Right Men

“Two right men go out and fight, both want to finish it. A good fight lasts 20 minutes,” explains Big Joe Joyce. “The men should be broken up. Noses and mouths broke in, black eyes, maybe 15 or 16 stitches. That’s a fight. That’s what I call a fight. That’s what I could do, break a man up.” As he speaks, Big Joe draws on his cigarette and rocks back and forth on his feet, as if parrying in a fight. His eyes are set deep into his puffy face, his brows bushy and his grey sideburns monumental. Behind him, a lot stretches wide and green, marked by a For Sale sign, before him, a young boy moves alongside him, his crew-cut head bobbing in and out of frame.

At once brusque and eloquent, Big Joe’s self-presentation here sets up an essential tension for Knuckle. Shot over 12 years, Ian Palmer’s extraordinary documentary tracks the long-running feud between the Joyces and the Quinn McDonaghs. As Palmer tells it, he became involved when a friend asked him to videotape a wedding in 1997; during the reception, he found a group of Quinn McDonaghs gambling on the sidewalk. “The man in the red shirt stood out,” narrates Palmer as his camera pitches toward James Quinn McDonagh, leaning forward to announce his winnings, loudly.

What follows is a meditation of sorts, observations of the men who fight and the women who marry them, explanations by the fighters and long sessions of actual fisticuffs. It’s not a little ironic that the families—traveler communities and cousins to each other—have taken to taunting each other by way of videotapes, insulting and challenging one another to bare-knuckle bouts. “To me,” says James’ brother Michael, “he’s one man fighting a whole breed. I’d call him a fucking legend, if he beats this man, he’s a legend, ‘cause he’s one man beating the whole lot of ‘em.” In another, Michael spews insults at the Joyces: “Each and every one of ‘em is no good, they’re dirty, they’re monkeys, not one of ‘em was ever any good.”

Apart from all the posturing, Palmer finds intrigue in what seems a deep and unspoken background, an event in London in 1992 that set off an unending series of vengeance bouts. He says more than once that he means to “find the right moment to ask Joe why there was so much hatred between the families,” but even when he does discover that someone was killed during a drunken brawl, this can’t explain the ritualization and the investment, the passing on of fury and violence across generations.

James serves as the film’s central fighter. He does appear legendary, but he’s less than enthusiastic about the process and outcomes. Palmer tapes him in a local gym, sparring and lifting weights. “Do you train all year round?” he asks from off-screen, the camera looking up at his subject. “No, only when something stupid like a fight comes up,” James says. “I’m not a great lover of training. I’d rather be socializing.” Indeed, socializing seems a focus for the travelers, the fights occasions for post-event gatherings at favorite pubs or close-quarter homes, where kids and wives watch men act out. Sometimes, they end up fighting over the fights.

The scheduling of bouts in itself can be an ordeal. Technically illegal, they must be staged on back roads and remote areas, with several fights typically preceding the main event (“following one long day, Palmer says, “I filmed seven fights that day, brothers and cousins fighting brothers and cousins”). Each opponent brings along a support crew, and both sides agree to a moderator who oversees the matches. A TV reporter notes that one bout is broken up by local gardies, who “say their actions were justified after the detection of a sawn off shotgun at the site and the seizure of an array of farmyard implements.” (We’re left to imagine what these implements might have been or why anyone brought them along.) 

The fights Palmer tapes do seem to go on forever, the adversaries locked into debilitating combat, chests heaving and faces bloodied. Big Joe explains the importance of bare knuckles as you have a chance to inspect the scars all over his hands: the idea is to increase the clout, he says. “Bandages are only for the ring, for the gloves, not for bare knuckles.” The effects of each fight are immediate and lasting. As the Quinn McDonaghs gather to drink after yet another contest, a few wives sit together on couches and look into the camera, one by one. “It’s a pity, fighting over names,” says yet another woman. It’s a pity because it’s gone too deep and people don’t want it any more.” A young wife laments, “I don’t think it’s fair to the families and the children that are brought up.” A young woman, seated near a tiny blond girl in pink, nods that she’s proud her husband fought and didn’t lose. But, she adds, “When my sons grow up, no way, they’re not doing it.”

Cut to a rainy exterior and then inside, in 2004, where James makes plans for another fight. A sad string score underlines his sentiment as Palmer’s voice cuts in: “It didn’t matter what he women said, the fighting went on and I kept filming.” Aware that some of his footage ends up on YouTube, part of the taunting process, he’s more worried about his own attitude. As you watch one fight, two old men grunting and pummeling one another to bloody pulps, he says, “Something about this fight made me want to quit. I was there because I was getting a thrill out of it. It wasn’t about making a film anymore. I decided to stop.”

He does and he doesn’t. But the film’s turn here is complicated. While Palmer clearly articulates his misgivings, your own may be more ambiguous. How do fights “go on”? Who’s responsible for their popularity, for the ways they signify masculine process or family reputations or celebrity status? Close-ups of bloody body parts, a soundtrack laced with heavy thunks and the noises of feet slipping on gravel or mud, handheld careening: the fights are fascinating, as fights but also as film, as art about fights. “It’ll never stop,” says James. “I totally disagree with bare knuckle fighting. It got me a name I didn’t want because I would rather be not known for the boxing, I’d rather be known for something more positive.”