THE ECLIPSE
Directed by Conor McPherson
Produced by Robert Walpole
Written by McPherson & Billy Roche, based on Tales from Rainwater Pond by Roche
Released by Magnolia Pictures
Ireland. 88 min. Rated R
With Ciarán Hinds, Aidan Quinn, Iben Hjejle, Jim Norton, Eanna Hardwicke &
Hannah Lynch 
 

Ciarán Hinds does not carry himself like a movie star. This beefy actor with the craggy face looks as if he’s been in too many rounds in too many fights in too many bars. But his “ordinary man” aura is what makes Conor McPherson’s The Eclipse—an uneasy amalgam of ghost story and character study—worth seeing.

Hinds plays Michael Farr, a widower living in the seaside Irish town of Cobh with his two kids. It’s been two years since the death of his beloved wife, for whom Michael still grieves. His only link to her memory—aside from the photos that adorn their home—is her father Malachy, currently in a rest home and saddened that he’s outlived his daughter.

Michael slowly begins to move on: he volunteers at the town’s annual literary festival; and he’s interested in the bright, attractive Lena Morelle, author of a book on ghosts and in town for the festival. Hampering Michael’s recovery from his grief are the apparitions he sees—and the presence of guest speaker Nicholas Holden, the obnoxious, successful (and married) American author who wants to resume an earlier fling with Lena.

As director, McPherson is prone to showy touches, like a lengthy Steadicam shot during an author’s reading that roves past the seated spectators, or an entire scene played out between two actors in silhouette. But as writer, he has a welcome affection for his characters, whom he treats fondly. There’s ample humor without condescension (even Nicholas, the ugly American, is not vilified), and the budding romance between Michael and Lena is tender without turning sentimental.

Yet—as he did in the “shock” ending to his play Shining City—McPherson mucks up a realistic character study with ham-fisted excursions into ghostly territory. The first apparition Michael witnesses is perfectly natural—thumping in the middle of the night wakes him up, and he walks downstairs to investigate with his trusty dog at his side. At the bottom of the stairs, he can barely make out what looks to be his father-in-law, who turns and disappears.

Later, however, McPherson doesn’t trust his own instincts to allow the supernatural to arise out of the ordinary, and the film is soon in “gotcha” mode as ghouls lunge at Michael from the passenger seat of his car or from the bottom of his closet. None of it is particularly scary—more often merely risible—and after several of these “cry wolf” moments, Michael finally sees his dead wife sitting at the edge of his bed, but the moment’s emotional power is curtailed by the cheap effects McPherson favors.

Still, in many ways, The Eclipse is a small film that deserves wider currency. Hinds’ persuasive, fully engaged portrayal of Michael is reinforced by the rest of the cast. Iben Hjejle makes an appealing Lena; Aidan Quinn hams it up entertainingly as the drunken, nasty-tempered Nicholas; Jim Norton (along with Hinds, a veteran of McPherson’s plays) is always a delight to see; and the young actors playing Michael’s well-adjusted children—Eanna Hardwicke and Hannah Lynch—never succumb to the excessive cutesiness plaguing onscreen children.

On the periphery, there’s the loveliness of coastal Ireland to admire and an evocative score by McPherson’s wife, Fionnuala Ni Chiosain, that alternates between piano tinkling and wordless choral music. McPherson also achieves a very real sense of damaged people who go on with life despite its heartbreaking jolts. If only McPherson had more faith in his own material, The Eclipse wouldn’t be such a precarious balancing act between the intimate chamber drama it is and the gothic horror story it wants to be. Kevin Filipski
April 4, 2010