Here we go again.After last year's bullshit atrocity in which Michael Moore was given the top prize at Cannes, by the cultural Luddites of Europe, now we have a film by Ken Loach(alliteration-Leech/Roach) about 'Oireland'.
Ah yes.
Good old Oireland.
Where the cheeky chappies put up chirpy defiance to the sadistic, murdering, British.
The British are the ones with plummy or carefully regional accents, in carefully recreated perfect uniforms.
The IRA Oirish are the beautiful artists' models in flat caps, siring ethnically perfect babies from suffering-but-happy woives who are full of down-to-Earth wisdom which they never fail to communicate whenever their happy-go-lucky menfolk go off on another jolly jape(such as blowing up children-oops, spoiling the effect)
Are ye fer the cause?
Not fucking likely.
A long-gone relative was a British soldier in 1916.
He didn't think it right to stab the 'hated' British in the back in time of war, so he waited until the end of WWI, then joined the IRA and fought for Irish independence.
Apparently he wasn't welcome after the war of independence, and left for Liverpool.
Not 'Oirish' enough,maybe.
Hell, Collins was there all through, and they killed him.
But the point is this; the modern Provos were formed in 1969 as a Soviet-sponsored Communist combat group, to achieve a Communist satellite in offshore Western Europe.
Ken Loach is a fellow-traveller.
He's just keeping the dreams of the 'Communist Call' alive.
If you must wonder how films like this get made, think on this; America has two, famous organisations based on backward, traditional communities in Catholic islands.
One is Noraid.
The other is the Mafia.
Irish Eyes are smiling like Big Pizza Pies all over New York where artistic credibility is on offer.
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