Inside I’m Dancing

Eww. What were they thinking with that title? I’m sure it’s intended to be inspiring and evocative and all that crap, but it’s uncomfortably close to something spewed forth by the wretched Hallmark channel (or Providence forbid, TV3) with their vile parade of true-life ‘stories’. Thankfully, despite this sickening sobriquet and a fair smattering of Inside-I’m-Cringing moments, you’d have to be one seriously hard-nosed bitch to completely dislike Damien O’Donnell’s third feature. After all, a mainstream comedy dealing with independent living for the disabled is to be broadly welcomed, particularly when it has been given the seal of approval by the Irish Disability Rights Movement.
The importance of this theme is apparent from the opening scene, wherein disabled, jaded home residents are lined up to watch Bagpuss, like a bunch of infants or third-level students. Twenty-something cerebral palsy-affected Michael Connolly (Robertson) has lived his entire life thus, under the watchful, matronly gaze of gold-hearted battleaxe Eileen (Brenda Fricker, who here gets to utter the words “Anybody for mass?” – truly a line she was destined to speak at some point). Everything changes with the arrival of Rory O’Shea (McEvoy), a Guinness-swilling, hard-rocking, bad boy with Duchenne Muscular Dystrophy, whose sole aim is to get the fuck out of there.
Unfortunately, he keeps being denied his applications for the freedom of independent life, but as the first person to understand Michael’s CP inflected speech, a friendship blossoms, as does a wacky scheme to beat the system. Once out, they employ the dangerously under qualified, but gorgeous Siobhan (Garai) as their care assistant, and sexual tensions and heartache become inevitable.
I have a great deal of time for Damien O’Donnell’s uniquely gaudy, comedic kitchen-sink milieu, but Inside I’m Dancing is occasionally mawkish, and sails dangerously close to the cutesy portrayals of handicap one expects around Oscar time. The saccharine effect is tempered somewhat by broad humour and relentless trading of cripple jokes between the protagonists, and as ever the director’s aesthetic is buoyant, but alas, the material and characterisation is a touch condescending. Indeed, when someone says “Fair play to you” to Michael and Rory, one can’t help but feel this pat-on-the-head attitude is partially shared by the film.
Still, a worthy, pleasant, frequently smile-inducing enterprise, but inside I’m saying m’eh.