Death and Nightingales

As far as Irish tragedies go, Death and Nightingales gets points for authenticity in pain and suffering. However, if you were hoping for some frothiness and passion along with your doomed love story, this one isn’t for you.

It is a heavy drama with lean dialogue and precious little mirth, but I'm being seduced.

The desired tone, I think, is a kind of Ulster version of Deadwood, a creation parable for the problems of the 20th century, but there is a fine line between powerful and self-parodic. Without a novel’s finesse and complex sense of interiority, the characters fail to make us care.

The politics and sectarianism have so far only been sketched lightly – although you can sense the palette being readied for the coming episodes – but Beth’s function as Ireland’s religious conflict made flesh, and her bid to escape her stepfather’s control and increasingly malign intent as an analogy for this period of Irish history, is clear without being heavy-handed.

The performances are mostly strong, but the subject matter is so dense, the cultural and religious details so complex, and the affection toward melodrama so unrepentant that “Death and Nightingales” slides into tedium disappointingly often.

Despite the performances by the miniseries’ leads, Death And Nightingales is just too boring and inaccessible to really get into; by the end of the first episode, we were even more in the dark about the story than we were at the beginning.