Hayley Jorja examines Sinéad O’Shea’s poignant documentary Pray for Our Sinners.
In the opening minutes of Pray for Our Sinners, one of the documentary’s subjects, Ethna, goes through her morning routine. “You’d hear a bad story better than you’d hear a good one.” Her throwaway line perfectly encapsulates how information spreads. These last two decades have brought the terror with which the Catholic Church ruled Ireland with to light. Tragedy has been at the forefront of this coverage and it’s easy to see why. But Sinéad O’Shea’s 2023 documentary subverts this, showing us the quiet resistance that hid in plain sight.
O’Shea tackles the impact that the Catholic Church had in her own home town of Navan. She explores the continuing effects of the Church’s presence by reflecting on her own childhood. The Navan depicted on screen is dominated by cold, deeply-saturated colours. The film footage shot in present day is intermixed with archival footage from “back in the day.” This brings forth the question that is at the heart of the film: Is the Ireland we live in right now that different. The culture of modesty and discretion that led to the Church’s rule of silence is reflected on by those who lived through it. When O’Shea asks Dr. Mary Randles about the corporal punishment she helped crusade against, she skirts around the question in a very Irish manner. “Oh, you don’t want to hear about that.” It’s these observational moments that drive this documentary.
There’s not an element of filmmaking wasted in showing the brutal reality of Church’s reign. Norman recounts being beaten bloody for using his left hand to write in class. This is presented over archive footage of boys his age at the time. The film repeatedly uses juxtaposition to highlight a point. Compares the Church’s public image with its dealings behind closed doors, it pits the victims’ compassion against the Church’s cruelty. While there are many films that explore the horrific abuses people suffered, Pray for Our Sinners focuses on the resistance, particularly that with Mary and Patrick Randles. These were people who knew what was happening was wrong and acted against it. The actions of rebellion stand starkly against those who used their power to further the status quo.
The world of a community ruled by fear is painted through the survivors’ experiences. Their stories are told in their own words. Here, the voice the Church took from them is returned. The audience is given a distinct sense of the human ways each of them are carrying the scars of the past. Betty talks about her experiences in a mother and baby home in Tipperary with fidgeting hands. Her grief is palpable, yet she shows so much empathy to those that allowed this to happen. This vulnerability is a testament to O’Shea, who has built a strong rapport with those she is interviewing. She has handled the real people involved with care and respect.
Despite the focus on the real accounts of people being such a key strength, the film lacks some contextual backbone to bring the whole thing together. While the documentary covers the Randles’ campaign against corporal punishment, it never provides a firm timeline of events. This leaves the story floating untethered without context within Irish history. While Pray for Our Sinners is undoubtedly unrelenting, there are surprisingly level moments depicting the Church’s abuse. The humanity that O’Shea offers her subjects is the true merit of this documentary, and that in turn leaves the audience with so many answers about the past as well as questions about the present.
Pray for Our Sinners is available to stream online now.
Podcast: Interview with Sinéad O’Shea, Director of ‘Pray for Our Sinners’