by Fiona Underhill, Staff Writer

Say Nothing
Created by Josh Zetumer
Based on Say Nothing: A True Story of Murder and Memory in Northern Ireland by Patrick Radden Keefe
Starring Lola Petticrew, Hazel Doupe, Anthony Boyle, Josh Finan
All episodes now streaming on FX on Hulu

Growing up in the UK, with an Irish family background, during the 80s and 90s was a confusing time, to say the least. “The Troubles” were constantly on the news, and the part that became most firmly imbedded in the brain was the bizarre specter of Sinn Fein MP Gerry Adams being dubbed by an actor, speaking his words in voice-over. There have been a few stellar works that have addressed this period: 1992’s The Crying Game and 1993’s In the Name of the Father, for example. But since 1998’s The Good Friday Agreement, it’s a period that has mostly vanished from media and culture. Thankfully, we now have a new TV series that attempts to tackle one of the most shameful aspects of that dark time—the “disappeared.”

Say Nothing, Patrick Radden Keefe’s masterful work of narrative non-fiction, was published in 2018—and rightly hailed as an astonishing feat of journalism. Based on interviews that former IRA members Dolours Price and Brendan Hughes anonymously recorded in the early 2000s, the narrative is interwoven with the mystery surrounding the disappearance of Jean McConville from Divis flats in West Belfast in 1972. She was a widowed mother of ten and was only in her late 30s at the time. The book has now been adapted into a 9-part mini-series for FX/Hulu by Joshua Zetumer, who has done an incredible job of translating an extremely complex story to the television screen.

The first four episodes of the series cover Book One of the narrative. Zetumer wisely opens episode one with the McConville family, which is the same way the book starts—and this is before we even get to what the series will use as its main framing device: the older Price (Maxine Peake) and Hughes (Tom Vaughan-Lawlor) recounting their memories to their friend Mackers, as part of the secretive Belfast Project. These four episodes focus on the young Dolours (Lola Petticrew), her sister Marian (Hazel Doupe), young Brendan (Anthony Boyle), and a person who it’s hard to imagine ever being a young man—Gerry Adams himself (Josh Finan). The narrative frequently cuts back to the McConville family, and also introduces Frank Kitson (Rory Kinnear)—a new British commander stationed in Belfast.

These four episodes are the most purely energetic and enjoyable, due to the youthful exuberance of the characters as they become fully enamored by “The Cause.” There are two exciting bank robberies—the first led by Brendan and set to “Go!” by Tones on Tail, and the second led by the Price Sisters dressed as nuns, set to “Big Time” by Northern Irish band Rudi. There is plenty of humor, not least in the best episode, “Tout.” A conversation about guns at the start of this episode is a comedic masterclass, as the dialogue bounces around the teenage Kevin (Paddy Towers) and his potato gun, which he keeps in a Frank Bullitt-style holster.

These episodes could of course be accused of glamorizing the IRA, and the relentless violence that made Belfast an extremely difficult place to live—especially in the bloodiest years of the early 70s. But Zetumer/Keefe keep returning to the McConville narrative, forming a larger and larger pit in your stomach, and depicting the brutal methods used by the RUC (the police, who were extremely biased against Catholics) and the British soldiers to clamp down on what they viewed as a terrorist insurgency. It’s also important to contrast these early episodes—and especially the Price Sisters’ naivete about peaceful protest to begin with—to what comes later in the series.

The other thing that Zetumer really highlights is that Irish humor has always co-existed, and is a direct result of, living with the shadow of oppression, violence, and death. From Brendan and Gerry arguing about Gerry’s dog informing on them, to Dolours complaining about the war being “right fucking dreary,” to Jimmy Dooley (Ryan McParland) asking if they could not wait until he’s had his appendix “liberated” before they break him out of jail—the dialogue is frequently laugh-out-loud funny. Nothing sums up the Irish psyche more than Gerry Adams patronizingly calling Dolours “child,” as if he’s a priest addressing a member of his flock, or him hiding out in a mortuary, which he uses as a kind of HQ. After one of the most thrilling sequences—where British soldiers chase Brendan until he launches himself through the window of a safe house—Brendan finds himself seriously wounded and leaking blood at an alarming rate. He tells the owner of the house to “ring the mortuary” (meaning contact Adams) and he responds, “Ah, don’t be such a pessimist.”

Zetumer must be heaped with praise (and hopefully awards) for the job he’s done in adapting here, which is the best I’ve seen since 2018’s The Terror (S1). Not only does he manage to wield multiple narrative strands coherently, but using the Belfast Project recordings as a framing device actually improves upon the book. If that weren’t enough, Zetumer also frequently foreshadows later events—with tiny details such as a pair of red slippers, a spot on a wall, an out-of-focus framed photograph, or who fires guns at crucial moments—all being called back in later episodes. He also employs recurring “bits,” such as Brendan telling a bad joke that we only ever hear the punchline of (because that’s all the older Hughes can remember), or the fact that poor Joe Lynskey (Adam Best) can never identify singers on the car radio. The funniest recurring bit is of course the disclaimer at the end of every episode that Gerry Adams denies ever being a member of the IRA.

The cinematography and editing both really enhance Zetumer’s delicate weaving of the narrative threads. Real news footage is also intercut into the multiple strands of the story, but we never get lost or confused. Overhead shots are used twice in episode two to demonstrate how Brendan and Gerry “had West Belfast eating out of the palm of their hands,” with them running in and out of alleyways, gardens, and people’s houses—picking up guns that they’ve stashed along the way.

In episode four, Brendan drunkenly stumbles back to one of the safe houses and as he enters the camera whirls around him—as he surveys the room and realizes that Seamus (Frank Blake) and the teenage Kevin aren’t there. This pair have been revealed to be touts (informants), but Brendan has promised their lives will be spared if they turn into triple agents. Brendan goes to see Gerry to protest, but Finan uses his height to stand up and tower over Boyle, asserting his authority. Brendan’s face can be seen reflected in Gerry’s glasses, as he tries to suppress his tears. This is directly followed by Seamus and Kevin in the back of Dolours’ car, as she drives them across the border to meet their fate. Seamus locks into Dolours’ eyes in the rearview mirror, trying to silently plead with her, while the bright and sunny Kevin prattles on—entirely unaware of his fate.

The casting and acting in Say Nothing are the final ingredient that elevates it from good to truly great. Casting directors Nina Gold and Lucy Amos, particularly when pairing the older/younger versions of each character, have truly outdone themselves here. The other thing that really comes across is that the acting community in the north of Ireland is very small, meaning that a lot of the cast already knew each other, and this aids their onscreen camaraderie. Lola Petticrew and Anthony Boyle, who play the younger Dolours and Brendan, were childhood friends. In the lovely episode two scene at the wake, Dolours goes outside for a smoke and talks to Brendan about “choking” when confronted by police during the Jimmy Dooley jailbreak. Petticrew and Boyle’s chemistry is palpable, as they tease one another (“cheeky wee bitch”), and Brendan reveals his more vulnerable side when confronted with the reality of killing: “They’re all some mother’s son.”

Petticrew particularly shines in the scenes depicting the border runs that Dolours had to do—taking her friend Joe Lynskey, then Seamus and the naive teenager Kevin across the border—knowing the fates that would greet them there. Both Doupe and Petticrew are also phenomenal in the most harrowing episode (six), which depicts the sisters’ hunger strike in prison. Anthony Boyle, who has had a phenomenal year, once again makes a huge impression here. In the scene where Brendan jumps through the window and ends up with a severed artery in his arm, it’s clear that his tears are from the fact he’s been betrayed—not the physical pain. And in the later scene with Adams, he realizes that Seamus and Kevin will be killed despite him promising them that they won’t, and his hurt and anger once again spills out. “The men are the fucking cause!”

The casting of the smaller, supporting roles is equally as good as the main roles—with the great Rory Kinnear perfectly deadpan as Kitson, constantly reliving the glory of his past campaigns. Paddy Towers, who plays the teenage Bond wannabe “double-o-gobshite” Kevin, is incredible at portraying a kid who sees the IRA as an exciting game.

Say Nothing is a truly astonishing feat of adaptation, aided by outstanding cinematography, editing, casting, and acting. Let’s hope that the Emmys come calling next year, as there is so much talent, both in front of and behind the camera, that deserves recognition here. The mini-series can be appreciated on a first viewing, but reading the book and rewatching certain episodes and scenes really hammers home the challenge that Joshua Zetumer had, and how he has more than risen to that challenge. The book is one of the most revealing and propulsive non-fiction books of the 21st century, and the TV series has met this multifaceted narrative at its own, exceedingly high, level. The book has lost absolutely nothing in its translation to the screen, and in fact the show manages to peel back even more layers—making the ‘characters’ even more human and alive. An essential watch.