By May Sarin

On a school night, with an inexplicable lack of homework and a mini-surge of “senioritis”, my mom suggested we watch “The Banshees of Inisherin.” The trailer had put a giddy smile on her face, and she assured me it was a funny movie with superb acting.

With the gullibility of a toddler, I surrendered my evening to two hours of the blackest “humor” I’d ever seen. Fully expecting a bleak-to-happy twist reminiscent of “It’s a Wonderful Life,” you can imagine my shock and dismay watching Inisherin crumble down a rabbit hole. 

By the time the credits were rolling, I was devastated and angry. Now I had to go to sleep, then wake up and go to school without feeling like everything is meaningless and humanity is a lost cause.

But before heading to bed, I scrolled through a few forums and film analyses so others could validate my negative experience. Instead, I met a stream of inspired comments about how the movie is a contemplative study in human life, beautiful and elusive and intricate and dimensionless. 

I read on, quickly realizing the larger themes that had gone over my head, deflected by my misled expectations. The comments gradually clicked in my brain, repainting the film in a truer light—a movie that’s harsh yet sophisticated, extremely effective and deeply poignant. My experience was transformed. Devastation and anger evaporated, replaced with awestruck wonder at the human capacity to pour so much thought and soul into a piece of art, actors and director alike. 

I had watched this movie entirely wrong. Or maybe I hadn’t—maybe misunderstanding is a valuable part of experiencing art. It must be, because having my whole viewpoint flipped upside down was jarring and incredible. Of course, I might’ve had a different experience had the movie been mediocre or superficial. “The Banshees of Inisherin,” being as strangely good as it is, makes a difference in all this. 

But still, there’s something to be said about walking in with all the wrong expectations, having a gross experience, and then having your whole view of it (and life itself) demolished and reconstructed afterward. That reconstruction is an experience in itself.

It speaks to a broader…unwillingness? Ignorance?…about the different types of movies in the world. I’ve noticed that my friends and I rarely challenge ourselves with unfamiliar styles of content that we don’t expect we’re going to like. We want to walk in knowing something about the art we’re about to consume. We choose to view that art—that movie, that book, that play—for that reason.

Worse, we live in the age of streaming services, where content consumption is so meticulously curated by an algorithm, where “the next big thing to watch” is almost always dictated by Netflix’s “Top 10” and “Movies We Think You’ll Like” lists. We also live in a world of mass information, where technology has allowed us to bust out millions and millions of movie hot takes, inferences, critical analyses, character studies, etc. into the abyss. 

Amid the curation and info onslaught, it’s impossible to just click the “Play” button without already knowing a bit about what you’re going to see. Much less having a 100% false idea of what you’re going to see, as I did.

But those kinds of experiences, though possibly insufferable, can be refreshing and rejuvenating too. They allow you to take a break from the comfort of knowing a movie will be good, and force you to work through an hour or two of discomfort, of curiosity, of not-so-great expectations. 

Because with those expectations, you also had hope, and hope is a warm, wonderful feeling. You have to surrender yourself to the uncertainty—not an easy thing for human beings to do.

I suggest you all try it. The next time you’re searching for a movie to watch, find something random that you’ve never heard of (bonus points if it looks unappealing), and click “Play.” In some capacity, whatever experience you end up having will be worth it.