brendan the Navigator, the famed Irish monk and seafarer. Saint Brendan is alleged to have set sail from the peninsula on a voyage to the Americas in 530 AD in a currach, one of the skin boats one can still see upturned on the sand in the sheltered coves.
Young Rosy falls in love with the village teacher, Charles Shaughnessy — a middle-aged widower who tries to talk her out of it. Eventually, they marry, but ennui soon sets in, and Rosy’s passions and imagination begin to cause her frustration — the “unhappiness” that so commonly destroys marriages these days. She begins to despise the kind, staid ways of her schoolteacher husband (played by Robert Mitchum), whose hobbies are botany and classical music.
The village priest, the most powerful character of all, is a grizzled older man who sees what’s going on with Rosy, and confronts her on the beach. She confesses to being unhappy, and the he asks her what she has to be so upset about. When, instead of dealing with her feelings as a married woman was expected in those days, she begins to indulge her self-pity, Father Hugh (played by Trevor Howard) angrily strikes her across the face, leaving her weeping on the strand.
Soon, a handsome young war veteran named Randolph Doryan (Christopher Jones), wounded in battle in WWI, is sent to a bleak outpost overlooking the village. A recipient of the Victoria Cross, he has been sent to recuperate from shell shock and an injury that left him with a bad limp. Although the post in Kerry is considered recuperative, Ireland was not a particularly pleasant place for British soldiers in the early 20th century. The Irish independence movement was heating up at the time, and even out in the remote countryside there was strong anti-British sentiment. The townspeople both deride and mock the soldiers when the opportunity arises.
The young war hero eventually makes his way to the pub, where Rosy is covering for her father at the bar. Attraction between the two is instant, and it takes no time for them to be locked in a passionate embrace. Despite the danger, an affair begins immediately. Here is where the film really shines, as the grand, dolorous scenery provides an excellent backdrop for the obviously doomed (and damned) love affair.
I won’t give away the ending, because I think the movie is worth watching and would like to encourage readers to find it and see for themselves, but some of the themes are worth discussing.
Father Hugh, the rough old priest, is the wisest man of the village, and its source of both moral and practical guidance. Despite being a virgin, he is the manliest figure of all. Some may cringe when he strikes Rosy, but eventually it is revealed that he alone is watching out for the errant young woman, and only he can help her when her ill-advised dalliance with the foreign soldier finally puts her in harm’s way. Father Hugh, as a strong-willed, righteous man, is the father figure women yearn for — the shepherd of the flock.
Charles Shaughnessy, the schoolteacher husband, is the beta provider archetype. A kind, gentle man who would never hurt a fly, he offers the security, loyalty and devotion that comforts women. He has a silent strength, but when he learns of his wife’s affair, he is devastated and deeply hurt, but neither vengeful nor enraged. A deeply sympathetic character, he is nevertheless the target of ridicule for being cuckolded. Only father Hugh stands up for him and cares enough to comfort him.
Randolph Doryan is the damaged bad boy. A handsome warrior, wounded both in body and spirit, he embodies passion, adventure and danger. Underlying his callous, selfish behavior is a deep disappointment with life, and a fatal cynicism. This darkness combined with physical beauty is a potent mix for women, who are aroused by the protective and nurturing instincts they evoke, along with the promise of drama and forbidden pleasures.
Ryan’s Daughter explores the psychology of women with both compassion and honesty, leaving the viewer with sympathy for the wretched girl. It is a quintessentially Western take on the feminine, and, in some sense, a Western take on men. I’ll leave it to the viewer to make his own sense of the trinity of male leading characters, but for those who haven’t seen it, particularly young men, I heartily recommend watching the movie.
