Sweeping down and around the Aran Islands, The Banshees of Inisherin begins as any Irish film would. The official trailer had given little away, besides a couple of strong-sounding accents and weak-looking Guinness. Very Irish; too Irish, perhaps.

Despite my respect for Martin McDonagh and reverence for In Bruges, even I felt trepidatious. My father, too, had an air of skepticism about him. The line between Irish and Oirish is so fine — so easily and often overstepped — that when the film opened on gray cliffs and green fields, you could be forgiven for fearing the worst.

For despite the accelerated evolution of contemporary Irish cinema, Hollywood still speaks fluent Oirish. To this day, snake-oil versions of Irishness sell as well as the real thing, especially when Irish salesmen are involved. Local audiences groan, but global audiences do not taste the difference.