THE SECRET OF KELLS: Manuscripture

This review was requested by Alexis Howland. Many thanks to Alexis for supporting Post-Credit Coda through our Patreon.

Directors: Tomm Moore, Nora Twomey

Writers: Tomm Moore, Fabrice Ziolkowski

Cast: Evan McGuire, Christen Mooney, Brendan Gleeson, Mick Lally

Runtime: 75 mins.

2009

There is nothing that looks quite like The Secret of Kells, the first film in director Tomm Moore's 'Irish Folklore Trilogy.' The prologue dashes primordial shapes and storybook colors across the screen. Character models scuttle about in impossible synchronicity. Geometries natural and artificial compete for supremacy while emulating each other's designs.

What is most stunning (and indescribable) is the way the animation feels so uniquely flat. All 2D animation is flat of course, but Kells cultivates the illusion of ink dancing upon page. The young hero of the story Brendan (Evan McGuire), introduced in the midst of a literal goose chase, radiates a playfulness that extends to the screen's dimensionality. Lacking the proper words, I must show you examples.

This style is fresh, but it is not new. Brendan's quest of artistic enlightenment is based on a real Irish holy book called the Book of Kells. This illuminated manuscript enhances the Gospels with vibrant spiraling illustrations which director Moore describes as "flat, with false perspective and lots of colour." The form of the film about the formation of the book is informed by the form of the book the film is about.

This brilliant alchemy of ancient tradition into modern innovation does not hold for the entire movie. The Secret of Kells does right by its white Irish heritage, but it fails its racialized characters. Brother Assoua (Paul Tylak) and Brother Tang (Liam Hourican) are walking embodiments of Black and Chinese stereotypes, respectively. The inevitable retort that every individual is meant to be a caricature fails to persuade when you consider the loving depth and breadth of design across its white ensemble. Brother Assoua's design, meanwhile, highlights features pulled from a legacy of minstrelsy.

Although the film has dodged widespread criticism on this point (perhaps because it dodged widespread popularity), you can find pockets of pushback. One such critique received a response from Moore apologizing and saying that any harm done was unintentional. Indeed, racial stereotypes are slippery, and their perpetuation is often unconscious. This comment has since been deleted. It's difficult to read 'good intentions' into a character who is generically 'from Africa,' and who is moreover voiced by a white Asian man trying on an 'African' accent.

Writers Moore and Ziolkowski also adopt a more traditional approach to story structure. For better or worse, Kells feels meandering to our modern sensibilities. Brendan weaves in and out of adventures, accumulating life experiences, not building towards anything per se. His adventures with the spirit of the woods Aisling (Christen Mooney) serve little express purpose beyond expanding his scope of the world. There's something compelling about the way Brendan impulsively confronts an ancient evil called crom cruach in a stunning abstract setpiece, suffers no consequences for his impertinence, and then uses a piece of this evil creature to create great wisdom and beauty. The structure is so shaggy that Kells is a rare film with exactly one musical sequence, an achingly beautiful incantation sung by Aisling to the astral projection of a cat.

SPOILERS

The semi-arbitrariness of events comes to a head in the film's most shocking sequence; Viking invaders pillage the Abbey of Kells and kill indiscriminately. I fully expected Brendan and the Book's luminance to somehow curb the violence, but the film brooks no such relief. Brendan and his mentor Brother Aidan (Mick Lally) flee in terror. A burning stairwell leading to shelter collapses into the mass death of panicked villagers. Once the dust has settled, a multiply stabbed Abbot Cellach (Brendan Gleeson) is told by his closest advisor that he is not permitted to die. "You are the Abbot of Kells, you must get up." It's a profound rupture of familiar narrative tenets, more powerful for its senselessness.

SPOILER END

All told, Kells is a movie of moments. The closest to my heart is also the simplest: Brendan and Aisling climb a tree. The wordless scene whisks them through dazzling tableaus, forced perspective trickery, mischievous visual gags. Their kinetic momentum takes them to the tip of the mighty tree, where Brendan clings to a twig for safety. Aisling instructs him to open his eyes on three, and it is here that the movie pulls its finest maneuver. We too are ensconced in blackness, expectant, nervous. When Brendan opens his eyes, we see what he sees: Aisling's radiant countenance superimposed against a breathtaking view. Planting us in Brendan's subjectivity roots the spectacle of the climb in a quiet, emotional moment of trust between two budding friends. The human scale is not lost amidst the myth.

4 / 5  BLOBS