It takes courage and no shortage of stupidity to go raise one's fists and go toe-to-toe with a combatant of equal size or lethality (or lack thereof). Boxing with headgear is perilous enough, exposing one's face to the full concussive kiss of leather more so. But eschewing gloves and having it out with bare knuckles? This is the province of the inebriated and the eager to bleed.
The bare-fisted brawlers depicted in Ian Palmer's fascinating documentary KNUCKLE hail from rival Irish "Traveller" clans - and while they certainly enjoy a pint or twelve, they prefer to fight sober. The primary feud is between the Quinn-McDonaghs and the Joyces, and extends back to a nasty dust-up that resulted in the death of two Joyces. Though one of the Quinn-McDonaghs served time for the assault, this resolved nothing; the two families have kept at each other over the last twenty years via videotaped provocations intended to draw out the stoutest men for a fair one-on-one fight. The contests generally take place out in the country, involve two impartial referees, and conclude when one of the fighters either gives up or has been knocked unconscious. And if the two sides are still sore at each other (and they usually are), they'll keep at it in this fashion until the sun goes down. Then, in a couple of weeks, the videos will start flying back and forth again, and the next big brawl will be set in motion.
The central figure in Palmer's film is James Quinn-McDonagh, a likable bruiser who, to the best of anyone's punch-drunk recollection, has never lost a fight. James understands the futility of the dispute; he freely acknowledges that one victory either way is unlikely to put a definitive end to the feud. But as the reigning badass of the Quinn-McDonagh brood, he's honor-bound to take on the roughest and toughest the Joyces have to throw at him - save for the rowdy, but still dangerous patriarch Big Joe Joyce (a mustachioed glob of a man who proclaims himself the "King of the Travellers"). The first fight captured by Palmer takes place on a country lane between James and Paddy Joyce, and it doesn't take long for the former to turn the latter's face to hamburger. Though everyone present pleads with Paddy to quit, he keeps insisting he hasn't had enough, and James is only too happy to dish out the punishment until the poor dolt's self-preservation instincts kick in.
Some of these fights have been available on YouTube for years, and they're desperate spectacles. James speciously argues that he's trying to force his way into retirement by insisting on huge cash paydays for his bouts (which he'll inevitably win), but he's also an inveterate trash talker. The minute he wins he starts mouthing off that his opponent - and, by extension, their clan - is unworthy of him, thus ensuring that every kid with two sturdy fists and a sense of familial pride will spend the next year training to take his cocky ass down. James clearly knows better, but like any great competitor, he's got a near-psychotic need to destroy anyone fool enough to challenge him. This includes a strapping youngster from the Nevin clan out to avenge a beating James doled out to his father. With each passing year, James gets closer to getting outlasted or, worse, out-punched by a more youthful adversary. And then what? Most likely, one of James's sons will begin biding his time until the day he's man enough to fight for the Quinn-McDonagh name.
It's a vicious circle of genuine animus, and the most intriguing moment of the film comes when Palmer himself taps out after videotaping a depressing, shirtless slugfest between Big Joe Joyce and another grandfatherly pugilist. Up until then, Palmer confesses he's been getting a thrill out of documenting these clandestine melees; but when presented with the sight of two doughy retirees trading wild haymakers, the whole "fair fight" fascination vanishes. These people are cousins. They're family. Can't this all be settled without someone losing a tooth?
While Palmer employs a familiar sports film structure in the telling of this tale, it doesn't build to the final fight one might expect. But in pressing for a peaceful resolution to this decades-long saga, he's forced to abandon the ever-contentious Big Joe Joyce midway through. James may know when to walk away, but it seems like Big Joe is going to keep coming. And what about James's brother Michael, who evinces real cruelty when he fights?
Palmer dances around a number of interesting ideas, nervously evading them like a boxer on his bicycle. He taps into something visceral and unsettling early on, but abruptly skitters away without resolving his central premise. It's not that people are willing to fight, it's that more people are drawn to and instigate these fights. The combatants aren't the issue; it's the spectators. People like a good clean scrap. It's fucked up, but it's better than a big indiscriminate war.
KNUCKLE opens Friday, December 9th, in New York City, Los Angeles and Austin.
Faithfully submitted,
