I, Dolours is a documentary about Dolours Price, a volunteer in the Provisional Irish Republican Army (IRA). More specifically, the film covers her time in the Unknowns, a secret intelligence unit operating out of Belfast in the early 1970s, and her involvement with the first four of the Disappeared; sixteen people abducted, murdered, and secretly buried by the IRA between 1972 and 1985. Revealing hugely controversial information for the first time, covering subject matter which remains deeply emotive and divisive in both Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland, and basing all of it on Price's own testimony, the documentary could easily have fallen into the trap of blind partisanship by way of valorising its subject. However, whilst it certainly doesn't condemn her, the dispassion with which it presents her information means that it also never explicitly validates anything she says - this is her account, and it's up to the viewer to accept all, some, or none of it.
Born in Belfast in 1951 into a deeply Republican family, Price's father, Albert, had been a member of the second incarnation of the IRA, and participated in the Coventry portion of S-Plan, a series of bombings carried out throughout the United Kingdom between January 1939 and March 1940. In 1968, Price joined People's Democracy, a political group advocating for civil rights for the Catholic minority in Northern Ireland. However, frustrated with their lack of progress, she became increasingly radicalised, and joined the Provisional IRA in 1971. Initially assigned to low-level tasks (such as cleaning bullets), she was promoted to the Unknowns in 1972, and was later assigned to the team to carry out the Old Bailey bombing in 1973, which left over 200 people injured. Arrested whilst boarding a flight back to Northern Ireland, she, her sister Marian, and eight others were charged. Sentenced to life, her sentence was later commuted to 20 years, and in 1981, having been on hunger strike for over 200 days, on 180 of which she was force-fed, she received the Royal Prerogative of Mercy, and was released on humanitarian grounds. Although she suffered from anorexia, an aversion to food, poor health, and substance abuse for the rest of her life, she married Stephen Rea in 1983, and had two children. A vehement opponent of the Good Friday Agreement in 1999, she believed that Sinn Féin had sold out to the British government, betraying both the Irish people and the memory of dead Republicans. Divorced from Rea in 2003, she died in her sleep in 2013, after mixing sedatives with anti-depressants. However, as I, Dolours conveys extremely well, Price is a far more complex and fascinating character than this deceptively straightforward biographical outline might suggest.
Derived from a taped 2010 interview with Price, conducted by journalists Ed Moloney and (former IRA volunteer) Anthony McIntyre, I, Dolorous is written by Moloney and Maurice Sweeney, and directed by Sweeny. Its main significance is the information Price provides about four of the Disappeared; Joe Lynskey, Jean McConville, Kevin McKee, and Seamus Wright. According to Price, her task was to transport those marked for death across the border into the Republic of Ireland, where she would hand them over to Dundalk volunteers, after which they would be killed and buried. With the four murders taking place over three missions (McKee and Wright were transported together), Price claims that in two cases, she was simply the driver, but in the third, that of McConville, she was forced to adopt a more hands-on role. And it is here, specifically, where the documentary is at its most controversial, and its strongest. For the most part, Price shows no remorse for her actions, arguing, "we believed that informers were the lowest form of human life," emphasising that she disagreed with the tactic of Disappearing, believing instead the bodies should be dumped in the street "to put the fear of God" into anyone who may have been thinking of informing. The only time she exhibits any signs of real regret is when relating the murder of Joe Lynskey. Describing him as "a gentle, gentle man," Price explains that as she transported him, she wished he would jump out of the car and make a run for it, rather than willingly accepting his faith.
She shows no such feelings, however, in relation to McConville, whose murder remains one of the most controversial and hotly disputed incidents of the Troubles. A widowed mother of ten, McConville's case is so contentious that no one can even agree as to why she was labelled an informer in the first place. When the IRA first acknowledged the Disappeared in 1999, they stated that McConville had had a radio transmitter hidden in her flat, which she used to send information to the British Army, in return for money. However, it was argued at the time that, as a widow trying to raise ten young children, she wouldn't have had access to sensitive information, let alone the time to pass it along. Additionally, in 2006, a report by the Police Ombudsman for Northern Ireland found no corroborating evidence suggesting McConville had been an informer. According to Price, however, the IRA knew she was informing because of an entirely different reason. She claims that McConville was working on identifying suspects from Hastings Street police station in Belfast by way of standing behind a blanket with a small slit for her to look through. However, the blanket didn't come to the ground, and one of those brought in front of her claims he recognised her slippers.
Not only does Price show no regret regarding her role in McConville's death, she seems to recall it with a sense of pride, pointing out she found McConville "very arrogant", and that during their trip south, McConville, who didn't know the fate awaiting her, said: "I knew those Provo b******s wouldn't have the b***s to shoot me." Numerous people, however, have refuted this, saying McConville would never have spoken in such a manner. Another problem with Price's version of events concerns her own involvement in the actual murder. As the Dundalk volunteers couldn't bring themselves to shoot a woman, Price, the Unknowns leader Pat McClure, and an unidentified third person took McConville to a shallow grave and shot her in the back of the head. She doesn't say which one fired the initial shot, but she does state that the trio deliberately assumed a shared responsibility; their single pistol was passed around, and "the other two volunteers each fired a shot so that no one would say that they for certain had been the person to kill her." The problem with this is that it is not borne out by the evidence. McConville's remains were discovered in 2003, yet an autopsy found only one bullet wound. If events played out as Price claims, two of the three shooters missed, and the bullets have never been recovered. Interestingly, however, as the above quote illustrates, as Price describes the murder, she slips into the third-person, recounting the incident as though it was someone else involved, even though it is clear she is speaking of herself.
Whilst the film is definitely at its best when dealing with the McConville murder, its handling of other aspects of Price's story are also laudable. For example, it does a fine job of tracing her ideological development, particularly as it relates to her family. In this sense, the film is very much about the seductive power of some of the more romantic myths of Irish Republicanism (they're not terrorists killing innocent people, they're volunteers fighting colonial oppressors, sacrificing everything for the good of the Irish nation) contrasted with the savage day-to-day reality of waging a guerrilla war (there is some horrific footage of bomb victims). The film makes it extremely easy to see the attraction of the sectarian moral code under which Price operated, and into which she was indoctrinated as a child; the absolute and unrelenting desire to unite Ireland by any means necessary, with the attractiveness of such ideological rigidity cogently presented. The film clearly and concisely charts Price's radicalisation as she transitions from civil rights activist to convicted bomber to hunger striker to peace process critic, detailing, for example, her participation in the 1969 People's Democracy march that ended at Burntollet Bridge with Loyalists attacking the peaceful protestors, as the Royal Ulster Constabulary refused to intervene. Like many of her generation, Price sees this as a decisive turning point in Ulster Republicanism, realising of the Loyalists and Unionists, "I'm never going to convince these people."
Interspersed with the interview material and archive footage, there are a number of reconstructions, with Price played by Lorna Larkin. Aesthetically, these reconstructions are interesting insofar as they often feature Larkin, in character, speaking directly to camera - an unusual stylistic device in a documentary already featuring a lot of interview footage, but one which works because it fortifies the central organisational principal; this is specifically her account of events.
Towards the end of I, Dolours, Price refers to the Good Friday agreement as "a failure of my life's purpose," arguing "I wouldn't have missed a good breakfast for what Sinn Féin achieved," and subsequently, one of the last things she says is, "It's all been for nothing." This can come across as either the deeply tragic end to a life lived for her country, or the just deserts for a murderer, depending on your politics. And the fact that her story is so emotive, irrespective of which side of the debate upon which you fall, speaks very much to the quality of the work in which that story is presented. Powerful, contentious documentary filmmaking of the highest calibre, I, Dolours should be made required viewing in Irish schools, north and south of the border.
Born in Belfast in 1951 into a deeply Republican family, Price's father, Albert, had been a member of the second incarnation of the IRA, and participated in the Coventry portion of S-Plan, a series of bombings carried out throughout the United Kingdom between January 1939 and March 1940. In 1968, Price joined People's Democracy, a political group advocating for civil rights for the Catholic minority in Northern Ireland. However, frustrated with their lack of progress, she became increasingly radicalised, and joined the Provisional IRA in 1971. Initially assigned to low-level tasks (such as cleaning bullets), she was promoted to the Unknowns in 1972, and was later assigned to the team to carry out the Old Bailey bombing in 1973, which left over 200 people injured. Arrested whilst boarding a flight back to Northern Ireland, she, her sister Marian, and eight others were charged. Sentenced to life, her sentence was later commuted to 20 years, and in 1981, having been on hunger strike for over 200 days, on 180 of which she was force-fed, she received the Royal Prerogative of Mercy, and was released on humanitarian grounds. Although she suffered from anorexia, an aversion to food, poor health, and substance abuse for the rest of her life, she married Stephen Rea in 1983, and had two children. A vehement opponent of the Good Friday Agreement in 1999, she believed that Sinn Féin had sold out to the British government, betraying both the Irish people and the memory of dead Republicans. Divorced from Rea in 2003, she died in her sleep in 2013, after mixing sedatives with anti-depressants. However, as I, Dolours conveys extremely well, Price is a far more complex and fascinating character than this deceptively straightforward biographical outline might suggest.
Derived from a taped 2010 interview with Price, conducted by journalists Ed Moloney and (former IRA volunteer) Anthony McIntyre, I, Dolorous is written by Moloney and Maurice Sweeney, and directed by Sweeny. Its main significance is the information Price provides about four of the Disappeared; Joe Lynskey, Jean McConville, Kevin McKee, and Seamus Wright. According to Price, her task was to transport those marked for death across the border into the Republic of Ireland, where she would hand them over to Dundalk volunteers, after which they would be killed and buried. With the four murders taking place over three missions (McKee and Wright were transported together), Price claims that in two cases, she was simply the driver, but in the third, that of McConville, she was forced to adopt a more hands-on role. And it is here, specifically, where the documentary is at its most controversial, and its strongest. For the most part, Price shows no remorse for her actions, arguing, "we believed that informers were the lowest form of human life," emphasising that she disagreed with the tactic of Disappearing, believing instead the bodies should be dumped in the street "to put the fear of God" into anyone who may have been thinking of informing. The only time she exhibits any signs of real regret is when relating the murder of Joe Lynskey. Describing him as "a gentle, gentle man," Price explains that as she transported him, she wished he would jump out of the car and make a run for it, rather than willingly accepting his faith.
She shows no such feelings, however, in relation to McConville, whose murder remains one of the most controversial and hotly disputed incidents of the Troubles. A widowed mother of ten, McConville's case is so contentious that no one can even agree as to why she was labelled an informer in the first place. When the IRA first acknowledged the Disappeared in 1999, they stated that McConville had had a radio transmitter hidden in her flat, which she used to send information to the British Army, in return for money. However, it was argued at the time that, as a widow trying to raise ten young children, she wouldn't have had access to sensitive information, let alone the time to pass it along. Additionally, in 2006, a report by the Police Ombudsman for Northern Ireland found no corroborating evidence suggesting McConville had been an informer. According to Price, however, the IRA knew she was informing because of an entirely different reason. She claims that McConville was working on identifying suspects from Hastings Street police station in Belfast by way of standing behind a blanket with a small slit for her to look through. However, the blanket didn't come to the ground, and one of those brought in front of her claims he recognised her slippers.
Not only does Price show no regret regarding her role in McConville's death, she seems to recall it with a sense of pride, pointing out she found McConville "very arrogant", and that during their trip south, McConville, who didn't know the fate awaiting her, said: "I knew those Provo b******s wouldn't have the b***s to shoot me." Numerous people, however, have refuted this, saying McConville would never have spoken in such a manner. Another problem with Price's version of events concerns her own involvement in the actual murder. As the Dundalk volunteers couldn't bring themselves to shoot a woman, Price, the Unknowns leader Pat McClure, and an unidentified third person took McConville to a shallow grave and shot her in the back of the head. She doesn't say which one fired the initial shot, but she does state that the trio deliberately assumed a shared responsibility; their single pistol was passed around, and "the other two volunteers each fired a shot so that no one would say that they for certain had been the person to kill her." The problem with this is that it is not borne out by the evidence. McConville's remains were discovered in 2003, yet an autopsy found only one bullet wound. If events played out as Price claims, two of the three shooters missed, and the bullets have never been recovered. Interestingly, however, as the above quote illustrates, as Price describes the murder, she slips into the third-person, recounting the incident as though it was someone else involved, even though it is clear she is speaking of herself.
Whilst the film is definitely at its best when dealing with the McConville murder, its handling of other aspects of Price's story are also laudable. For example, it does a fine job of tracing her ideological development, particularly as it relates to her family. In this sense, the film is very much about the seductive power of some of the more romantic myths of Irish Republicanism (they're not terrorists killing innocent people, they're volunteers fighting colonial oppressors, sacrificing everything for the good of the Irish nation) contrasted with the savage day-to-day reality of waging a guerrilla war (there is some horrific footage of bomb victims). The film makes it extremely easy to see the attraction of the sectarian moral code under which Price operated, and into which she was indoctrinated as a child; the absolute and unrelenting desire to unite Ireland by any means necessary, with the attractiveness of such ideological rigidity cogently presented. The film clearly and concisely charts Price's radicalisation as she transitions from civil rights activist to convicted bomber to hunger striker to peace process critic, detailing, for example, her participation in the 1969 People's Democracy march that ended at Burntollet Bridge with Loyalists attacking the peaceful protestors, as the Royal Ulster Constabulary refused to intervene. Like many of her generation, Price sees this as a decisive turning point in Ulster Republicanism, realising of the Loyalists and Unionists, "I'm never going to convince these people."
Interspersed with the interview material and archive footage, there are a number of reconstructions, with Price played by Lorna Larkin. Aesthetically, these reconstructions are interesting insofar as they often feature Larkin, in character, speaking directly to camera - an unusual stylistic device in a documentary already featuring a lot of interview footage, but one which works because it fortifies the central organisational principal; this is specifically her account of events.
Towards the end of I, Dolours, Price refers to the Good Friday agreement as "a failure of my life's purpose," arguing "I wouldn't have missed a good breakfast for what Sinn Féin achieved," and subsequently, one of the last things she says is, "It's all been for nothing." This can come across as either the deeply tragic end to a life lived for her country, or the just deserts for a murderer, depending on your politics. And the fact that her story is so emotive, irrespective of which side of the debate upon which you fall, speaks very much to the quality of the work in which that story is presented. Powerful, contentious documentary filmmaking of the highest calibre, I, Dolours should be made required viewing in Irish schools, north and south of the border.
