Weighed down by guilt

 
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I’ve always enjoyed black comedies, though I’m not sure how that reflects on my personality. In Bruges  is a funny and unusually poignant example of the genre. Unfortunately, the language is very strong and the violence is rather splattery, but it is a surprisingly thoughtful reflection on the problem of guilt.

It’s the story of two hit men, Ray (Colin Farrell) and Ken (Brendan Gleeson), whose boss Harry (Ralph Feinnes) has sent them to Bruges after a job went terribly wrong. Ray hates the place; a well-preserved medieval city, however beautiful, holds no interest and he is eager to find other distractions. The older Ken is more open to what Bruges has to offer and, as he and Ray spend their days on the tourist trail, he finds himself increasingly charmed by it.

While they wait for Harry to call with new instructions, they find themselves caught up in bizarre encounters with locals and other visitors to Bruges. When they come across a film crew shooting an arty, Hieronymus Bosch-inspired film, Ray becomes fascinated by Jimmy (Jordan Prentice), a disgruntled and very racist dwarf, and very attracted to Chloë (Clémence Poésy), who sells drugs to cast and crew. Neither of them turn out to be quite what Ray expects. Nor does Bruges itself, with its Gothic style feeling increasingly sinister as  events unfold.While many of these characters sound unpleasant, writer/director Martin McDonagh makes them rounded with some unexpected positive aspects. Brendan Gleeson says of McDonagh’s writing:

You have this combination of the worst of humanity, speaking the most conscience-free dialogue, and yet you leave with a sense of connection to these people. The fact is, they are all too human.

A cynic can quite easily despise his characters . . . dismissing them as being inhuman. The value of Martin’s storytelling is that, however apparently inhuman the behaviour, all of it is borne out in the history of human beings. Watching one of his works, we find that we can’t just disconnect and despise; we must engage with these people.

Colin Farrell goes much further to say, ‘There is a purity to these characters . . . Yes, they bring death to people, but they’re not black and white.’ He cannot mean that the characters are pure, but that they have some goodness within them. McDonagh is being true to a biblical understanding of human beings as both noble, because we’re created in God’s image, and corrupt, because we’ve asserted our independence from God. This seems to be a tension that Ray and Ken seem to feel themselves at some level. As professional killers, their consciences have shrivelled, but not entirely. They retain some moral sense beyond that of the familiar idea of honour among criminals. They recognise, at times, that morally they are not what they might be.

Ray particularly struggles with this, as he has accidentally killed a child while shooting his intended target. He feels wretched about it, and Ken attempts to reassure him saying, ‘You didn’t mean to kill a little boy.’ ‘I know I didn’t,’ responds Ray. ‘But because of the choices I made and the course that I put into action, a little boy isn’t here any more. And he’ll never be here again.’ Ray displays sensitivity, remorse and a sense of moral responsibility that is surprising in a character whom we expect to be as hard as nails. ‘He’s dead because of me,’ Ray continues. ‘And I’m trying to get my head around it, but I can’t. I will always have killed that little boy. That ain’t ever going away. Ever.’

What puts the killing of a child onto another moral level from Ray’s usual murders is, presumably, the child’s innocence and future potential. Harry, who appears far more ruthless than Ray and Ken, thinks the same. He considers it to be something unforgivable, from which there is no way back and which must be paid for.

While few of us have been in the situation of having killed someone accidentally, we can image Ray’s anguish all too easily. It’s not difficult to imagine because most, if not all, of us have had similar feelings of having done something terrible. Most of us have made choices which resulted in a course of events that we wish had never happened. Most of us have felt that we do not deserve to be forgiven.

Ken and Ray both find a measure of redemption, even as they experience some kind of judgment, but neither of them know anything of true redemption and the possibility of real forgiveness. If it is true that there is a God who determines what is morally right, and to whom we are answerable, then Ray is absolutely right to feel wretched. He should feel worse than he does, in fact: he has not just killed an innocent child, he has gone against that moral nature of God. However, the extraordinary fact is that another innocent person – the only perfectly innocent person ever, God’s son – was murdered to make forgiveness possible. He allowed himself to be killed to take the judgment that should rightfully be ours for going against God’s moral nature. Even Ray’s crimes are not too great to be covered by this incredible event. If he could have discovered this, it would remain true that the child was dead because of him. It would remain true that it ‘ain’t ever going away’. But it would also be true that God would no longer reject Ray because of his crimes and his rejection of God. And that, too, ain’t ever going away. Ever.

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