Kenneth Branagh’s ‘Belfast’ offers an indulgent origin story for better and worse

Indulgence has long been a virtue and vice of Kenneth Branagh’s works. The British stage actor first forged his path in films with a string of Shakespeare adaptations that he wrote, directed, and starred in as a leading man. When re-imagining Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein in 1994, he not only wore these three hats, but also wedged in a sequence where his mad scientist races around a laboratory shirtless. Branagh’s muscular torso glistened with science goo as if he were about to pose for a Chippendales calendar.

This bold theatricality and unapologetic lustiness as a filmmaker brought oomph to 2011’s Thor and 2015’s Cinderella, both of which were rightly praised for their sensual and spectacular fantasies. However, when it came to his Murder on the Orient Express in 2017, Branagh seemed so focused on his performance as the iconic detective Hercule Poirot that he left the rest of the cast to be lost in a sea of sloppy cinematography and clunky CGI. This same unchecked ego may have led to Belfast, an indulgent origin story masquerading as a crowd-pleasing family drama. 

Set in 1969, near the start of The Troubles in Northern Ireland, Belfast follows three generations of a family witnessing the peaceful world they knew ripped to shreds by a conflict they don’t understand. An opening sequence shot in black and white ushers audiences into a charming neighborhood of rowhouses, where the neighbors all know each other and the children frolic carefree in the street. That is, until a violent gang of Protestants bombards the block, aiming to oust the Catholics living there. Through the eyes of young Branagh stand-in Buddy (Luke Hill), this riot is abrupt and completely confounding. To Ma (Caitriona Balfe) and Pa (Jamie Dornan), it is another source of tension for a marriage already full up. To Granny (Judi Dench) and Pop (Ciarán Hinds), it’s a sign that the homeland they knew may already be gone. 

Yet this is not a film about the Troubles. Not really. There will be scenes of ruffians bullying Buddy’s dad to join the cause. There will be clashes, looting, and tense sequences of a family scraping to survive a battle in which they want no part. But ultimately, the low-level war that would rage for decades is little more the volatile backdrop that plays behind a coming-of-age story inspired by Branagh’s own boyhood. It begins with this chipper child, skipping down his street carrying a wooden sword and a trash can lid as a shield. His days are filled with fantasy and fictional heroics (a nod to Branagh’s future artistic vocation). His daydreams come to vivid life when he goes to the films, watching Chitty Chitty Bang Bang and other hits of the era, which play in bold color, reflecting their vitality. Buddy’s and the family’s faces are alight with joy in such scenes, reminding audiences of the power of films — and once more pointing to where Buddy/Branagh truly feels at home. Then, for extra good measure, Branagh makes sure to include a shot where Buddy reads a Thor comic book…because he directed Thor. Subtlety has never been his strong suit. It’s never even been in his deck. 

While Buddy gets caught up in the films and crushes on a blonde girl at school, his parents are grappling with far less cinematic problems, like crushing debt and an intensifying debate about whether they should leave Belfast behind. Beyond this, Pop is growing unwell. He brushes away any conversation on this point, preferring instead to talk to his grandson about love and the art of wooing. A warm Hinds and a spirited Dench dance and joke, welcoming audiences into the glow of lived-in love. But the lustiness of Branagh’s other films feels tamed, even when Ma and Pa have a rare moment to revel in romance. Still, these arcs allow Branagh to loosen the focus on his child alter ego and give voice to the grown man behind the camera, looking back in awe at the love and strength in those who made him who he is. 

These scenes of familial mirth are suitably swooning, reflecting the wonder Branagh must carry for his family. However, he struggles at making his parents feel like real people. The grandparents, slightly irreverent yet respected, are familiar enough archetypes that they’d work well with any half-decent actor in the role. Branagh stacked the deck with Hinds and Dench, who easily evoke a storied history together and deep, knitted affection. With crackling chemistry, they nearly run away with this movie, while Dornan and Balfe are challenged to manifest depth in parents who aren’t much sketched out beyond strain and tenderness. There’s little nuance or in-between. So, Ma runs close to being a nagging stereotype, despite the grounded performance of Balfe. As for Dornan, his strong jaw and steady gaze are captured in cinematography with crisp close-ups, celebrating the stern masculinity of this patriarch and low-key likening him to a superhero in framing alone. But there’s little clue as to what’s going on inside his head. Instead, the insights into these grown-ups are presented through an eavesdropping Buddy, whose sweet face can’t carry the weight of such mature material. 

Like the gorgeous montage of modern Belfast that sets the stage of this world, the movie refuses to linger too long on the ugly bits. Returning to Buddy is Branagh’s safe play, giving the audience a reassuringly cute kid whom you know will see no irreparable harm. After all, he has to grow up to go to RADA and become a big star. Branagh’s determination to give a soft touch to all troubles, be they marital discord, poverty, death, or The Troubles, undermines the movie’s message of resilience. The rapturous scenes — children playing, generations bonding, audiences communally experiencing a movie — whimsically represent the little graces that pull us through the dark times. By only timidly exhibiting such dark times, Branagh fails to draw as powerful a contrast as he might have. It’s as if he’s listening to the advice of his onscreen father, who tells Buddy, “Be good. And if you can’t be good, be careful.” 

It’s not that Belfast isn’t good, but it is too careful, coming off almost fearful of the subject matter at its center. It’s like Branagh is flipping through a family photo album, giving us curated glimpses of these relatives and their lives. No one frames the snapshots of the hard times. We prefer to brush past them. So in this tribute to his family, it’s understandable that Branagh gives glossy glances rather than hard stares at these characters. It’s a sweet gesture, but it leaves Belfast feeling big-hearted yet hollow. 

Belfast opens in theaters on Nov. 12.