Over the last ten years or so, numerous figures within the film industry have spotlighted Pat Collins, pegging him as potentially the top Irish director currently active. His focus has primarily been on quiet, elliptical, semi-documentaries. His past works include ‘Silence’, a film about a sound recordist endeavouring to evade man-made sounds, and ‘Living in a Coded Land’, an alternative portrayal of the Irish midlands. Perhaps the piece that came closest to a traditional drama was 2017’s ‘Song of Granite’, a study of sean-nós singer, Joe Heaney.
However, a shift in his profile might be imminent. His latest film, ‘That They May Face the Rising Sun’, which recently claimed the ‘Best Irish Film’ title at the Dublin International Film Festival, is a considerate adaptation of John McGahern’s final novel. While it exhibits more traditional elements than his earlier productions, it still retains the peaceful atmosphere typical of Collins’s work.
When initially discussing the book, Collins jestingly declared it virtually unfilmable, though his perspective changed as funders began to take an interest. Encounters with Collins reflect the essence of his films, which isn’t perpetually the case with filmmakers. He discusses various topics in a well-spoken and thoughtful manner, openly engaging even with the most theoretical concepts, without any discernible pretension.
The most unexpected revelation came when discussing his early engagement with film. Raised on a farm, he had scarce opportunities to visit the cinema prior to the widespread use of home video, and like many of us, watched whatever was broadcasted by RTÉ television.
He recalls watching films on television but struggles to remember specifics, aside from the ‘Bride of Frankenstein’. He remembers being petrified by James Whale’s illustriously flamboyant horror comedy, stating that viewing it at a young age had a significant effect on him. He observes that while movies mainly serve as entertainment, they also bear a dream-like quality. He further immersed himself in the cinematic world later on while residing in Cork City.
Recalling his encounter with the unsettling David Lynch film, Blue Velvet, he remembers feeling inebriated and unprepared. At the time, there were around seven cinemas operating in Cork, and he frequented them every afternoon.
Nevertheless, one would be hard-pressed to encounter any Lynchian elements in That They May Face The Rising Sun. The book, published four years prior to the demise of the writer in 2002, narrates the yearly dynamics of a rustic midlands community. The plot revolves around Joe Ruttledge, a local who has returned to his hometown after a stint abroad, and his observations of the diverse community members interacting throughout the changing seasons. The genius subtlety of McGahern allowed the readers to feel the texture of the community.
In the narrative, Joe worked in the advertising industry,” shares Collins, “However, I believed that reframing him as a writer would add depth to his characterization, permitting a closer look at his internal world. I could even incorporate fragments from the book.”
Indeed, this does suggest that Joe may be a representation of McGahern. Barry Ward, who assumes the role with a unique blend of dry wit and intelligence, doesn’t bear physical resemblance to the author, but he seems to be embodying a role of prudent observer and explainer. Other well-respected actors such as Lalor Roddy, Seán McGinley, and Ruth McCabe contribute their unique hues to the portrayal of local eccentric characters as Joe begins writing.
Collins knows the history of this author well; two decades back, he created a notable documentary titled John McGahern: A Private World. As per Collins, when asked about adapting the book, McGahern’s widow Madeline, residing in Leitrim, gave her consent.
Prompting the question, does Collins feel that the associates see Ward’s character in the light of McGahern?
“He remarked, no one ever identified the character as John. He was persistent in his insistence to Barry not to impersonate, rather to add his flavour to the role. He didn’t intend for it to be perceived as a bio-flick. However, Barry couldn’t help but manipulate himself for the part, given his vivacious acting temperament. Possibly, he was somewhat influenced by John,” he expressed.
Making generic statements about the film floating in a timeless space is a comfortable fallacy. It is rooted in a specific period – though it’s not explicitly stated, the presence of cars and absence of mobile phones clues us into the late 70s or early 80s. This is reminiscent of when Colm Bairéad’s ‘An Cailín Ciúin’ took place. He believes if another 15 years elapsed, the era might become wholly unfamiliar for current generations.
Does he think life drastically differs from the early 1980s? Are today’s youth in jeopardy of losing a vital connection?
“In my belief, society’s manner of interaction has greatly evolved,” he mused. “Growing up, I recall a routine of constant back-and-forth between our neighbours’, conveying messages, as we didn’t possess a phone until I was well into my teens. Once telephones became commonplace, these normative visits gradually faded. We’d make house calls on festive occasions or to aid during hay harvesting. The mode of communication amidst today’s youth hasn’t ceased, rather, it’s simply evolved. They may exchange scores of text messages in a day.”
Presenting himself as an amiable and open-minded individual, Collins doesn’t voice any disapproval. He portrays a man who has embraced change in a comfortable manner and appears to be from a different time. His story doesn’t entail a university application, instead, he wandered to Cork city and onto Galway after his school years, engaging with the city’s cultural scene. The idea of becoming a film director didn’t even exist as a dream for him at that time. His journey in that direction began when he took on the role of writing for, and later editing, the well-known journal Film West.
“During my early twenties, I began attempting to write brief scripts and the like,” he recounts. “But it was truly through editing Film West that the interest was sparked. The individuals who contributed to Film West were all more cinema-literate than I was, and I gleaned much from them. It brought to my realisation the need to spotlight the writers. Had there been a film expert editing the journalists, they would’ve been able to assign creative tasks. My only proposition was that no negative reviews were to be published. The focus should remain on aspects loved by individuals.”
In the late 1990s, this led him to curate the Galway Film Fleadh, making him a key player in establishing the festival’s significance within the Irish film sphere. Initiated in 1989, the festival invites industry professionals globally to the main event to debut new Irish films. Set in July, it serves as the pivotal point in the cinema calendar.
“Galway was incredibly engrossed in the industry,” he comments. “There was an untapped market there. It was towards the end of the 1990s, and Galway was abuzz. The weather being summer, the festival provided significant social opportunities. There was a delightful chaos, a motley of individuals attending. Neil Jordan and Woody Harrelson, savouring a pint at the rowing club, were among the attendees. Everything within the Irish film industry seemed achievable at that time. In the early 90s, films were only a subject of discussion, no one was making them.”
[John McGahern: Acknowledged as one of the 20th century’s leading prose authors]”
Neil Jordan believes in the importance of disguises, suggesting that the very essence of life is to pretend to be something we’re not. Collins, however, expresses concern over the evolution of things, remarking dissatisfaction over the lost quality of conversations. He critiques the perception of film in Ireland, noting that it’s addressed more as an industry for employment rather than an art form. This, he feels, is unlike the discourse around books and theatre.
By the time Collins was on the verge of turning 30, he had produced his inaugural documentary, a tribute to poet Michael Hartnett. Since then, his pursuit continued with dedication, garnering praise and admiration slowly but surely. Among his notable works is a tribute to the esteemed Iranian director, Abbas Kiarostami, and an exploration of the folklorist Henry Glassie’s field work, the latter made its appearance at the 2019 Toronto International Film Festival. Collins was officially recognised a year after when he was welcomed into Aosdána.
Even though ‘That They May Face the Rising Sun’ is nominally his debut dramatic feature, it shares the same flavour as his former documentaries and hybrid works. It showcases traditional arts such as carpentry and beekeeping, just as in the Glassie film, and a continuous admiration for the charm of the countryside.
Despite his deep love for landscapes, Collins also expresses his concerns, hinting at the commodification of picturesque views for tourism, a practice he’s observed being widely used in American films.
On another note, he expresses surprise when he was made aware that the number plate on the protagonist’s car in the humanistic adaptation of “The McGahern” reads “OZU 155”, a notable coincidence for a huge fan of Yasujiro Ozu, the renowned director of ‘Tokyo Story’ and ‘An Autumn Afternoon’. Initially contemplating changing it for being distracting, Collins eventually decided to let it be, embracing this amusing incident.
The film ‘That They May Face the Rising Sun’ is set to be available in cinemas from the 26th of April.