Like Cain and Abel

Heroes and villains

In the beginning of the film, the two men are still on the same side, brothers-in-arms fighting for Irish freedom, and the disagreements between them seem to be over tactics only. The audience gets the first glimpse of Michael Collins fighting for the Irish Republic in the 1916 Easter Rising. The image of Michael Collins as a soldier is easily recognisable to the Irish audience, for as John Regan argues, the ‘historical’ Collins in uniform is "one of the most popularly used images of the Irish revolution" and remains "an instantly recognisable figure with an undeniable romantic quality." (Regan 1995, 17). So the moment Collins steps into the limelight in his full uniform, he is identified as the romantic hero of Irish history. The Easter Rising sequence in the film reinforces the image of Collins as a man of action. Realising the failure of the rising, the republicans, Collins and his friend Harry Boland among them, surrender, and ground their arms. When the British kick one of the ringleaders, the badly wounded James Connolly, Collins moves in order to stop them. It is another leader of the rising, Eamon de Valera, who constrains Collins by asking him to wait "till the next time".

Collins is thus introduced as a soldier of "undeniable romantic quality", as a passionate and compassionate man of action who is ready to get things going, while de Valera appears to be a more cold-hearted and calculating strategist. This impression is backed up by the star images of the two actors. Richard Dyer argues that there are two points of view from which the star’s effect in the construction of character can be considered: "the fact of a star being in the film, and their performance in it. […] As regards the fact that a given star is in the film, audience foreknowledge, the star’s name and her/his appearance […] all already signify that condensation of attitudes and values which is the star’s image." (Dyer 1986, 142). The star images and performances of Liam Neeson and Alan Rickman, playing Collins and de Valera respectively, are of great significance to the construction of the image of the two historical figures and their relationship, so it is worth while having a closer look at those star images.

Liam Neeson made his great international breakthrough in Steven Spielberg’s Schindler’s List (1993), in which he played Oskar Schindler, a German businessman who saved more than a thousand Jews from concentration camps in World War II. Neeson’s Oscar-nominated portrayal of Schindler was by no means that of an angel, but the filmic Schindler’s flaws and imperfections made him perhaps more likeable. In 1995 Neeson played the part of Robert Roy McGregor in Michael Caton-Jones’s Rob Roy, a man of honour wronged by an Englishman in eighteenth-century Scotland. So Liam Neeson had established himself as an international ‘star’ through two high-profile roles as a heroic figure, who has small imperfections but is essentially good. Rob Roy had also set a precedent of Liam Neeson playing a heroic man from the Celtic periphery oppressed by the villainous British. Alan Rickman, the British actor playing de Valera, on the other hand, is remembered for his roles as a villain in Die Hard (1988) and as the evil Sheriff of Nottingham in Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves (1991), so Rickman’s star image suggests that his character might be a cunning villain.

The soldier and the statesman

The first hints of differences between the point of view of the two men are seen early in the film in a scene in which the members of the clandestine Irish cabinet are arrested and taken away. While the idealistic de Valera hopes to win international attention for the Irish cause by letting himself be arrested, and protests when being led to a lorry: "This is an illegal arrest by an illegal force of occupation...", the pragmatic Collins watches the episode at a safe distance. In contrast to de Valera, Collins, who sees that they have been "rotting in English jails for long enough", is not interested in passive resistance, but in building a secret army and starting a war against the British rule. And this is exactly what Collins, now a self-declared "minister for gun-running, daylight robbery and general mayhem", does during de Valera’s imprisonment: with the help of Harry Boland he organises groups of Volunteers and engages in ruthless action against the enemy. Thus in the first half of the film, Michael Collins is established as a man of action, the mastermind of the Irish War of Independence, the strategist behind Dublin’s urban guerrilla warfare. De Valera, on the other hand, is presented as a bookish statesman and an idealist who, at this point, opposes direct action, only to demand large-scale engagement later. Regardless of these differences, however, in 1918 the two men are still united by a common enemy, and for the time being, possible personal differences are submerged in the pursuit of overthrowing the British.

The differences about tactics are taken onto another level, however, after de Valera, having just been helped to escape from prison, makes it known that he is not too pleased with Collins and Boland’s work:

de Valera: I see you’ve been having fun in my absence.
Boland: Oh fun and games all the way, Chief. [Laughing].
de Valera: I know. I read the papers. [de Valera isn’t laughing].

Soon after, de Valera informs Collins about his decision to leave for America with Harry Boland: "I want to petition the American public for their support. I want recognition from President Wilson for an Irish Republic. I want the moral force of international opinion brought to bear on the British government." The agitated Collins expresses his opinion of the British understanding only one kind of force. He therefore feels that their work is at home, but de Valera pulls rank on him and says that their work is where he says it is. Collins pleads with de Valera to at least leave him Harry: "I can’t run a war without Harry Boland", to which de Valera replies in an almost jealous tone: "You could run it without me." Later on, when Boland is getting ready to leave for America, Collins remarks: "He’s scared to leave the two of us together. We might achieve the republic he wants to talk to the world about." The sequence highlights the contrast in personality between the straightforward Collins and the self-assertive de Valera. Their disagreement is no longer over tactics only; there is an impending rift on a personal level as well. In spite of all this, however, Collins salutes de Valera when he is about to leave for America, and says: "You’re my chief. Always." thus displaying his unwavering loyalty to de Valera whatever Dev’s decisions turn out to be.

In de Valera’s eighteen-month absence, Collins emerged as a powerful political and military figure in Ireland. On the screen Collins is portrayed mainly as a charismatic soldier willing to die for his ideals but also ruthless enough to kill for his beliefs. Of Collins’ roles as Minister for Finance and the architect of the Dáil Éireann loan there is not much evidence: his revolutionary man of action side is emphasised in the film at the expense of his role as an administrator. Instead of the paper-shuffling soldier that the historical Collins was, the audience sees the pure soldier, a hero of a quite conventional mould. This is perhaps not surprising, for as John Regan notes, "like the seldom published photograph of Collins at his departmental desk, the Michael Collins of the Department of Finance does not have the same appeal as Collins the gunman." (Regan 1995, 19). Adding on to Collins’ (romantic) appeal is the fact that although he is shown to be ruthless if need be, he never himself gets blood on his hands. He even gets to tell the camera that, ultimately, he is a man of peace who resorts to violence only when there is no other way: "Yeah, I want peace and quiet. I want it so much I’d die for it. […] I hate whoever put a gun in young Vinny Byrne’s hand. I know it’s me, and I hate myself for it. Of great importance to Collins’ appeal, too, is his charismatic presence.

The power of charisma

Richard Dyer has discussed the notion of charisma as developed by Max Weber in the field of political theory and transferred the notion to film theory. In Weber’s sociological formulation charisma can be defined as "a certain quality of an individual personality by virtue of which he is set apart from ordinary men and treated as endowed with supernatural, superhuman or at least superficially exceptional qualities". (Dyer 1991, 57. Dyer is drawing on S.N. Eisenstadt (ed.): Max Weber on Charisma and Institution Building p. 329). Jordan writes that he noticed this quality of the ‘historical’ Collins when researching him for the screenplay. He notes that charisma "is a difficult quality to convey in writing: ‘He entered the drawing-room with great charisma.’ No great help to an actor either." (Jordan 1996, 3-4, 6). So it was up to Liam Neeson to convey this quality of Michael Collins.

Fortunately, Liam Neeson "has", in Jordan’s words, " the advantage of immutable likeability. He could bury his grandmother in concrete and you would still sympathise him." (Jordan 1996, 16-17). Neeson’s own "immutable likeability" together with his star image as a likeable hero probably influenced viewers’ reception of his role as Michael Collins for as Jordan realised after the film had been finished, "there is something about either the character of Michael Collins or Liam’s portrayal of him that makes him impossible to dislike, whatever the horror of the events he sets in motion. In fact, the reverse could rather alarmingly be true. You admire him for his ruthlessness." (Jordan 1996, 61). If it is as Diarmuid Ó Giolláin, writing on heroic biographies in folklore and popular culture, notes: "Charisma was what made a hero" (Ó Giolláin 1998, 137), which would make Neeson’s Collins a hero, the audience will have trouble in questioning the righteousness of Collins’s actions. This means that as it is a likeable man who orchestrates the killings, the violence seems more justifiable, maybe even heroic. In addition, the audience is more likely to identify with the point of view of Collins and be prejudiced against that of de Valera if they were to strongly disagree at some point.

Who’s the Big Fella?

When de Valera returned from his tour of America in December 1920 he found the military situation changed. On the screen we see the First Minister of the Irish cabinet who has failed to meet the President of the United States and whose stature in Ireland seems to have diminished. Returning to Ireland, de Valera is not too happy to hear Collins being referred to as the ‘Big Fella’: "We’ll see who’s the Big Fella…" he mutters to himself. The disagreements between de Valera and Collins come out in the open at this point. When the cabinet assembles, the two men confront each other:

de Valera: As you may know, we have had some communication from the British side. There is a slim possibility that they might want to talk. But our tactics allow the British press to paint us as murderers. If we are to negotiate as a legitimate government, our armed forces must act like a legitimate army.'
Collins: What exactly do you mean, Dev?
de Valera: I mean large-scale engagements…
Collins: You mean like in 1916. The great heroic ethic of failure. All marching in step towards slaughter. Why don’t we save them the bother and blow our own brains out.
de Valera: How dare you…
Collins: How do you think we’ve got them to this point? Where they’ll even consider talking? We’ve brought them to their knees the only way we could.
de Valera: They call us murderers.
Collins: War is murder. Sheer bloody murder. If you’d been here for the last year, you’d know that.
de Valera: I propose an assault on the administrative centre of British rule in Ireland. The Customs House…

De Valera has it his way and the Customs House is attacked resulting in the death of six men and the capture of about seventy. The picture painted here of de Valera is not flattering. As one critic remarked:

"Dev emerges as a self-aggrandizing magnifico, happy to disappear to America to rattle the collecting-tin while his comrades are busy winning the guerrilla war back home, only to order the resumption of frontal-offensive tactics on his return with disastrous consequences for men and matériel. This is a bit hard on de Valera, who had risked his life in the Easter Rising, and whose assault on the Customs House in May 1921, however costly, led in a matter of weeks to the Truce." (Newey 1996, 20).

While the film is admittedly hard on de Valera, it does not, however, deny or omit the meaning for the end of the war of the attack on the Customs House; at the very least it is implied when the audience learns that almost right after the attack, de Valera is negotiating with the British, soon to be followed by a truce. The pressing question then was who of the Sinn Féin cabinet should go to London to negotiate a Treaty with the British. Once again, Collins and de Valera have differing views: Collins is reluctant to go but de Valera is adamant:

de Valera: You’ll head our team, Michael. To negotiate a treaty, for the first time in history, between Ireland and England. We need to keep a final arbitrator in reserve.
Collins: And that’ll be you?
de Valera: That will be the Irish Republic. And me as the president of the Irish Republic.

Whatever de Valera’s reasons for not going to London himself were – and there has been much discussion and speculation on de Valera’s motives – this dialogue between Collins and de Valera indicates a prelude to a final parting of the ways. Neil Jordan has described this scene as "the point at which the story will change, the most worrying one in the script, where the argument with Britain fades and the argument amongst themselves begins." (Jordan 1996, 50). Henceforth the film centres on the split between Collins and de Valera, and on the argument over the future course of the Irish struggle for independence.

The parting of the ways

The Treaty negotiations are omitted from the film and replaced by a caption that says "Four Months Later". Collins’ letter to Kitty, heard as a voice-over while the image shows Collins on his way back to Ireland, nicely summarises the Treaty: "We have an Irish Free State instead of an Irish Republic. We’ll have our own government. We have to swear allegiance to the English Crown. The position of the North will be reviewed but at the moment remains part of the British Empire. This Treaty is just a steppingstone. I hope the country sees it as such." The last words indicate a thorough change in Collins. The man of action who was sent to London comes back as a man of compromise and peace. This impression is further emphasised in the next scene in which Collins meets Boland on his arrival to Dublin. When Boland points out the obvious shortcomings of the Treaty: it gives up the North, divides the country and they have to swear an oath of allegiance to the king of England, Collins maintains that the Treaty was the best anyone could have got. He explains: "We’ll have an Irish Free State. A government of our own. And we can use it to achieve whatever republic we want. It’s either this or war. And I won’t go to war over a form of words…" The change in Collins is profound. Always a pragmatist, the ruthless man of action, the mastermind behind the guerrilla war, the self-appointed "minister for gun-running, daylight robbery and general mayhem" of the first part of the film has become a man who "won’t go to war over a form of words".

In contrast to the calm Collins, de Valera is enraged when he meets Collins for the first time after the Treaty has been signed, and what is more, it seems that it is because he has been personally bypassed:

de Valera: You published the terms without my agreement…
Collins: They were the best we could get.
de Valera: In your opinion…
Collins: And what’s more, Dev – you sent me there because you knew they were the best we could get.
de Valera: That’s idle speculation.
Collins: No, that’s the truth. Otherwise you would have gone yourself.

There is a short silence.

Collins: I know it doesn’t give us the Republic, Dev. But it gives us freedom to achieve the Republic. Peacefully. And surely it’s time for peace.
de Valera: What would you know about peace?
Collins: When I agreed to go, you said we could negotiate on behalf of the Dail and the Irish people. If they reject it, I’ll reject it. But if they stand by it, I’ll stand by it. And I want to know that you’ll do the same.

De Valera says nothing.

Hints of the impending split can already be seen in this scene, as the argument "amongst themselves" surfaces again, but what is more, the confrontation between the two characters here clearly plays to the detriment of de Valera. While Collins comes out as a pragmatist and peacemaker, de Valera emerges as a self-assertive strategist, an egomaniac who, for all we know, probably did set Collins up. The scene is not just a product of Jordan exercising creative licence and inventing a villain in a story where one does not exist. Instead, Jordan has used historical sources, albeit selectively, as the basis on which he constructs his interpretation of the events. Collins’ biographer Piaras Béaslaí, for example, has suggested that "[a]pparently the fact that a Treaty had been signed without first being referred to him [de Valera] was the source of his agitation," (Quoted in Mackay 1996, 228) a point of which Jordan has made use in this scene.

Also the star images of Alan Rickman and Liam Neeson are of some significance here. Richard Dyer has noted: "The phenomenon of audience-star identification may yet be the crucial aspect of the placing of the audience in relation to a character. The ‘truth’ about a character’s personality and the feelings which it evokes may be determined by what the reader takes to be the truth about the person of the star playing the part." (Dyer 1986, 141). So if the reader/spectator takes Rickman’s star image as a villain to be (at least a part of) the truth about Alan Rickman, then in the light of Dyer’s theory (s)he is likely to take that to be true of de Valera as well. Rickman’s performance as de Valera carries a lot of weight, too, for as Gary Crowdus has pointed out,

"Alan Rickman’s icily imperious portrayal of Eamon de Valera, Sinn Fein President, provides the film’s only dramatically compelling counterweight to Neeson’s Collins. Like Neeson, Rickman seems to have done his research as actor, reading biographies and watching old newsreels, because he effectively simulates the former math professor’s deliberate, halting manner of speaking, his prim, emotionally reserved nature […], and his peevish determination to always have it his own way." (Crowdus 1997, 15).

Given Alan Rickman’s star image and his compelling performance as de Valera, a man determined "to always have it his own way", the audience is likely to get the impression that de Valera plays a ‘villainous’ political role.

The price of peace

The result of the vote is 64 – 57, the majority in favour of the Treaty. When de Valera and his deputies leave as a protest against the ratification of the Treaty, which they feel "can only subvert the Republic", the split between Collins and de Valera becomes irreversible. Historian Tom Garvin has analysed the 1922 split as social psychological event, and he points out that the opposition between Collins and de Valera was not just about personal distrusts and antagonisms but that it reflected "a deep and old division in Irish political culture." De Valera represented Republican Moralism, which is closely connected with austere and puritan Catholicism. Collins, on the other hand, represented Nationalist Pragmatism, a political subculture which derived its secular and democratic ideas from the French and American revolutions. Furthermore, Republican Moralism is associated with ‘communalism’, whereas Nationalist Pragmatism is connected with individualism. (Garvin 1998, 148-150). In his film, Jordan seems to take the pragmatist side and portrays de Valera in a less than flattering light. In the course of the film de Valera evolves from a moderate strategist into a jealous egomaniac and finally into an almost fanatical politician. This is an interesting portrayal of the man who "has", as one critic put it, "until recently, been remembered with reverence by a great many Irish people". (Linehan, 1996 (sivu?). The rest of the film is then characterised by the conflict between the two possible courses the Irish could set on: fanatical Republicanism or a form of more pragmatic, compromising Nationalism.

The differences between Collins’s pragmatic Nationalism and de Valera’s fanatical Republicanism are given expression in their public speeches. Before the Treaty is put to vote in the Dáil, Collins makes an attempt at compromise and peace: "I would plead with every person here. Make me a scapegoat if you will, call me a traitor if you will, but please let’s save the country. The alternative to this treaty is a war nobody in this gathering could even contemplate. If the price of freedom, the price of peace, is the blackening of my name, I will gladly pay it." In contrast, de Valera, who has refused to accept the ratification of the Treaty, rallies support for his unyielding Republicanism: "This Treaty bars the way to Independence with the blood of fellow Irishmen. And if it is only with civil war we can get our independence, so be it! The Volunteers may have to wade through Irish blood, through the blood of some members of the government, in order to get Irish Freedom."

De Valera’s speech in the film, which is based on the actual speech de Valera gave in March 1922, seems incriminating, like an incitement to civil war. And sure enough, Jordan has expressed in an interview his opinion that de Valera was "directly responsible" for the civil war. Jordan has pointed out that de Valera’s words are "a direct quote from a speech", and argued that "de Valera always accepted partition, his only argument with the treaty was over the oath of allegiance. Basically the Civil war was fought over nothing, and that’s the tragedy of it, really. It was fought over a principle." (Jordan in McSwiney 1997, 21). Though many historians, and non-historians, for that matter, would agree with Jordan on the last point, and though his criticism of de Valera may be to the point – when de Valera entered the Dáil in 1927 with his new Fianna Fail party he was asked "how he could square taking the Oath with his civil war position" he replied: "I didn’t really take an Oath. My fingers didn’t touch the Bible." (Coogan 1991, 427) – Michael Collins presents quite a severe assessment of the man who has become a kind of national monument in Ireland. What is more, a conversation between Collins and his fiancée Kitty Kiernan implies that de Valera is prepared to put even Collins, now the chairman of the Provisional Government, in the line of fire if need be:

Kitty: They won’t accept the Treaty, Mick, no matter how the vote goes. You heard what de Valera said.
Michael: That they’ll wade through rivers of blood –
Kitty: Whose blood do you think he’s talking about? Yours, Mick.

Considering the historical de Valera’s actions and especially his speeches, Jordan’s accusations would seem justified. However, while some historians share Jordan’s criticism, others disagree. Robert Kee has argued that though de Valera has often been popularly blamed for the civil war, "the responsibility was not his. His anti-Treaty attitude undoubtedly gave a coherence and a political point of focus to anti-Treaty opinion in the country. But anti-Treaty opinion inside the IRA, which was what was to bring about the civil war, organized and consolidated itself independently. It looked not to de Valera but to its own leaders." (Kee 1989, 159). In the film it appears that it is de Valera who is leading and controlling the armed group of anti-Treatyite Volunteers.

Soon after the hand-over of power in January 1922, the British began to evacuate their troops, and the IRA took over their barracks and much of their equipment. From then on, regardless of what happened on the political level, the IRA, now better armed than ever before and swelled with new members, was the effective force in the country. (Kee 1989, 158). However, by this time not only the Dáil but also the IRA was breaking into pro-treaty and anti-treaty sections according to the dispositions of their commanders. Soon after the Dáil had ratified the treaty, a large group of influential officers repudiated both the Dáil and de Valera, and claimed allegiance only to the Republic. At the end of March, 1922, the army was irretrievably split and those opposed to the Treaty organised themselves as a separate force under the command of Rory O’Connor. (See for example Beckett 1981, 456; Kee 1989, 159; Mackay 1996, 252). The film, however, focuses on the rivalry between Collins and de Valera, and the whole conflict seems to be fought between them and their supporters. The IRA, then, plays a minor role at this point and one gets the impression that the armed forces are totally controlled by Collins and de Valera.

So then it starts…

The incriminating evidence against de Valera just keeps piling up when armed republicans pour out of cars and occupy the Four Courts while the caption reads: 7^th June 1922. The Treaty is carried by popular vote. De Valera and his supporters refuse to accept it. Collins and his closest officers Joe O’Reilly and Liam Tobin drive to the Four Courts and are stopped by a group of young volunteers.

Collins: Come on, you idiot. Do you want to start a civil war –
Rory O’Connor: We’ll defend the Republic.
Collins: Forget about the Republic. These kids have never seen a gun before…
O’Connor: We know how to train them…
Collins: The way I trained you? [A short silence] Where did you get your orders?
O’Connor: The Volunteer executive.
Collins: Ah. Dev’s part of it. You mean Dev’s half of it? … Go away to your mothers, all of you!

[Collins turns on his heels and re-enters the car with O’Reilly and Tobin.]

Collins: You know what this means?
Tobin: It’s happened. The army’s split down in the middle.

The scene and the caption leave no room for doubts about the identity of the culprit behind the first concrete steps to civil war. The whole scene reeks of betrayal. De Valera seems to have ordered ‘his’ half of the Volunteers, some of whom were Collins’ former comrades-in-arms, to occupy the Four Courts. Furthermore, the methods developed by Collins to train Volunteers against the British are now being employed against him. To thus emphasise de Valera’s role as the man behind the civil war, Neil Jordan has had to exercise creative licence. It was on the night of 13-14 April that a group of volunteers commanded by Rory O’Connor seized the Four Courts, but contrary to what the film leads us to believe, "[t]his faction had declared itself independent of civilian authority" (Lee 1989, 57), and de Valera was largely ignored by them. (Mackay 1996, 252). In addition, there is the fact that the Four Courts was occupied two months before the Irish people showed its approval of the Treaty in the general election held on 16 June, 1922, and therefore neither the occupiers nor de Valera and his supporters could "refuse to accept it" since the vote had not been cast yet. This, of course, can be explained by the film’s need to condense events and time, although it does also seem to further incriminate de Valera, since it looks as if de Valera has ignored democracy and has ordered the seizure of the Four Courts.

Leger Grindon has argued that "[w]hat is left out of a historical fiction can suggest almost as much about its politics as what is emphasized." (Grindon 1994, 5). It seems to be very true in this case. By omitting the IRA’s independent initiative Jordan puts the blame for the civil war almost entirely on de Valera, which tells quite a lot about the film’s politics. Using historical facts, such as de Valera’s actual speeches, as a guideline, Jordan reconstructs the post-Treaty situation of 1922 as a one of heightened contrast between two men. On de Valera Jordan has said: "There was an element of fanaticism in de Valera’s character that I find unpleasant." (Jordan in McSwiney 1997, 21). Collins Jordan has described as a man who had, allied to the capacity for violence, "the ability to see when it had to stop, when political means and negotiations would be the only way forward." (Jordan in Michael Collins – Production Information/ Neil Jordan’s statement about "Michael Collins").

De Valera’s fanaticism and Jordan’s disapproval of it are conveyed on the screen. At this point of the story de Valera emerges as, as Elizabeth Cullingford put it, a "figure who demonstrates a neo-fascist contempt for democracy, proclaims his readiness to wade through Irish blood, and harbors a mystical conviction that he embodies the spirit of the nation"; in effect then, he "takes over as the film’s lead villain when the British depart." (Cullingford 1997, 17). Collins for his part acts like a true democrat and a man of peace who starts the Civil War by launching an attack on the occupied Four Courts only because he has no choice: it is either him or the British that will attack.

Here, too, the film’s omissions are significant. One could argue that leaving out Collins’s actions in regard to the North of Ireland looks like a whitewash. In winter, 1922, there had been troubles in the North of Ireland when the Protestants feared the Border Commission would disestablish their new state (2). 138 people were killed in Belfast in February 1922, three quarters of them Catholics. The troubles and the harassment of Catholics escalated after the A, B and C Specials came into being by permission of the British government. The IRA supported the Nationalists and Michael Collins also got himself involved in the situation by sending arms to the anti-Treaty IRA in the North. (See for example Kee 1998, 195; Mackay 1996, 255-256). Collins also probably ordered the assassination on 22 June, 1922, of Sir Henry Wilson, military adviser to the Ulster government, whom he partly blamed for what had happened in Belfast. London held the occupiers of the Four Courts responsible for the assassination and demanded Collins take immediate action against them. (Lee 1989, 62). If Collins were not to attack, the British would regard the Treaty as abrogated and were likely to "do their own dirty work", as Arthur Griffith points out in the film. (See for example Coogan 1991, 330; Kee 1998, 197). None of these activities of Collins made it onto the screen. Instead, Michael Collins is presented as a man who tried "to finally remove the gun from Irish politics", to put a stop to violence and prevent the civil war, while de Valera appears as the uncompromising one, the fanatic responsible for the war. The civil war in the film is then a struggle between the extreme and more moderate forces, between the fanatic and the pragmatic, de Valera and Collins, with serious effects on the future course of the Irish State.

The death of Collins

The treatment of the Civil War in Michael Collins concentrates on the heavy losses and human tragedies of the conflict, the first of which is the death of Harry Boland. The greatest loss, though, is Collins himself, at the time the Commander-in-Chief of the Free State Army, who was killed on 22 August, 1922, in an ambush while on tour in his native Cork. The death of Collins in the film is preceded by a dramatic evening in West Cork, where Collins has gone to negotiate with the Republicans. Collins’s convoy has stopped for the night and his men are drinking and singing in a pub. A young man, de Valera’s messenger, meets Collins and asks him if he has a message for de Valera. Collins replies:

"Tell him that Harry Boland’s death was enough. Tell him that Mick Collins says he wants to end this bloody mayhem. Tell him I’m sorry I didn’t bring back a republic. But nobody could have. He was my chief, always. I would have followed him to hell if he’d asked me. And maybe I did. But it’s not worth fighting for. Any more. We’ve got to learn to build with what we have. You tell him that."

Collins, who once proved so good at ‘bloody mayhem’, now renounces violence and commits himself to peace and negotiation. Within a year, he has transformed himself from an uncompromising soldier to a statesman who wants to build an Irish state with what they have. Collins also underlines de Valera’s position as the chief whose leadership and orders Collins has always followed as long as he could, even to London where he was reluctant to go. Building his case on the memory of their common friend and on his own unwavering loyalty to de Valera and to the cause, Collins makes his final plea to end the war. The camera then shows de Valera, who has been hiding behind a haystack some distance away and therefore heard Collins’s words, sobbing: "Oh Jesus, Mick, God forgive us, Harry". To the young man’s enquiry about a reply de Valera answers with silence. The messenger then takes the initiative and goes back to the pub to tell Collins that de Valera will meet him the next day in Béal na mBláth. The two men never meet again, however, for Collins is killed in an ambush.

There are two points to be made about the death of Collins in the film. First, Collins’s death is not mythologised. As he is shot dead from a distance by a nameless young man eager to participate in the action, his death seems futile and Collins himself becomes just another casualty of the civil war. His death is essentially undramatic and devoid of profound meaning. Robert Kee has pointed out that "[t]he death of a hero always invites legend. It is necessary to make the unbearable bearable by embroidering it in some way. As with Cuchulain, the ancient hero of Gaelic legend, so, in a more prosaic twentieth century way it was to be with Collins." (Kee 1998, 198). In Michael Collins, however, this legend is not invoked; instead Collins’ death is shown to be a tragic and futile loss in a tragic and futile Civil War, the blame for which is largely put on de Valera and the fanaticism he represents. De Valera seems to have betrayed Collins by refusing to accept the Treaty and letting his disagreement develop into a Civil War.

Second, though the scene in which the sobbing de Valera meets the young assassin-to-be the night before Collins’s death makes it clear that de Valera is not directly involved in Collins’s death, some of the guilt seems to lie with him nevertheless. Collins may have been killed by a newcomer-in-arms, but he was betrayed by a former brother-in-arms. Whereas Collins’ message to de Valera stressed his loyalty to the Chief, de Valera displays none toward Collins, who dies because the Chief is either unwilling or unable to stop the assassins. So even if de Valera is not directly responsible for Collins’ death, he seems to be somehow implicated in it. This also becomes the ultimate betrayal: Mick, who is trying to remove the gun from Irish politics, dies as a victim of Dev’s fanaticism. As one critic puts it, "The particular arguments Jordan makes are that Collins was a true hero of the Irish revolution and that Eamonn De Valera, who sent him to London to negotiate in the first place, betrayed him and may somehow have been implicated in his death." (Malcolm, 1996). The jealous, scheming and fanatical de Valera of Michael Collins let matters come to a head over a principle – a principle which he was ready to discard some years later – and ultimately the fanaticism he represented cost Collins and thousands of others their lives and embittered Irish politics and society for years.

Recording the greatness of Collins at de Valera’s expense

"It is my considered opinion that in the fullness of time history will record the greatness of Michael Collins, and it will be recorded at my expense". – Eamon de Valera, President of Ireland, 1966.

It is this statement at the end of Michael Collins more than anything else that reveals the meaning of the portrayal of the personality and character of the two protagonists to the interpretation of the 1916–1922 period. Through the unflattering portrayal of his personality and character, Eamon de Valera and his actions during the 1918–1922 period are criticised. The greatness of Michael Collins is indeed recorded at the expense of de Valera. In contrast to Collins, who is presented as a moderate and pragmatic nationalist, a man who had the ability to see when violence has to stop and negotiations and compromise take its place, de Valera, who had had a mythic status in Irish culture until the 1990s, is depicted, in the words of Ronan Bennett, as "an absolute dinosaur of Republicanism." (Bennett in Dodd 1996, 31). Michael Collins is portrayed by the film as the true hero of the Irish revolution and almost as a model for the men of the 1990s’ Provisional IRA. Siding with the moderate and pragmatic nationalism that Collins represents and criticising de Valera’s fanatical Republicanism, the film is clearly committed to peace and negotiation and seems to say that compromise does not equal treachery to the nationalist cause. The traitor in the film is not Michael Collins, who signed the Treaty, but Eamon de Valera, who betrayed Collins and maybe even Ireland by leading it to civil war. This amounts to heavy criticism as Jordan’s treatment of the war illustrates its heavy toll and emphasises the point that the war was fought over nothing.

In addition, the film highlights Collins’ unrealised promise as a statesman, as a man who might "have made a difference to the performance of the new state." (Lee 1989, 66). In the words of Brian McIlroy, Jordan’s film "puts Collins and de Valera together as two separate roads that Ireland could have chosen between but for the ambush and death of Michael Collins in 1922." (McIlroy 1999, 28). In 1996, by recording the greatness of Collins at de Valera’s expense in this film, Jordan seems to suggest that as Ireland followed, and has now exhausted, de Valera’s road, it might be time to go back to the beginning of the Irish State and remember Michael Collins in order to imagine Irishness in the 1990s. In fact, Jordan has expressed this idea quite clearly in the production notes of Michael Collins: "Collins seems to me to represent what modern Ireland wants to be. He was more pragmatic and realistic – a much more attractive character than most of those that we had to grow up with in Ireland." (Jordan in Michael Collins – Production Information). Thus, while de Valera, and possibly also the Ireland he helped to mould, is criticized in the film, Collins’s character is represented both as "an attractive symbol of what might have been", as Hugh Linehan put it (Linehan, 1996/1997), and as something to which modern Ireland can look when (re-)imagining Irishness.

text: © Raita Merivirta

1. From 1932 to 1959 de Valera’s influence on Irish society and politics was such that the period has come to be called ‘the de Valera era’, during which time Eamon de Valera and his Fianna Fáil party had a central role in defining and imagining the Irish nation. De Valera served as prime minister in 1932-1948, 1951-1954, 1957 -1959 and as president from 1959 to 1973. However, the president’s role in Ireland is mainly symbolic and the age of de Valera in Irish politics effectively ended in 1959. [back]

2. According to the Anglo-Irish Agreement, if the parliament of Northern Ireland, established by the Government of Ireland Act in 1920, rejected inclusion in the Free State, a boundary commission would "determine in accordance with the wishes of the inhabitants, so far as may be compatible with economic and geographic conditions, the boundaries between Northern Ireland and the rest of Ireland". Anglo-Irish agreement of 6 December 1921. In Irish Political Documents, 1916-1949. Edited by Arthur Mitchell and Padraig O Snodaigh. Blackrock, 1985, 118-119. [back]

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p.c: Warner Bros Pictures Inc, p: Stephen Woolley, co-p: Redmond Morris, d/sc: Neil Jordan, dop: Chris Menges, p. co-ord: Cate Arbeid, c. op: Mike Roberts, ed: J. Patrick Duffner, Tony Lawson, p.d: Tony Pratt, super. art d: Malcolm Middleton, art. d: Arden Gantley, Martin Atkinson, Cliff Robinson, s: Kieran Horgan, cast: Susie Figgis, cost: Sandy Powell, music: Elliott Goldenthal.

Liam Neeson (Michael Collins), Julia Roberts (Kitty Kiernan), Aidan Quinn (Harry Boland), Alan Rickman (Eamon de Valera), Stephen Rea (Ned Broy), Ian Hart (Joe O’Reilly), Charles Dance (Soames), Brendan Gleeson (Tobin), Stuart Graham (Seamus Cullen), Gerard McSorley (Cathal Brugha), Jim Sheridan (Jameson), Frank Laverty (Sean McKeoin), David Gorry (Charlie Dalton), Tom Murphy (Vinnie Byrne), Sean McGinley (Smith), Gary Whelan (Hoey), Frank O’Sullivan (Kavanagh), Jonathan Rhys Myers (the smiling youth). A Geffen Pictures release. Distributed by Warner Bros. 127 minutes. Filmed on location in Dublin during July-October 1995.

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