Mark O’Connor snagged attention in 2011 with his bolshy debut Between The Canals, a city-centre saga that opened a fresh discussion about post-boom Dublin. Since then, the writer-director has championed the advent of an Irish New Wave that he feels is desperately needed to invigorate the industry and provide a bold counterpoint to mainstream fare.
Shot on a shoestring, Stalker is another reason why it’s good we have film-makers like O’Connor. Unconventional, absurd and charged with a gonzo energy that can’t be ignored, the Galway Film Fleadh runner-up plays out like an urban saga spiralling from mundanity into extremity.
Like Adam and Paul without the Beckett, it takes a cliche and supposes what lies beneath, for good and bad. In this case, we get Oliver (John Connors), a portly homeless victim of the recession with flecks of personality disorder. A brush with God pushes him to start being more virtuous, beginning with saving young Tommy (Barry Keoghan) from bullies in an alleyway. Tommy becomes a project of sorts for Oliver, who forces his friendship onto the impressionable rascal and defends him from his abusive mother and drug-dealer uncle (the always good-value Peter Coonan).
Belly laughs and recoils come and go, and perplexed smiles emerge as Danse Macabre or the Moonlight Sonata waft over shots of Dublin 6. Stalker’s slightly B-movie finale may be a stride too far for more conservative viewers, but there is a latent eeriness throughout that means the film can only go one way after the characters have been sculpted. In the hands of a lesser director or cast, it could have been a mess. As it is, with both on song, Stalker is curiously compelling.
